This story takes place around the middle of Psych…

Enjoy!

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Out on the Pacific Ocean, floating in a little boat with his best (and only) friend, you'd think Carlton Lassiter would be completely at peace. But he had a job to do, a job that had to be done no matter what—which created a slight problem, given the fact that he was lost at sea with a storm approaching.

But someone else was approaching as well. Lassiter rubbed his eyes. Could it be? Yes.

Approaching the boat in a raft was Lassiter's biggest irritation—psychic detective Shawn Spencer.

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Four Days Earlier

"Shawn, for the last time, you're obviously missing something!" Henry Spencer's voice rang throughout his house, the sound drowning out the hissing of steak on the barbeque.

Shawn silently cursed. When had he ever thought going to his father's house would be pleasurable? Normally Gus would at least soften the criticism, but he was out on a business trip—a week long business trip! Shawn had only gone to Henry's house to have some company, but it had turned out to be a mistake.

Interrupting his father's rant, Shawn yelled out, "Fine! You win!" and stormed out of the house, hopping on his motorcycle.

Inside the house, Henry sighed. He had only been trying to help Shawn with his police case—something about multiple murders and some dropping grounds—but it looked like his "psychic" son wouldn't be the one to solve it. The last time Shawn had left in such a rage, he hadn't shown up again for years.

"I've lost him again," Henry muttered.

Shawn, however, had no intention of leaving Santa Barbara. He had found his niche—pardoning the fact that his whole career was based on a lie, of course.

As Shawn rode back to his apartment in the darkness, he didn't see the oncoming truck until it was too late. The motorcycle smashed into the car, and Shawn found himself flying through the air.

When everything settled and the damage had been done, a burly man lifted Shawn's unconscious body and shoved it roughly into the back of the truck, along with the pieces of his motorcycle. The psychic detective was getting too close to the answer, and the man was going to take no chances.

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Lassiter, as usual, was hunched over his computer when Buzz McNabb approached him somewhat hesitantly. "Sir," he began, "We have a break in the case. The Chief wants to speak with you."

"Finally!" Lassiter exclaimed in exasperation. Up until then, not even the annoying faux psychic had found anything on the case. He quickly entered Chief Vick's office, taking a seat next to his partner Juliet.

Chief Vick spoke. "What we have here is a note from the killer himself. It was dropped off on our very doorstep this morning. It reads: I will not repeat myself. Drop this case or I will drop bodies into the ocean—bodies you may recognize. We just recently had a boat stolen, so our best guess is that the killer is out on the ocean.

"I will be sending you two on a mission to find this criminal since time is of the essence and you're the best we have."

Lassiter smirked. "So our little 'psychic' ranks under us? Chief, you shouldn't have."

Chief Vick frowned. "Actually, I have been informed by Henry that left Santa Barbara just last night. We have not been able to contact him since."

"Is Shawn okay?" Juliet asked, her worry for Shawn becoming apparent.

Lassiter snorted. "He's Spencer. When is that idiot not okay? I've seen him make sarcastic remarks to killers holding guns and laugh it off."

"It seems that he had a fight with Henry, but according to Henry, he will come back eventually," Chief cut in, sending a disapproving glance to her Head Detective. "Anyway, back to the case at hand. As the killer seems to be threatening your family, we can post guards to watch their houses while you are out on the ocean. And time is of the essence. Is that clear?"

Both Juliet and Lassiter nodded.

"Then I'll show you to your boat."

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When Shawn regained consciousness, he felt worse than ever. His head was pounding and his whole body seemed to be bruised. Luckily, no bones felt broken, but the twang in his right ankle suggested a sprain.

Where am I? Shawn wondered. He tried to stand up, but found himself tied to a chair. Looking around, Shawn saw green everywhere. As his world focused, he made out shapes. Were those…trees? Yes. He was in a forest of some kind—or rather, a jungle.

Shawn watched in horror as it started to rain. Big, fat droplets fell from the trees above, and he could do nothing but sit there in the chair. Who had done this? Shawn tried to think back, but the last he could remember he'd been on his motorcycle…the crash!

Someone had kidnapped him! Hopefully, whoever it was would bring him some food and water. Or a nice, refreshing glass of pineapple juice.

Shawn waited, but no one appeared.

He tried to think of what might have led to him being taken. Probably the police case he'd been working on! "Oh no!" Shawn exclaimed in a raspy voice, "what if I become the next body dumped?"

"You won't need to worry about that for long."

Shawn jumped, knocking the chair on its side. His body slammed into the ground, and the ropes around his wrists and ankles chafed on his skin. The person laughed.

"I've been watching you, Shawn Spencer. The glowing psychic, 100% solve rate, famous, daring, handsome…! I knew sooner or later you'd figure out that I've been murdering all those people, and you would definitely find the bodies! However, if you are mysteriously taken, no one will discover anything about me. I'll be giving the police three days to drop the case. If they keep trying to solve it, when they find the bodies, you'll be among them!"

The guy towered above Shawn, grinning. But his smile was strangely familiar…Shawn thought back to a conversation he'd had with Lassie at the station two days prior…

"Spencer! Get out of here! Some of us are trying to work!" Lassie screamed at Shawn, looking more aggravated than usual.

Time to back off.

"Alright, alright, no need to be an angry porcupine, I'm going—"

Behind Lassiter was the wall of wanted suspects. George Ewell was at the top of the list.

"So, I guess what the spirits tell me will stay between the two of us, George." Shawn had no idea where his confidence came from. Maybe the spirits, he thought ironically.

The large man stopped grinning. "How'd you find that out?" he snarled.

"Well, I would do a demonstration and put my hand up to my head, but unfortunately, someone tied me to a chair! Would you be a gentleman and release me?" Shawn cocked his head, giving his best pleading look.

George Ewell came towards Shawn and picked the chair up, placing all four legs on the ground. Six, Shawn amended, my legs, too.

"I don't like your smart tongue!" George yelled, spitting on Shawn.

Shawn knew that words would only make George more mad, but he couldn't help himself. "Well, I wouldn't say that my tongue is smart. Take Gus, for instance. His tongue sells pharmaceuticals! And Lassie, well, that's a bad example. But as for Jules—"

Shawn's kidnapper had had enough. George pulled out a gun.

"Don't test my patience," George growled, pointing the gun at Shawn.

Oh, no. I obviously have a death wish, Shawn thought as he said, "Oh, I don't need to test your patience. My smart, genius tongue tells me that your patience would fail the test, so…"

Boom.

Shawn's world went dark as the bullet ripped through his skin.

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So…what do you think?

Please review, whether good or bad! :)

There will be no ships in this story—just friendship! And Gus only appears at the end, so sorry if you want him…

I just love Shawn whump! Expect more soon!

And thanks, katierw80, for the constructive criticism!