Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Chapter 26: Stirring the Pot

“It was another lesson. 'Rule of nature, kid. The big fish eats the little fish. Could be worse. You could be the little fish.'”

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Lassiter had faced his share of unnerving. Near the top of the list, finding a partially butchered Spencer in the pit of hell; the only thing more emotionally shocking was the night his partner had nearly taken an end over end from the top of a clock tower. He could shake it off his back like water from a wet dog. Usually. Still had his share of gasp inducing nightmares about both the pit and the tower; the former a memory in vibrant black and red detail while the latter was a water washed what-if of blue seeped streets and shattered bone spattered in crimson – blonde strands dragging out from the ruin like the dark ending to an ancient and wretched fairytale. Funny... that they were such stark opposites, yin yang, the tower and the dungeon. The princess and the prince. And he, the white knight in both of those scenarios. Inner loathing at that descriptive. Some knight. Great for those big gestures and riding off into the sunset, but the day to day was more than he could manage at times. Like right now.

Spencer was freaking him out. The laughter wasn't steady – trickling away to chuckles – but every little while something else seemed to strike him and he'd go off again. Anxious that talking to him or approaching him would flip the bizarre hilarity into terror, Lassiter had stowed away the fishing gear and dug out his phone.

Barely finished the first ring before Henry answered – old coot must have been gripping his cell in his fist for the past two hours.

“Henry...”

“Where the hell are you?”

Rubbing his hairline never chased that particular headache away but it was a decent relaxation device. Better than counting to ten anyhow.

“Look, forget that right now. Something is...” How to get across the problem tactfully... How would O'Hara phrase this? “I think Shawn is losing it.” O'Hara wasn't there and it wasn't like he was the token psychic with the so-called gift for channeling.

“What? What happened?”

Shawn was back to near silence again – shoulders trembling as he held back his laughter. If it wasn't for his eyes, squinted in fear and seeping tears, Lassiter would have waved it off as any other day in the world of Shawn Spencer.

“I don't know. We were talking about fishing when he just... started to crack up.”

The speaker rasped with the gruff breath on the other end of the call. Henry was silent a few moments – enough that Lassiter could hear the ambient sounds around the old man and realize that he was no longer in the station. The deduction confirmed with Henry's following words.

“I'm headed to the house. I need you to bring Shawn here but, Lassiter, you need to go easy on him, alright?”

“Yeah,” no shit...

“If he doesn't cooperate, don't force him. If he gets aggressive or panics, call me and I'll meet you there.”