a thousand mistakes // psych

Chapter 5

Lassiter's POV

Shawn grabbed my arm, dragging me out into the middle of the parking lot. My shoes scraped against the cement, and I could feel every scuff of my perfectly polished toes in my very soul. God, I should've changed into my work shoes. Guster sprinted a few paces behind us, already pulling out his cell phone.

"That's it," he panted, waving a floppy hand at nothing in particular, "I'm calling the Chief."

"Cool it, Gus," Shawn said. "What did that meceptionist say, again?"

"Meceptionist?" I asked, rolling my eyes and shoving my gun into its holster.

"Yeah. Male receptionist."

"It's like a murse, or a manny," Gus explained.

"Don't let O'Hara hear you say that. She'll go on one of her long feminist rants." I ran my hands through my hair and took a deep breath. "And he didn't say anything. Nothing useful, anyway. Just a bunch of rehearsed family-emergency bullshit."

Gus blinked slowly, clearly trying to compose himself. "Okay. Um, not trying to be the wet blanket, but that dude had a gun."

"Yeah, and he also said that he knew where Jules is! You think I'm not beating myself up enough for not taking him in? Or, even better, taking him out?" Shawn's jaw was clenched, his fists tight. I shook my head.

"Don't be ridiculous, Spencer. If you'd done anything, we wouldn't be able to get any information out of him." I tried to muster up a supportive pat on the back.

He dodged my hand. "Yeah? Well now he's gone. I hope you're happy."

"Happy?" I seethed. "Maybe if you hadn't completely neglected her, we wouldn't be in this situation."

"You're putting this on me? Really, Mr. I-Only-Care-About-Juliet-When-I'm-About-To-Lose-Her?"

"She's already gone," I growled, trying to pretend the insult didn't sting.

"And you're done caring?"

"I'm not-"

"I can't believe you'd give up on her," he said. "What if it was Marlowe?"

"Don't you dare. Juliet's my best friend, it hurts me just as much as it hurts you."

"Does it?"

I stared at Shawn, his suddenly and dangerously quiet voice tearing at me. Gus raised his eyebrows at me protectively, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Of course I felt bad, of course I was struggling to cope with Juliet's... disappearance. I felt like shit, regardless of her questionable choice in men.

"Juliet is my everything," Shawn choked, his hands shaking violently. "I'm not a sappy person, I've never really been a fan of all the cliché couple stuff, but all of the chocolate boxes and bouquets in the world can't even touch to the happiness I want to give Juliet every day. And she's probably dead, gonna be presumed dead soon, the higher-ups are just itching to leave her case unsolved, I know that. But I can't ever believe them. I won't. She's my everything."

"I don't want to give up on her!" I protested.

"If it were my best friend," Gus butted in, "I wouldn't give up. You must be outta your damn mind if you think I'd ever just accept that he was dead."

I took a deep breath, glaring at the two best "psychics" the Santa Barbara PD has ever had the displeasure of working with. "I'm not giving up, Guster. She's... There's never been anyone I've cared about more. Um, other than my daughter and my wife."

"Good," Shawn said. "If you ever decide to abandon her, I'll shoot you with the gun the chief is bound to give us eventually."

The air seemed to grow colder; I would've been worried about hypothermia if I wasn't a highly trained machine of a detective with bigger problems than losing a few toes. Shawn and Gus exchanged glances and quickly turned away for a rapid, hushed sidebar. I caught the words 'porcupine,' 'soulmate,' and 'gingerbread house.' Spencer's inability to cope with the real stuff was abundantly clear, and each supposedly off-handed joke he mustered was an icy reminder of the situation at hand.

I never should've let O'Hara leave Santa Barbara. I never should've let the Chief take her away from me. It's all my fault.

I'll never get a chance to tell her...

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's that?"

"Gus, can you please -"

"No," Guster insisted, "look at those scuff marks. Lassie!"

I spun around, ready to curse him into next week for disrupting my angst. Then, I saw them: a series of dark red streaks leading out of the parking lot and to the wooded area behind the plaza.

Shawn had noticed them, too. "Holy shit. Buddy, you're a genius!"

Dropping to my knees, I traced my fingers through one of the oily marks. "Looks like our guy was running, but with a severe limp."

"Innocent men don't run," Guster informed us grimly. I nodded, dramatically staring up into the grey sky.

"Looks like this case -"

"Hang on," Shawn interrupted, "we already knew he was involved."

"So?" Gus asked.

"So the fact that he ran doesn't help us."

Guster shook his head. "I don't understand."

"We knew he was guilty. Innocent is the opposite of guilty," Shawn continued pointedly.

"Yeah, okay. So what?"

"Gus, are you - okay," Shawn said, clearly exasperated. "We already knew all that, so your whole thing about how he's guilty because he ran doesn't matter."

"Actually," I interjected, "we knew that he ran, too."

Shawn nodded emphatically. "Yeah, exactly. We literally saw it happen, man."

"The only new facts were that he was probably limping and that he went into the woods," I said.

"Man, I never get any of those cool lines. Can't you just let me have this?"

Shawn shook his head. "Can't do it."

Guster shot him a loud 'tsk' before striding away towards the woods. Spencer and I were close behind, and I tried to let the silence give me enough time to finish my thought.

I'll never get a chance to tell her...

It didn't work. I couldn't choke out the words, even mentally. It's possible that I'll never be able to vocalize the fact that Juliet meant more to be than I'd ever managed to admit.

I'll never get a chance to tell her the truth.

< photo creds to @/det.julietohara on instagram >