Aria (a psych fanfiction)

Chapter 4: Backstory

She told them about her everyday life, how she and Mom would go to the library, or to see a free show in the park, or to Broadway theaters to gaze up at the brightly lit marquees and dream about what it must be like to enter the theater itself. How she inherited her love of opera and show tunes and old movies from her mother, how she had learned, through games of tag and of tossing back and forth Frisbees and baseballs found abandoned in the park, how bad of an athlete she really was, and how, overall, it really wasn't a bad life, if you knew where to find the Dumpsters with the freshest foods, which fountains had minimal security so that at night you could scoop out handfuls of shiny, wet coins, which parks had the best tree coverage in the event of a storm.

"...but then, last year, Mom got really sick - pneumonia, I think? Anyway, she died, and I was left on my own." She hummed music from Les Mis under her breath as she took another bite of pizza.

"That's awful," Shawn said sympathetically, as Gus began to tear up.

"Yeah." If you only knew what really happened...But she wasn't about to deviate from the pneumonia story. The real story of her mother's death - the real reason why, at fourteen, Aria had left New York City and traveled across the country - was a part of her life the girl had tried desperately to leave behind. "But enough about me. You two are obviously close - how long have you known each other?"

"I dunno. Forever?"

"Good enough. But what I really want to know is, why do you pretend to be psychic?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I don't pretend. I am. It is a gift that chose me."

"Right. I have a different theory."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. I think you're just really observant. Maybe you have a photographic memory or something, I dunno, but either you're really, really good at drawing conclusions, or just incredibly lucky." She cocked her head, thinking. "Or both. I mean, don't worry, it's not like I'm gonna tell everyone. Anyone. I don't exactly have anyone to tell, anyway."

"I never admitted to anything."

Aria shrugged before finishing the last of the pizza. "Suit yourself." She stretched, relishing the warm, lazy feeling of having enough to eat.

Gus jumped in where the conversation left off. "So, why did you come back to the office this morning?"

"I..." Aria lowered her head, nervous. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday. With the fake Girl Scout troop and stuff."

"Aha!" Shawn pointed at her. "I knew it! Where's the wallet?"

"I - what? Oh my God, are we really still on that? I don't know anything about a stolen wallet!"

"Riiiiight. And Patrick Swayze wasn't in Footloose."

"Patrick Swayze wasn't in Footloose, Shawn," Gus cut in.

"What?"

"He's right," Aria agreed. "Maybe you're thinking of Dirty Dancing?" Shawn gave her another incredulous look. "What?" she defended herself. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look, just because I live on the streets does not mean I have no concept of pop culture, okay? And this only proves my point more. Patrick Swayze was not in Footloose, and I did not steal a wallet. That's not even what I was talking about!"

"Okay, then, Miss Homeless-Pop-Culture-Know-It-All," Shawn huffed, "what were you talking about?"

She suddenly grew quiet again, her eyes darkening. "I was talking about the murder from yesterday. I'm the one who called in with the tip."

She had expected any reaction but the one she received, which was a minute of unbroken laughter from both men.

"What? I did!"

"Right! Sure!" Shawn said in between laughs.

"The caller was a man," Gus added, gasping for breath.

"Then how would I even know about the call? I checked the newspaper this morning, and that little detail wasn't released." Shawn and Gus's chuckled slowed down as they realized the valid point she was making. She continued, deepening her voice, "Hello? SBPD? There's a dead body in the foyer at eighty-seven Burns Avenue. Please come immediately. There's a lot of blood, she's a woman, middle-aged."

Shawn and Gus stared at her in horror, their eyes nearly popping out of their heads. "That," Gus finally said, "was creepy."

She shrugged, brushing off the comment. "I'm good at imitating voices and singing and stuff. I can't throw my voice, though...believe me, I've tried. Anyway, I...I do this thing sometimes when I really need money, where I go knock on people's doors and tell them I'm selling stuff, and that they have to pay up front. I don't ask for a lot," she added quickly. "Five dollars, max. If they try to buy more than that, I tell them we're out of stock or something. And I don't do it a lot, only when things are really really desperate." She looked at them helplessly, waiting for a disapproving glance or critical comment, but there was no visible response on either of their faces. "So, um, that house was the first one I went to. And I knocked on the door, and it just opened, like it hadn't even been closed to begin with, you know? And the lady fell, and when I looked past her all I could see was blood on the walls, and it made me rem-" She stopped short, squeezing her eyes shut. "Really scared. It made me really scared. I screamed for a second, I wasn't really thinking, but then I came to my senses enough to look at the house number and run. It was horrible."

Gus looked nauseated at the mere mention of blood, and just nodded in response. "Yeah, sure sounds like it," Shawn said, squinting in discomfort. He cleared his throat. "Well, don't worry about it. You did the right thing, calling the police."

"Yeah, I guess. It really freaked me out, and I though maybe if I came clean...I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking." She fidgeted, playing with the edge of her napkin. "So...where to next?" They hadn't discussed what they were going to do about her living situation since that morning, and she hoped to keep it that way for as long as possible. As soon as she had the chance to run...Or, the desire to run, rather. She couldn't help but bask for a while in the feeling of being protected, of being cared about. It was a feeling she hadn't had since Mom died, and it was one she didn't want to let go of any time soon.

Except that love was weakness. Her mother's love for Aria had gotten her killed. In a way, the past year's isolation had protected Aria because she didn't have to worry about anyone else getting hurt. After all, there was no one left for her to worry about.

And it needed to stay that way. Which is why I have to leave as soon as possible.