A New Perspective on an Old Theme
folder
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,921
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,921
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 21 -- Now You're Free, What Do You Do?
Shawn very carefully stuck to the side streets as he seemingly carelessly walked down the street. He had no money in his pockets -- apparently his father had taken his wallet along with everything else, as he didn’t find it in the room -- so he knew that taking any kind of public transportation was out.
He thought over his options and sighed. There weren’t a lot of them. He couldn’t go back to his apartment -- that was the first place they’d look for him. He couldn’t go to Gus’ place. That was the second place they’d look, not to mention the fact that Gus would probably kill him before he could explain. He also couldn’t go to his father’s for obvious reasons, which left the office. He left things there, like his own clothes, just in case: especially after the incident with the pineapple juice, fish oil, and the toothpaste.
He shuddered just to think of that and vowed never to think of it again. It truly had not been one of his finer moments.
He winced as he looked around at the streets, and grew physically nauseated at what he saw -- many grayish, stone-faced people were walking amidst the technicolor people on the street, and Shawn knew that there were a lot of dead who hung around -- a lot more than people suspected, and they could have cared absolutely less than nothing about the living people.
He clenched his fists as a laughing, cuddling couple walked, blissfully unaware, through one of the dead people, and Shawn envied them their ignorance.
“Seeeee,” one of the people hissed, and pointed at Shawn, who swallowed and one: willed himself not to heave and/or keel over, and two: not to see . . . or hear, but that was a hope-in-vain, so he concentrated on staying upright and continuing to walk.
At one point, he ‘found’ a bicycle that had been left unlocked outside a coffee shop. Casually, he looked around, and just as casually, grabbed the bike by the handlebars and walked off with it until he rounded a corner and mounted.
“What?” he frowned at the grayish figure of an elderly woman, who frowned disapprovingly at him. “I’m borrowing it. It’s a long way to the office. Besides, I’ll put an ad for it in the paper saying I found it, okay?” He sighed. “And, Lady, I gotta’ tell you, being dead, it’s not like you’re going to be able to tell anyone. Also, the next time you see a bright light coming down on you, just kind of hop into it, okay? It’ll be better for you in the long run, than staying here scowling at people who borrow bicycles . . . trust me on that one, ‘k?”
He pedaled away and refused to look back. It took him just under an hour to get to the office, and he carefully scoped the outside just in case anyone was around, until he decided it was safe. He kept low to the ground as he dug out the fake rock that held the spare of a spare key that Gus had placed, just in case Shawn lost his.
Which was completely unreasonable of course. Anyone could lose two copies of one key in a week. After all, they were small, hydrangeas are large . . . kind of like the husband who had been chasing him at the time.
He thought over his options and sighed. There weren’t a lot of them. He couldn’t go back to his apartment -- that was the first place they’d look for him. He couldn’t go to Gus’ place. That was the second place they’d look, not to mention the fact that Gus would probably kill him before he could explain. He also couldn’t go to his father’s for obvious reasons, which left the office. He left things there, like his own clothes, just in case: especially after the incident with the pineapple juice, fish oil, and the toothpaste.
He shuddered just to think of that and vowed never to think of it again. It truly had not been one of his finer moments.
He winced as he looked around at the streets, and grew physically nauseated at what he saw -- many grayish, stone-faced people were walking amidst the technicolor people on the street, and Shawn knew that there were a lot of dead who hung around -- a lot more than people suspected, and they could have cared absolutely less than nothing about the living people.
He clenched his fists as a laughing, cuddling couple walked, blissfully unaware, through one of the dead people, and Shawn envied them their ignorance.
“Seeeee,” one of the people hissed, and pointed at Shawn, who swallowed and one: willed himself not to heave and/or keel over, and two: not to see . . . or hear, but that was a hope-in-vain, so he concentrated on staying upright and continuing to walk.
At one point, he ‘found’ a bicycle that had been left unlocked outside a coffee shop. Casually, he looked around, and just as casually, grabbed the bike by the handlebars and walked off with it until he rounded a corner and mounted.
“What?” he frowned at the grayish figure of an elderly woman, who frowned disapprovingly at him. “I’m borrowing it. It’s a long way to the office. Besides, I’ll put an ad for it in the paper saying I found it, okay?” He sighed. “And, Lady, I gotta’ tell you, being dead, it’s not like you’re going to be able to tell anyone. Also, the next time you see a bright light coming down on you, just kind of hop into it, okay? It’ll be better for you in the long run, than staying here scowling at people who borrow bicycles . . . trust me on that one, ‘k?”
He pedaled away and refused to look back. It took him just under an hour to get to the office, and he carefully scoped the outside just in case anyone was around, until he decided it was safe. He kept low to the ground as he dug out the fake rock that held the spare of a spare key that Gus had placed, just in case Shawn lost his.
Which was completely unreasonable of course. Anyone could lose two copies of one key in a week. After all, they were small, hydrangeas are large . . . kind of like the husband who had been chasing him at the time.