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A New Perspective on an Old Theme
folder
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,674
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,674
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 2 -- Lost Him . . .
Slowly, he slid to the steps, and didn’t know where to grab . . . at the suddenly hot pain in his side or the heavy numbness in his chest. However, it didn’t take long for the screams to sound, the guns to whip out, and every policeperson on the steps to assume, correctly, that they were under attack from someone unknown and unseen.
“Shawn!” Juliet’s cry sounded funny to him, as if it came from a long distance away, but even as Lassiter stood over them, holding his gun pointed up and out, Shawn groaned, and knew he had to get the man’s gun pointed in the right direction.
“Roof,” he croaked, and his arm shaking badly, pointed at the building across the street.
“Okay, everyone!” Chief Vick said as she took over the scene, proving that her appointment to the office of Chief was not a mistake. “Whoever it was is in that building! Mcnabb, get all non essential people back into the station! The bomb threat was obviously a ruse to get us out here! Hardcase!” She shouted over to an older, grey-haired Caucasian man, who snapped to attention, though he kept low. “Take your team into the building and get them to the roof immediately! McCormick!” Another policeman looked over at her, and she nodded. “Yeah, you! The shooter hasn’t had a lot of time to escape, so take a team and do a floor by floor search!” She touched Shawn’s shoulder from where she knelt by him, even as Juliet tore off her jacket and pressed it to the large, nasty, bloody wounds on Shawn’s chest and side.
Shawn inhaled sharply, and groaned. “Chief Gage!” Karen yelled, and a dark haired, trim, handsome man, who was obviously a fire chief, looked up at her. “We’ve got a man down! Get your paramedics up here! FAST!”
The dark-haired man nodded, and suddenly, he and two others rushed up the steps, as what had been chaos mere minutes before, turned into an orderly procession into the building, eventually leaving only Juliet, Lassiter, Karen, and the paramedics, who promptly ripped Shawn’s shirt off, and assessed his injuries.
Lassiter holstered his weapon, and knelt silently by Shawn’s side as he gazed at the white face of the man he’d thought had been the biggest pain in his butt since his father-in-law.
“Next time, Spencer,” he snorted unkindly, though his blue eyes reflected worry. “Just say, ‘gun’. That’s how the real police do it.”
“I . . . I’ll keep . . . keep that . . . in . . . mind,” Shawn whispered, and suddenly, he gasped aloud, as fiery pain exploded throughout his body.
His body convulsed, and they lost him.
Then got him back.
Then the ambulance came and they lost him again.
Then barely, got him back.
Got him to the hospital and on the operating table, and lost him again.
“Shawn!” Juliet’s cry sounded funny to him, as if it came from a long distance away, but even as Lassiter stood over them, holding his gun pointed up and out, Shawn groaned, and knew he had to get the man’s gun pointed in the right direction.
“Roof,” he croaked, and his arm shaking badly, pointed at the building across the street.
“Okay, everyone!” Chief Vick said as she took over the scene, proving that her appointment to the office of Chief was not a mistake. “Whoever it was is in that building! Mcnabb, get all non essential people back into the station! The bomb threat was obviously a ruse to get us out here! Hardcase!” She shouted over to an older, grey-haired Caucasian man, who snapped to attention, though he kept low. “Take your team into the building and get them to the roof immediately! McCormick!” Another policeman looked over at her, and she nodded. “Yeah, you! The shooter hasn’t had a lot of time to escape, so take a team and do a floor by floor search!” She touched Shawn’s shoulder from where she knelt by him, even as Juliet tore off her jacket and pressed it to the large, nasty, bloody wounds on Shawn’s chest and side.
Shawn inhaled sharply, and groaned. “Chief Gage!” Karen yelled, and a dark haired, trim, handsome man, who was obviously a fire chief, looked up at her. “We’ve got a man down! Get your paramedics up here! FAST!”
The dark-haired man nodded, and suddenly, he and two others rushed up the steps, as what had been chaos mere minutes before, turned into an orderly procession into the building, eventually leaving only Juliet, Lassiter, Karen, and the paramedics, who promptly ripped Shawn’s shirt off, and assessed his injuries.
Lassiter holstered his weapon, and knelt silently by Shawn’s side as he gazed at the white face of the man he’d thought had been the biggest pain in his butt since his father-in-law.
“Next time, Spencer,” he snorted unkindly, though his blue eyes reflected worry. “Just say, ‘gun’. That’s how the real police do it.”
“I . . . I’ll keep . . . keep that . . . in . . . mind,” Shawn whispered, and suddenly, he gasped aloud, as fiery pain exploded throughout his body.
His body convulsed, and they lost him.
Then got him back.
Then the ambulance came and they lost him again.
Then barely, got him back.
Got him to the hospital and on the operating table, and lost him again.