Whoa. This makes two chapters in two days. Insanity! And here's the kicker: I am almost done with the next two chapters!

But now I need your opinion... After chapters 14 and 15, it might be a while again before I can post. I realized today that my notes for chapter 16 are at home in the States while I am in London... and I won't be home for six months. Would you rather I post the next two chapters quickly, or space them out?

Artemis024

Chapter 13: Text

(The next day)

"at the apt. need 2 talk. pls come ASAP"

The text had come in at 3am, but Henry didn't see it until 7am when he got up for the day.

Henry sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. After getting ready, he made his way to his son's apartment. On his walk up to the building, he noticed that there was still no bike sitting out, and after a knock at the door with no answer, Henry was frustrated. His son wasn't home, and he felt like he was being led on a wild goose chase. This had to stop.

The drive to the station was a quick one. And luckily for Henry, it was a slow day for the SBPD. Few people were around, so he was easily able to make a bee-line towards the detectives' desks.

"Lassiter," he said as he walked up to the desk. "Do you know where Shawn is?"

The detective made a quick glance up before going back to his paperwork. "I'm not his keeper, Henry. Try his apartment."

"I was just there." Henry sighed, "He sent me this text, but there was no answer at the door." Henry handed his phone to the detective. "I'm worried something's wrong."

Lassiter passed the phone back and leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, well we've all known something's been wrong for months."

With a shake of his head, Henry continued, "No, this feels different. Shawn has been avoiding me for weeks, and now I get that text. Could you come with me and check it out?"

Looking at his paperwork again, Lassiter replied. "That's not my job and you know it."

"Please."

The detective heard the desperation in Henry's voice and looked up again. "Fine. But I'm driving. And if he is there and is messing with you, I'm done."

The two men made there way out the station and into Lassiter's car. The ride was silent, and anxiety filled the space between them. Lassiter would never admit it, but he agreed with Henry: something didn't feel right. Shawn was an ass, but he wouldn't ask for help if he didn't need it.

As soon as they reached the apartment, Lassiter made the same observation that Henry had twice before. "His motorcycle isn't here, Henry. He's probably out somewhere." What Lassiter didn't say was, Probably out drinking himself senseless again.

"I know," Henry replied. "It wasn't here yesterday either when I first came to check up on him."

Lassiter sighed and knocked loudly. "Spencer. Open up." Nothing. "Spencer! Open the damn door!" Not a sound. He turned toward Henry and continued, "I don't know what to tell you, Henry. Honestly, you could have done, and probably did do, exactly what I did. I'm not sure why you wanted me here."

"Because if something is wrong, you have a radio." Henry pushed past the detective and pulled out his library card. With one swift motion, he had popped the lock and swung the door open.

"Henry!" Lassiter called out in anger. "I am not going to be a part of breaking and entering!"

Henry looked at Lassiter and said, "Then don't come in, but stay close in case I need you." He turned to the apartment and stepped in, calling out, "Shawn, where are you?!"

With a quick swear under his breath, Lassiter shook his head and followed the older man.

The living room was in a state of disarray. Papers were thrown all around. Bottles lay on their sides. Even couch cushions had been overturned. The place looked as if it had been ransacked. And the bike... it was propped against the wall. Shawn was here. The men looked at one another, each seeing anxiety spread across the other's face. In unison they shouted out, "Shawn!"

Henry ran towards the kitchen, while Lassiter ran towards the bedroom. The kitchen was in just as bad of a state as the living room. Bottles were everywhere, all empty, some smashed. But there was no Shawn.

It was Lassiter who called out first. "Henry! In here!"

The sight was nothing Henry had expected. His son was on the floor, vomit surrounding his head and crusting at the corners of his mouth. An empty bottle of tequila sat next to him, and a knocked over pill bottle was on the nightstand with only three pills still in it.

"Oh God!" Henry cried out. "Is he alive?"

Lassiter's fingers were already feeling for a pulse. "Yes." He leaned in, over the unconscious man. "He's breathing, but barely. Stay with him. I'm calling for an ambulance," he said, before exiting the room to call in from his car radio.

Henry was distraught beyond words. He clutched at his head and paced nervously while he tried not to break down in tears. Was this an overdose? Was it a suicide attempt? How long had his son been lying there? Thoughts of blame rushed at him. If only he had forced Shawn to talk, forced Shawn to get help, maybe this wouldn't have happened. It was his fault for not pushing, for not helping his son more.

Finally Henry knelt down next to his son and shook his shoulder gently, "Shawn… Shawn, please wake up." He shook his son again, and again, hoping for any kind of response. Then it came. Eyelids fluttered and breathing became more pronounced. Henry hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he exhaled. His son would be okay… he had to be okay. How could he break the news to Maddie if Shawn didn't recover?

He cradled his head in his hands again and looked at the floor. That was when he saw something odd. It was something he immediately recognized, but it was something so out of place, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He stared at the object, thinking that it was not real... just a hallucination caused by stress.

Out the window, Henry saw flashing lights and heard Lassiter say, "In this way" to the paramedics.

Without hesitation Henry reached down and picked up the object, stuffing it in his pocket before anyone entered.

After that, everything moved too fast. The paramedics rushed in and set up the gurney. Shawn's airway was cleared, and his pulse and breathing were checked. As he was lifted onto the gurney, he slowly gained consciousness.

Through a slurred voice, the men heard Shawn say, "What's happening?"

Lassiter looked at Henry and realized the father couldn't speak. This was no time to leave the young man alone in the dark. "You're going to the hospital, Shawn." Rarely did Lassiter use the psychic's name. Henry immediately picked up on this and knew that Lassiter was just as worried as he was. Should he tell the detective what was found on the floor? He couldn't. Not yet.

Suddenly Henry felt a hand on his arm. Lassiter was saying something.

"What?" Henry croaked.

"Come on. I'll take you to the hospital."

Henry nodded but didn't move his feet.

With a furrow of his brow, Lassiter peered into Henry's eyes and asked, "Are you okay?"

This snapped Henry out of it. He looked at the detective and replied, "My son almost died."

"But he didn't," came the immediate response. Lassiter gently pulled on Henry's arm, leading him to the car. This was not how he wanted his quiet morning to go.