A/N: First of all, let me apologize. I deleted my last story because I just didn't like where it was going and I went kind of crazy and deleted all traces of it on my computer. Yeah. It's been that kind of week. I'm so sorry for all those who this disappoints. I'm definitely gonna be more careful in the future, because that's totally unacceptable.

Second of all, I have been a depressed egg all week and I figure writing could help me cheer up. So, I watched a few episodes of Psych to give me so inspiration and I think I'm ready to once again tell the tale of Carlton, because he is my favorite.

P.S. This takes a bit of inspiration from "And Other Wilderness Pursuits," a fantastic fic by one of my favorite writers: silverluna.

"Carlton, slow down!"

"He's just ahead of me!"

"Hurry up, Gus! Don't be Gordon Hayward's ankle!"

"Shawn!"

"Carlton!"

"O'Hara!"

"Marco!"

"Polo!"

Carlton nearly tripped as he vaulted over a protruding boulder. The trail had ebbed away over five hundred yards back, but its absence did not bother him. He'd find his way back. The burnt reds and oranges blurred around him in a sort of psychedelic montage. On any other day, it'd be a sight to stop and admire for a few hours, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered now was catching up to Avery Goodwin. Through some scattered "divining" from Spencer and some long hours browsing through old phone records by Carlton and O'Hara, they had caught the man red-handed. A few pointed questions and he broke like a glowstick.

Unfortunately, the murderer also turned out to be a runner. Carlton didn't really mind running—he ran at least five miles every morning just trying to clear his head—but chasing was a different story. Chasing involved zigzagging through less-than-ideal areas, changing direction every few moments and easily losing sight of your target. Plus, he had to keep track of the three people trailing him, only one of which he cared about. But he knew he'd never hear the end of it from O'Hara if he somehow "misplaced" the psychic or Guster, so he made sure to do a quick head count every hundred or so feet to make sure he hadn't lost one.

"Carlton!" O'Hara's breathless voice struck his ear forcefully, but he pretended to ignore it. He had a murderer to catch. Though he couldn't see Avery anymore, he was sure he was up there in the foliage somewhere, lurking in the bushes and ready to spring on another unsuspecting victim.

Suddenly, a hand slapped down on his shoulder, startling him so badly that he stumbled, his knees slamming painfully into the reddish-brown soil below him. His momentum caused him to slide another ten or so feet before tipping laboriously over onto his side. O'Hara came to a skidding halt and knelt down beside him.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" The concern painting her voice almost made Carlton's anger dissipate.

Almost.

"What the hell, O'Hara?" He pushed her hand off his arm and scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt and leaves off of his favorite suit. She'd definitely owe him dry cleaning money for this.

"Sorry!" She fussed with his suit apologetically. "I think we need to stop and regroup. I'm not even sure we're going the right way anymore."

"I highly doubt that—"

"Lassie!" The unpleasant voice rang through the crisp forest air, involuntarily causing Carlton to flinch. Spencer and Guster emerged from the trees like two lumbering bears fresh out of hibernation and hunting for food. Which, in all reality, was probably exactly what they were doing.

"My psychic senses tell me that Avery outsmarted us and doubled back on his trail," Spencer commented with a condescending air, putting his finger to his temple to ensure that all theatrics were employed in his demonstrations.

Carlton glared. "Are you on drugs, Spencer? We saw him run this way. He wouldn't dare try to cross us again just to double back on his trail." But, as he said it, he knew Spencer was right. Avery wasn't stupid. Doubling back on his trail was exactly the kind of crap he'd pull.

O'Hara seemed to sense his internal chagrin and quickly took charge. "Well, we can't catch him standing here all day. Shawn, Gus—why don't you two head that way?" She pointed to the trees Shawn and Gus had just come from. "Carlton and I will take that direction." She motioned just to the right of Shawn and Gus's designated path where some thick bushes had taken hold in the nearly black dirt. She suppressed a grimace thinking about all the thorns and brambles that would scratch her arms and legs when she fought through them. "I'm pretty sure we should end up coming out of the forest in about the same area near the same time. I used to hike around this area with my boyfriend." Spencer visibly stiffened at the word "boyfriend," but he (miraculously) held his composure, probably due to his visible panting at the nearly three-mile run he'd just completed.

Spencer looked uncomfortable at having to split up. Carlton mused on what part of the situation made him most uneasy: the fact that he'd be wandering through the woods, unarmed, with a murderer on the loose, the fact that he'd probably get lost and need to call for backup, or the fact that he'd be apart from O'Hara for more than ten minutes. He smirked slightly—anything that would bring any sort of discomfort or pain to Spencer would most definitely bring a smile to his own face.

"Are you sure, Jules? It's getting darker and darker by the minute and they say even the most experienced hikers can get turned around in these woods at night." He gazed uncertainly up at the late afternoon sky, shielding his eyes with his hand.

Juliet smiled confidently. "It'll be fine, Shawn. We're only a few hundred yards from the nearest trail and a few miles from the parking lot. We still have cell coverage in this area, so you can still call if you find him or get lost. We'll all make it back with plenty of daylight to spare." She got a devilish gleam in her eye. "That is, unless you're scared of the monsters in the dark?"

Carlton grinned, but shook it off quickly. He didn't have time for jokes, he needed to catch Avery. He hated when the bad guy got away with it. "Look, I don't care what we do, but we need to get moving. Avery could be clear to Nevada by now." He folded his arms defensively, daring one of those bumbling "detectives" to challenge him.

"Okay, okay, Lassie," Spencer teased, "We'll go this way, you guys go that way. But don't get too afraid now. I hear that the Loch Ness Monster roams these hills, and he's always looking for grumpy detectives to eat."

"The Loch Ness Monster lives in Scotland, Shawn," Guster corrected exhaustedly. "And he doesn't eat people. He just kills them and builds an underwater castle with their bodies." He rolled his eyes as if that information should be obvious.

"I thought that was the chinchilla?"

"Chupacabra. And that's a vampire-like creature that lives in Puerto Rico and eats goats."

"Why would someone eat goats?"

"Because—"

O'Hara held up her hands. "Guys! Murderer? Case? Ring any bells?"

Spencer grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Jules. We'll meet you somewhere over the rainbow!" He turned and skipped back through the trees, linking arms with a very reluctant Guster and bellowing "The Yellow Brick Road" at the top of his lungs.

O'Hara shared a look with Carlton, who was still scowling at Spencer's and Guster's backs. She gently cleared her throat to regain his attention. "You ready, partner?"