Chapter 3: She Gives Love a Bad Name

"Did you find it?"

"No."

There was a pause and then…

"Did you find it?"

Mary turned around from the pile of videos, glaring at the pseudo-psychic. "Why don't you come help me instead of lounging on the couch, Shawn?"

Shawn paused mid-stuffing his face with the pineapple upside down cake. His feet were dangling off the padded arm of the couch, while the plate of cake balanced precariously on his stomach. "But then I'd have to abandon the cake," he explained, pointing to his semi-open mouth that exposed the partly chewn cake.

Mary's face scrunched in disgust. "You're joking, right? I've been searching for hours for what happened in the warehouse." The criminal profiler fell back onto his knees, tired. "Pray tell, why are your DVDs have so little information?"

Shawn shrugged nonchalantly, as he picked up another heaping fork of cake. "Might be because of my short attention span. Or the quality of the memory I pick up? No clue, honestly."

Mary sighed, vexed. He lifted a random DVD, waving the disk in exasperation. "We're losing time and - "

"Wait," Shawn said, pointing the fork towards the DVD. His eyes narrowed as he transferred the plate to the ground and got to his feet. "That's the one."

Mary looked between him and the disk. "This DVD?" Shawn nodded. "This one's from months ago, Shawn. It has nothing to do with the warehouse."

"It's related," the Psychic replied with certainty.

Mary returned his gaze to the disk, staring at the opulent colors before finally conceding with an uncertain shrug. He walked to the player while Shawn sat at the edge of the couch, his hands clasped into an almost prayer-like gesture with the tips of his fingers resting on his lips. His right knee was bouncing nervously. And his eyes narrowed, concentrating on the screen yet to be lit up.

And the pineapple cake was abandoned.

{Psych}

Time: 2 months prior to Shawn getting Shot

"I don't believe it, Shawn." Gus started, almost petulantly and mostly angry. "I told you weeks ago that I have to attend this conference, that this could change my career. I told you that today - " Gus jabbed at the steering wheel angrily. "Today was the only day I can't help you."

Shawn, for his part, completely ignored his friend, focusing instead on the brochure lodged between his seat and the car door. The pharmaceutical rep glared at his preoccupied friend as he continued. "And you proceed to drag me out to a crime scene. Shawn? Shawn, are you even listening?"

The fake psychic's face contorted, signifying his struggle as he pushed his arm further into the small gap in a vain attempt to rescue the advertisement. "I hear ya, buddy." Shawn confirmed, his voice slightly strained. Finally his fingers clasped the paper, and he pulled the brochure out. "But even you can't skip out on a double suicide. I heard it could be some forbidden love or something." He looked down on the brochure. There was a line-up of doctors standing in their white coats. one man stood at the center, his arms folded across his chest. His wispy graying hair was short cut to his scalp, and his face betrayed far too many wrinkles for his age. Underneath the image, there were bold blue letters: USA Medical Conference 2013: San Francisco.

Gus slammed on the brakes, almost causing Shawn's head to collide with the dashboard. Thank goodness for seat belts. "30 minutes. That's all I'm giving you." Shawn rubbed his forehead gingerly, attempting to milk out any sort of pity despite his head never having made contact with anything solid. "And then I'm driving out to San Francisco. I worked for weeks on coordinating this event and nothing - nothing - is going to prevent me from getting in the good graces of my boss."

Shawn sighed dramatically. No pity from Gus today, not when he was so fixated on some dumb conference. "Come on, Gus. What if it's not a suicide? What if it's a double murder?" His eyes lit up as his finger popped up, indicating an idea. "A suicide-murder."

Gus shook his head as he yanked out the keys from the ignition "Don't know, don't care. I'm giving you a time limit and I expect you to respect my time." He opened the door to the Blueberry, stepping out of the car.

Shawn rolled his eyes as he unbuckled himself, following his partner out to see that they had parked outside of a luxury hotel. The parking lot closer to the building was covered with police vehicles, with cops taping off the hotel.

The psych duo walked up to the tape, slipping under without anyone stopping them. Years of working with the Psychic had taught the police officers that Lassiter would always threaten them to not let Shawn onto the crime scene followed by Shawn always sneaking in with little to no repercussions. Honestly, it wasn't worth the headache anymore.

The duo casually walked past the officers, making their way to where they could hear Lassiter's voice down the hall, from the hotel room.

"There's barely a case here," Lassie was saying to Juliet, just as Shawn sauntered in. "Two star-crossed lovers off'd themselves. This is a waste of SBPD's time."

