Air puffed around his lips- a fog of ice crystals that didn’t make sense with his memories of falling asleep in his warm bed. This, of course, was observed at about the same time as the odd position of the shadow shrouded wall across from him- all blurry and whatnot. It looked… wrong somehow. Blinking eyes didn’t clear his vision any better, but clarity improved enough for three things to strike him all at once. His ankles hurt, his shirt was missing, and he was upside down. A forth, and equally uninspiring observation that his wrists were bound at his back was less important than the fact that this could end very badly.
Shutting his eyes again at that moment was his best idea to date. It didn’t remove the dizziness, but it did allow a few more seconds of convincing himself that this was the product of tequila and spicy burritos in large quantities. Not that he’d intended to end the previous evening a stumbling drunk. He honestly didn’t remember drinking all that heavily. Two was his absolute limit after that week in Tijuana- his third trip and Gus’s first. Waking up on the beach decked out in a novelty sombrero and no clothing save for a filthy poncho had put a quick end to his career as a drunken hobo. Particularly after the panicked beratement Gus had delivered upon his stumbling return to the hotel. He never did find his jeans.
A stifled twist of nausea was unnecessary in reminding him that the lightheaded thing was so unfun. Coupled with the fact that it smelled rancid somewhere too close to where he was pulling off his fruit bat impersonation and his gag reflex was in overdrive. Swallowing manfully, he choked back the acid- somehow managing to keep everything down… er… up.
His little game of King of the Mountain against his gut went a goodly ways towards waking him up- renewing some of his memories to boot of that time previous to right now- be it yesterday or last week. Station- case- new lead- reporters- hacienda- flirty waitress- turned down invitation… Why had he done that again? Oh right, something to do with the creepy guy with the wedding ring staring him down from a few booths away. Recently divorced or playing the jealous card- either way Shawn hadn’t had any interest in getting into the middle of that one. So… so then he’d… what happened after the waitress again?
His fingers curled weakly as he tried thinking beyond the highlights. Maybe start from the beginning. Dad’s method, but much as it irritated him the trick seemed to work most of the time.
Okay. One a.m. Had to get up in spite of the cushy warmth and comfort of his mattress because the Slurpee he’d downed before bed had come back to haunt him. Bathroom break over, and he’d hit the covers hard without bothering to tuck beneath them. Nine…ish. This time his cell dragged him out of unconscious goodness. It was Gus, letting him know the chief needed to talk to them both and to get his lazy ass out of bed already. Skip past the shower and breakfast, he’d fast walked into the station just before ten. Gus had already shown up ahead of him and practically hauled him towards Vick’s office. Lassie and Juliet were standing near the desk along with a couple of suits Shawn had met three weeks previous when this whole thing had started. Agents Hood and Falkner had been running the show practically from the beginning much to Lassiter’s aggravation. Only his partner’s admonishment to behave as well as the Chief’s reminder that he not try to run afoul of the FBI again managed to keep his more homicidal reactions from coming out to play.
Ten missing persons over the last four months; all of them male between the ages of eighteen and thirty- five, all vanishing without a trace- no indications prior to their disappearing that anything was wrong. They hadn’t appeared on the radar until the third body was found. All of the bodies were practically skeletal- the effects of exposure, predation, and what looked like a cleaver destroying anything resembling evidence. No arms, no legs, though the head was surprisingly still intact allowing for dental identification as well as a pattern of mutilation that linked the cases together; missing canines and occasionally incisors. Even so, cause of death wasn’t completely clear. Sure, CSI made it look easy with a red cotton fiber and a pair of tweezers saving the day, but Gil Grissom wasn’t on the payroll and real life meant that DNA was only as good as the guy leaving it behind. Which he hadn’t. Which meant finding him required calling on resources beyond the gun and badge crowd.
YOU ARE READING
Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth
FanfictionThere are all types of criminals. Some are super cool art thieves. Some are big brothers who happen to be badass spies. Some are personalities that live inside innocent dudes who are, on the whole, pretty decent people. But then there are the bad on...
