Chapter Text
They got him at the pier by the Psych office. It was late, near 3AM. He hadn’t been able to sleep, not after everything that happened that day, too agitated to sit around and watch TV, so he resorted to staring out into the water.
He hadn’t canceled his date with Abigail, but during the duration of the movie, Yang had been at the forefront of his mind. He’d left the waitress- alive- in an abandoned lot that afternoon, with a note: See you soon.
Whether “soon” meant days, months, or a year, no one knew. When it became apparent Yang hadn’t kidnapped or killed anyone else, Vick sent him and Gus home. “We’ll see you in the morning,” she had said. “Call if you get a vision.”
He sorely doubted he would be seeing any of them this morning.
A woman and a man (Yang?) had rushed towards him, and in a moment of panic, he’d jumped into the sea, planning to swim away. They’d been waiting for him at the shore. The last thing he remembered was being pushed onto the sand and a rag being shoved into his mouth.
He woke up, his head pounding. The first thing he registered was his soaked clothes and the whirring of a machine. He groaned, groggily lifting his head. He was zip-tied to a chair.
He wasn’t dead.
The brunette woman who had helped attack him sat in front of him, a hairdryer in her hand. It blew warm air onto him. She was drying him… something he was surprised any accomplice of Yang would be doing.
She lit up at the sight of his opened eyes. “Shawn! You’re awake!” She set the hairdryer down on the floor and clapped. “I’m so happy.” She spun around in delight.
This woman's batshit crazy.
Shawn raised his eyebrow, trying to ignore his panic. “Who are you exactly?”
The woman’s smile grew into a grin. “Yang, Shawn! Yang!” She laughed at the confusion on his face. “You didn’t expect me to be a woman, did you?” She frowned. “That’s a bit miso-gynistic of you, Shawn.”
For a second, he thought she was angry, but just like that, she was smiling again. She hummed as she sat down on her stool. She picked up the hair drier and continued drying him. “We can’t have you getting sick, can we?”
“You’re Yang?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Shawn! Yes. I’m Yang, you’re Shawn. I feel like we can move on from the introductions, can’t we? We’ve already met once before.”
What?
Her humming filled the air, and for once, he was at a loss for words. As Yang dried him, he analyzed his surroundings. They were in a basement filled with stuff- what his mother would call crap- like tools, cans of gas, and the like. Things he could use as weapons, if he was ever able to get out of this chair. He could see windows on the top half of the walls and stairs leading upward to the house. Both exit points.
“What do you mean we’ve met before?”
Yang sighed and turned off the hairdryer. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Dad said you wouldn’t… but I do. You were so cute when you were a kid! I’ll bring the picture when I come back down again.”
She headed for the stairs. “Wait!” Shawn yelled.
“I have to go, Shawn, but I promise I’ll come back. You try and sleep some, okay?”
She turned the light off, and he was left in darkness.
---
He didn’t know what time it was, but when he woke up, there were rays of sunlight streaming in through the window. Daytime. By now, they would notice he was gone. He imagined Juliet and Lassiter going through the Psych office in all its messy glory. He imagined Gus and Abigail being interrogated. He imagined Henry pacing around the station, unable to do anything beyond wait.
Would they find him?
His phone was no longer in his pocket, that he knew. It was probably killed by the ocean water. That left the window as the best option of escape; as soon as he was able to get free, he’d open it and run. He tried not to think about how trapped he was here or how he didn’t even know if he was in Santa Barbara at all.
The good thing was, Yang didn’t seem like she planned to kill him. She had seemed almost childlike in her kindness… it was weird. She wasn’t what he had expected from a serial killer.
If only he could just get out of these freaking zip ties. There were many strapping him to the arms and legs of a metal chair that was bolted onto the floor. He tried to reassure himself- Physical strength was never his strong suit anyways; he’d have to use his brain to get out of this one.
He would get out of this.
As if on cue, the door opened, and Yang skipped down the stairs and sat upon the stool in front of him. She was holding a plate of pancakes in one hand, a fork in the other. Shawn’s stomach growled. She held up the plate, and he nearly drooled at the sight of stacked pancakes and maple syrup. When had he last eaten? Yesterday morning?
Yang grinned at him. “I brought you breakfast!”
“Well, I can’t exactly eat that with these.” He gestured to his tied arms with his chin.
Her smile morphed into a stone hard frown. Fuck.
Yang stood, eyebrows furrowing. “Dad said you’d try and trick me,” she spat. “I just wanted to be nice, Shawn.”
She threw the plate onto the ground, stepped over the shards, and stomped up the stairs.
