Hello one and all! Second Psych FanFic here and it's going to be quite different from the last one. For one thing, this will be told in first person. Pay attention to the first couple words of each chapter as that is who's point of view it is told in.

(This starting chapter is a bit short. Sorry. They will be longer as the story progresses).

Please review! Good or bad, I want to know!

Henry Spencer Point Of View


Two nineteen year olds and a twenty one year old men. What did they have in common? They worked at the LA Bank. What happened at the bank? A man – I'm not sure who or what he looked like, hell, he could even be a she! – robbed them. No, that's a half lie. He didn't just rob them. He burst through their doors, pointed his gun at everyone who stood in his way. He chased every customer out of the bank, leaving behind the only three employees that were on that floor at that time.

It's crazy, really. How can a single man cause so much damage? He was a genius. He knew where to be, what demands to make and how to get away. Yes, that's right. He got away. Believe me, not without causing enough damage to scar three young men for the rest of their lives.

This man walks into a bank and within minutes, it was only him and three employees. Each man went through a lot of abuse. Trauma to the head, shot wounds, stab wounds. All types of wounds. In particular, one of the two nineteen year old boys. He had the worst injuries. When he was finally taken into the hospital, it was a worry whether or not he would survive. When they found him in the bank he was unconscious, lying in a pool of his own blood, his pulse barely noticeable. The other two employees would yell and protest whenever a paramedic would start to help them. They didn't need the help. Not as much.

All three men survived. Though it wasn't something the LAPD wanted to do, they interrogated each employee and asked for a statement. So soon after an experience as traumatic as this… they should have at least a couple days to recover. But they weren't even given that.

They say that the man had pointed his gun at them and told them to fill up his bag with all the money they could find. Two people were responsible for that. The other one – the most injured one – was in charge of negotiation. And when I say in charge of… I mean he was the victim. The man would not negotiate with the cops without this boy by his side. And that's how… his condition got so… out of hand.

The other two employees reported that the man took the final blow to the boy's gut when the police entered the bank. The 19 year old collapsed to the ground causing a distraction to, well, everyone. He then escaped through the window. They were on the second floor and did not have the full perimeter surrounded. The man got away. This whole thing – bank robbery, attempted murder, assault – was all done within an hour.

They gave a description of the man and a sketch was made. But that was it. That was the most they could get.

The identity of those three employees have been, for privacy reasons, kept confidential. The only people who know even as much as the hair colour of these boys were the LAPD. The crime occurred in LA. And it would stay there. No one, not even Santa Barbara, would get even a peak at this case.

I called my son that night. But there was no reply. The last I had heard, Shawn was safe and sound – well, as safe and as sound as he ever could be – in Las Vegas, working in a casino. No doubt, he's picking up girls, flirting with everything that moves. All I can hope is that for once in his life, he stayed there.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the wall. A new photo was being put up. This photo – this sketch – sent shudders down everyone's spine. It certainly sent one down mine. All I could do was stare up at that sketch. Glare at it. Accuse it. Judge it. I stared at that damned sketch.

The sketch of The Hour Killer.

STRAIGHT down to business. Tell me what you think! (Note, it won't all take place in 1996. It's just for this chapter).