"On the contrary, Lassie-face," Shawn said, lifting his fingers to his head without so much as glancing at the crime scene. "This is a suicide-murder," the fake psychic proudly declared. Lassiter's face turned red, and he looked ready to burst out angrily before the other man could utter another word.

Gus's eyes widened as he pulled his friend back. "Excuse us," he told the startled detectives. He turned to his friend. "Shawn, you didn't look at the scene yet," he whispered viciously into his friend's ears.

Shawn just smirked in return. "Come on, Gus. We can just say that the spirit world was jumbled for a bit."

Gus shook his head, disappointed, before turning back to the detectives. "I'm sorry. Shawn may have interpreted this wrong," he tried to explain, a vain attempt to placate Lassiter.

"Who the hell let these fools into my crime scene?!" Lassie yelled, starting his rant. Gus moved to face the detective bravely, attempting (and failing) to pacify the man.

Shawn zoned out the conversation, focusing instead on the crime scene. He narrowed his eyes as he observed the details.

There was a young woman, late teens or perhaps early twenties lying on the bed next to a much older man. She had beautiful auburn curls and was donning a classic red shift dress. He looked much older, wearing an ironed out black suit. He was lying face down against the bed, only his thinning hair visible to the observers. Both of them were holding hands, no sign of struggle evident in this image.

To the corner of the bed, there was a hand-held leather purse. The small black bag was open, revealing only one occupant: a brilliant red lipstick.

"Lassie, Jules," Shawn called out, interrupting the tirade. "Did you ID them yet?"

Juliet nodded. "The young woman is Alyssa Olson, an aspiring college student at the local college." Lassiter moved towards the older man, gently turning him around. He was just about to state his name, when the group heard a distressed moan.

"Oh no," Gus groaned beside him in obvious distress, grabbing Shawn's attention. "That's Dr. Harold Holmes."

Shawn returned his attention to the dead man. Sure enough, Gus was right, the wrinkled face, and the wisping hair were dead giveaways. The psychic's vision immediately zoned in on his pale skin and those blue tinged lips. Shawn narrowed his eyes again, as he returned the gaze back to the young woman's lips.

"Dude," Shawn whispered towards his friend. He swatted at Gus's chest to grab his attention before proceeding to rub his nose. "I think I really am psychic."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Really, Shawn? How did you figure that?"

Shawn pursed his lips, thinking thoughtfully. "This is a suicide murder."

{Psych}

Time: Still 2 months prior to Shawn getting Shot

"Well, Mr. Spencer," Chief Karen Vick addressed the group standing in front of her desk. Shawn and Gus stood to her left, while Juliet and Lassiter stood to her right. "I am told by my experts that this is a double suicide. Because the young woman involved is a major, I don't see much foul play in this."

"Well, Chief," Shawn started calmly, clasping his hands as he professionally (and very unusually) addressed her. "I believe Lassie might be co - " Shawn's eyes suddenly widened, as his hand lifted automatically to his temple. "Wait, what was that?" He jerked forward, just as Gus rolled his eyes to the side.

"No!" Shawn exclaimed, just as Juliet moved towards him with worried eyes. Karen Vick narrowed her eyes, even as she found herself amused by the show. "You cannot take my body, you vile, poisonous woman! I refuse!" Shawn pushed her arms away, flailing towards Gus and clinging to his shoulders. "Ahhhh!" He scream-moaned.

"Mr. Guster," Karen called out as she moved around her desk. "What is happening."

"Uh…" Gus looked at his twitching friend. "I think Alyssa Olson is taking over his body?" Lassiter scoffed in disbelief.

And then Shawn straightened, turning around slowly to face the chief. He jutted out his hip and batted his eyes several times in an exaggerated fashion. "Beware," He said softly, leaning forward in a femine way. "Of the kiss." He hissed at the end, turning his head towards Lassiter before straightening and cat-walking towards the detective, pursing his lips in a very not-seductive manner.

Lassiter would have none of it, whipping out his gun instantly. "You will not get near me, Spencer or so help me god, I will shoot you dead." Shawn stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes darting around for plan B. Finally he settled on good ol' flailing his arms back to Gus, panting heavily as if he took on several sumo wrestlers.

"I'm famished, Gus," Shawn cried pitfully. "Quick, feed me some pineapple."

"Get off of me, Shawn," the pharmaceutical representative deadpanned, trying to swipe his best friend off of his shoulder.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Spencer?" Karen interrupted the duo's banter.

Shawn pointed towards the lipstick in the evidence bag. "That lipstick is poisoned. It's literally a death kiss."

