A New Perspective on an Old Theme
folder
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,903
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,903
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Psych, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 12 -- Dead Woman Spitting
% % %
“I hate hospitals, Dad,” Shawn said, his face pale, as his father sat with him later that week, and he shivered, as though he were cold. “I can never get warm enough in them, and it’s really bad now.”
“Shawn,” his father, even though he had been going home and getting his sleep, and paying attention to the visitor times, was no less worried about his son than he had been before, said, and he shook his head. “You’ve already got four blankets on you now.”
“And the food sucks, too,” Shawn continued as if Henry hadn‘t spoken. “Dad, you’re a much better cook than these guys ever thought of being.”
“Shawn,” Henry reigned in his temper. They had this conversation every day and Henry had to remind himself he really was glad that Shawn was alive to be having the conversation with . . . even if it was repeatedly. “You just had major surgery. You have to work up to steak and fresh pineapple gradually. At least they let you have pineapple gelatin.”
“SO not the same thing, Dad,” Shawn grimaced, and then groaned as he looked over his Dad’s shoulder, and saw the same woman he’d seen for the last two days, standing in the middle of his room.
This woman was different than the first one who‘d appeared in his room -- the one who had been covered in mud -- although the sequences in their appearances were the same.
This latest one, while not covered in mud and filth, had, the first time he’d seen her, been covered in some sort of green slime, and he swore he could almost smell something like rotting vegetation as it wafted from her. The next time he’d seen her, though, also just like the first (who’d been a rather attractive woman with bright blue eyes and long, light brown wavy hair to her shoulders) was completely naked, though cleaned up and with a rather nasty, stomach churning autopsy ’Y’ in her chest. And there she was again, exactly as the first, though this one had soft brown eyes and short ebony hair, wearing a hospital gown that, fortunately, covered everything up to and including the autopsy incisions.
Shawn?” Henry suddenly sat up in his chair and looked sharply at his son. “Are you all right?” he all but demanded, and Shawn squeezed his eyes shut.
He’d very quickly learned that no one but he could see the women, or any of the other people he saw in the corridors of the hospital, for that matter -- the ones without expressions and the ones who ignored all the people to the point they had a tendency to walk through them. He knew this because when he’d told people what he’d seen, they’d run and gotten the doctor, and Shawn was immediately besieged with various tests from the vampires who resided in the hospital, and then was sedated.
Two times and that was more than enough of that.
“Yeah, Dad. Fine,” he grinned and steadfastly ignored the woman, who spit out a Boo Berry, and disappeared. He REALLY hated it when she did that. He hated that as much as he’d hated the first woman who’d spit out Apple Jacks at him.
“Did you see . . . something . . . again?” Henry asked hesitantly, veeeery hesitantly, almost as if he really didn’t want to know, and Shawn shook his head.
“No, Dad. Saw nothing. I’m fine. See?” He grinned at his father and was unaware of how maniacal it actually looked . . . or how sickly at the same time. He cleared his throat. “I was just thinking about another bowl of that gelatin. You know they said I could have one any time I wanted. Although, I’d actually prefer a pineapple popsicle. Any chance I could get one of those?“
“I’ll see, Shawn,” Henry sighed in frustration, and didn’t point out that a few moments before he’d just been complaining about how cold he was, and that a popsicle, no matter what flavor, was not going to make him any warmer. The older man stood, left the hospital room and Shawn looked at the spot where the woman had spit out the Boo Berry. It had faded just as she had, just as the other woman and her Apple Jacks had, and he let out a loud sigh, even as he let his head fall against the pillow.
A cold draft blew through the room, and Shawn shivered. “Damn it, Dad!” he exclaimed. “It’s freaking cold enough in here already without you letting in every draft in the hallway!”
No one answered him, and he opened his eyes and growled . . . loud and long. There was the woman again, and she approached the bed.
“I hate hospitals, Dad,” Shawn said, his face pale, as his father sat with him later that week, and he shivered, as though he were cold. “I can never get warm enough in them, and it’s really bad now.”
“Shawn,” his father, even though he had been going home and getting his sleep, and paying attention to the visitor times, was no less worried about his son than he had been before, said, and he shook his head. “You’ve already got four blankets on you now.”
“And the food sucks, too,” Shawn continued as if Henry hadn‘t spoken. “Dad, you’re a much better cook than these guys ever thought of being.”
“Shawn,” Henry reigned in his temper. They had this conversation every day and Henry had to remind himself he really was glad that Shawn was alive to be having the conversation with . . . even if it was repeatedly. “You just had major surgery. You have to work up to steak and fresh pineapple gradually. At least they let you have pineapple gelatin.”
“SO not the same thing, Dad,” Shawn grimaced, and then groaned as he looked over his Dad’s shoulder, and saw the same woman he’d seen for the last two days, standing in the middle of his room.
This woman was different than the first one who‘d appeared in his room -- the one who had been covered in mud -- although the sequences in their appearances were the same.
This latest one, while not covered in mud and filth, had, the first time he’d seen her, been covered in some sort of green slime, and he swore he could almost smell something like rotting vegetation as it wafted from her. The next time he’d seen her, though, also just like the first (who’d been a rather attractive woman with bright blue eyes and long, light brown wavy hair to her shoulders) was completely naked, though cleaned up and with a rather nasty, stomach churning autopsy ’Y’ in her chest. And there she was again, exactly as the first, though this one had soft brown eyes and short ebony hair, wearing a hospital gown that, fortunately, covered everything up to and including the autopsy incisions.
Shawn?” Henry suddenly sat up in his chair and looked sharply at his son. “Are you all right?” he all but demanded, and Shawn squeezed his eyes shut.
He’d very quickly learned that no one but he could see the women, or any of the other people he saw in the corridors of the hospital, for that matter -- the ones without expressions and the ones who ignored all the people to the point they had a tendency to walk through them. He knew this because when he’d told people what he’d seen, they’d run and gotten the doctor, and Shawn was immediately besieged with various tests from the vampires who resided in the hospital, and then was sedated.
Two times and that was more than enough of that.
“Yeah, Dad. Fine,” he grinned and steadfastly ignored the woman, who spit out a Boo Berry, and disappeared. He REALLY hated it when she did that. He hated that as much as he’d hated the first woman who’d spit out Apple Jacks at him.
“Did you see . . . something . . . again?” Henry asked hesitantly, veeeery hesitantly, almost as if he really didn’t want to know, and Shawn shook his head.
“No, Dad. Saw nothing. I’m fine. See?” He grinned at his father and was unaware of how maniacal it actually looked . . . or how sickly at the same time. He cleared his throat. “I was just thinking about another bowl of that gelatin. You know they said I could have one any time I wanted. Although, I’d actually prefer a pineapple popsicle. Any chance I could get one of those?“
“I’ll see, Shawn,” Henry sighed in frustration, and didn’t point out that a few moments before he’d just been complaining about how cold he was, and that a popsicle, no matter what flavor, was not going to make him any warmer. The older man stood, left the hospital room and Shawn looked at the spot where the woman had spit out the Boo Berry. It had faded just as she had, just as the other woman and her Apple Jacks had, and he let out a loud sigh, even as he let his head fall against the pillow.
A cold draft blew through the room, and Shawn shivered. “Damn it, Dad!” he exclaimed. “It’s freaking cold enough in here already without you letting in every draft in the hallway!”
No one answered him, and he opened his eyes and growled . . . loud and long. There was the woman again, and she approached the bed.