Jules raised her eyebrows even as she picked up the bag to stare at the innocent piece of make-up.

"Preposterous," Lassie scoffed. "Have you been reading too many fantasy novels?"

"No," A voice came from the doorway, grabbing their attention. Woodrow Strode stood at the doorway, a file in his hands. "Shawn's right. There were trace amounts of Batrochotoxin on both of their lips, but a far significant concentration on her's."

The detectives looked surprised at the evidence bag.

"Wow," Juliet exclaimed, looking towards her boyfriend. Shawn bustled up with pride, much to the dismay of Gus and Lassiter.

"That is incredible," Woody agreed, excitedly, having watched the show prior. "Shawn, when you inevitably get killed, you have to let me autopsy your brain."

Shawn's face morphed into disbelief. "Yeah," he agreed, slowly. "Sure, Woody."

{Psych}

Time: Back to the fu- sorry, present

Detective Carlton Jebediah Lassiter sat quietly in the interrogation room, his face stoic and his eyes glazed as he looked straight ahead at the reflective pane. The man that gazed back at him looked like a monster.

An emotionless back-stabbing monster.

Carlton blinked slowly, noticing the slight mist in his eyes.

He would not cry, damn it. Lassiters did NOT cry.

But the desperateness of the situation had demolished the careful protective walls the head detective had built over so many years. No longer was there the presence of the hard-working angry cop, replaced instead by a vulnerable man with bloodshot eyes beseeching for forgiveness.

Forgiveness he would not deserve. Nor receive, if the clamor that started to descend towards the interrogation room meant anything.

Henry Spencer burst into the room, beelining straight towards the suspect, his hands grabbing the hand-cuffed man by the collar and lifting him to his feet.

Carlton looked into those eyes, prepared to see a livid Henry Spencer. What he saw instead was the wrath of a devastated father.

And the detective could have cowered in fear if the shock written on his face hadn't frozen him in place.

"You better have a good reason for this, Lassiter," Henry growled towards the detective, just as Buzz McNab and Karen Vick rushed into the room to pull the other man off. After several unsuccessful tries, they managed to pry him off, leaving Carlton to stand awkwardly alone. "And maybe," Henry said indignantly, wrapped tightly into a pair of arms that pulled him back. He lifted his own arm, jabbing at the air furiously. "Just maybe, I will make your death painless."

Carlton stiffened, a tense tremor running across his jawline. He averted his gaze away, opting to stare at the gray linoleum ground.

"McNab, take him out." Karen commanded the young policeman, pushing Henry towards the exit. She turned around, focussing on her Head Detective, just as she heard the room door close.

Lassiter looked like a mess. His normally impeccable suit was crumpled, his tie loosely hanging. The normally slicked back hair stuck out in various directions, the silver strands angled messily. The man himself seemed a bit pale, a light sheet of sweat visible on his creased forehead and dark circles underneath his tired eyes. Her Head Detective looked small, his hands cuffed in front of him and his eyes downcast.

His hands were stained with washed blood. Lassiter had run straight towards the Psychic after shooting him, holding pressure on the wound that he had inflicted himself, while Gus frantically called the ambulance. No doubt, his efforts were what made sure Shawn had survived. But his actions were also what put Shawn in that position in the first place.

Karen sighed heavily, moving to take the seat opposite to the detective. "Sit down, Carlton," She said, gesturing towards the metal chair.

After a moment, Lassiter did take the seat, keeping his gaze on the table.

"What happened?" She finally asked, breaking the silence. Lassiter didn't answer, refusing to meet the gaze. "I know everyone that works in this department, Carlton. I know my team. People told me that you were trigger-happy, but I wouldn't believe anyone if they told me you shot someone accidentally, much less on purpose. Tell me Carlton, what happened?"

And still the detective kept quiet. If anything he looked smaller, as if the simple belief she had in him was weighing him down. Karen looked around helplessly, wondering where Juliet was when she needed her.

Oh.

Her heart sank, even as she knew the answer to the question that she was about to ask. "Carlton, where is Juliet O'Hara?"

Lassiter picked his head up instantly, his eyes comically wide, confirming Karen's suspicion.

Juliet O'Hara had been kidnapped.

A/N: And we haven't touched the Warehouse case yet. We've only hit the Poison Damsel case. Don't want to ruin the surprise too quickly, so I'm trying to move this a bit more steadily. Please let me know if anything is too confusing.

Next chapter preview: a little more info for the Warehouse case and how these two cases might be related. Depending on how much space I get, we might even meet Juliet.

Meanwhile, what do you think?