Shawn spent the rest of the day staring at the pancakes, daydreaming of grabbing them and shoving them into his mouth. And worse, he began to feel thirsty. The Rule of Threes- a survival phrase his father had taught him- came to mind. How long a human could survive: Three weeks without food, three days without water. All he could hope for was that Yang wasn’t too angry and would come back soon. No matter how much he didn’t want to, he had to play her game. He realized now him not playing had caused his kidnapping. If he continued to be stubborn, God knew what Yang and her “dad” would do to him.
If he didn’t play, he wouldn’t have any chance at winning.
---
Hours later, when the sun was going down, she came back with Chinese take out. The paper takeout container was from a local place, Shang Hai’s. He was in Santa Barbara. Knowing that single fact alone made him feel so much relief- it wasn’t a difficult detail to discern, but it gave him some control. Without knowing it, Yang had told him something that he could use to his advantage.
He opened her mouth and let her feed him, no matter how humiliating it felt.
Soon, the container was empty, and she got up to leave.
He wanted to ask for water. But he couldnt push her. He could survive until tomorrow. So, instead, he asked her another question, one he hoped would build some rapport and answer some questions he had too.
“Will you show me the picture next time?”
For the first time this visit, her eyes lit up. “Yes. I will bring it.”
She didn’t pick the pancakes nor the plate shards off the ground. It was a reminder to Shawn: you’re not in control.
---
There were flies.
The buzzing was insufferable. It was hard enough to sleep in a goddamn metal chair, and the buzzing was making it impossible for Shawn to shut his eyes for long. Every time he opened them, moonlight lit the scene: flies, flies, and more flies having a feast with what should have been Shawn’s pancakes.
The buzzing would not stop, and the desire to hold his hands against his ears was stronger than any other want he’d ever had in his life. He would give anything to have his hands free.
He was going insane.
---
He dreamed he was trapped inside a beehive. No one could hear his yells above the buzzing of the bees.
—-
He was awoken too soon, early morning light filtering in. Nature was calling.
He was tired, he was thirsty, and he had to pee. He held it. He wouldn’t piss himself. He wouldn’t.
The flies buzz buzz buzzed.
---
She came down with nothing in her hands. Shawn didn’t know what time it was. Day. That was all he got.
“I need to use the bathroom,” he told Yang. She went past him.
“Can I have water?” he asked.
She ignored him. She walked around the basement, picking up random items and setting them down.
“Yang?” Play the game. “Did you bring the picture?”
That got her attention. She roughly set down the piece of wood she had been holding and let out a huff. “Daddy said they’re looking for you.” She turned to him, finally, crossing her arms like a little girl. “There’s a woman on the TV looking for you. There’s even a reward. He wants to turn you in for the money, but I told him you wouldn’t want that. You’d want to stay, right?”
He didn’t know what to do, was afraid if he told the truth she’d kill her, so he nodded.
She gave him a small smile. “You’re always so kind, Shawn.”
---
Eventually, he peed.
Buzz buzz buzz.
---
She crept into the basement in the middle of the night.
At the sight of him, she started to cry.
“I’m sorry, Shawn. I’m sorry.” She’s holding a water bottle in her hand, and he drank it all gratefully. She sat on her stool and held her face in her hands. “I’m a horrible host, Shawn. I’m sorry.”
She reached into her pocket, and for a split second, he thought she was pulling out a knife and he would be freed from the zip ties. Instead, she pulled out a framed photo and showed it to him. It was a picture of Yang and… him. Him as a child. Suddenly, he remembered the strange woman who had stopped him while biking and how excited she had been to take a photo with him. How when he asked his mother about her later that day, she had said, “Poor woman. Always so sad, but she seems harmless.”
Yes, Mom. Totally harmless.
“What do you think?” she asked eagerily.
Creepy. “It’s a nice picture.”
Yang smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She set the photo down on a nearby table so it would face them both. “Can I tell you a secret, Shawn?”
I’d rather you not.
“I haven’t killed anyone, and I don’t want to. It’s just part of the family business, you know? I know he wants me to take over… I just want my dad to love me.”
Shawn would be lying if he said he’d never thought that before.
Yang swung her legs back and forth. “I know he doesn’t love me. I don’t know if he ever will. I told him I’d do whatever he wanted if he didn’t kill you, if he let being a family like yours a chance, but I know his heart isn’t into it.”
That’s why she kidnapped him? Because she thought the Spencer family was living the American dream, and she wanted in? He couldn’t keep the iceness out of his tone. “My family isn’t perfect.”
“Your dad isn’t a serial killer.” She got him there. She sighed. “I’ll bring you clean clothes tomorrow.”
As she got up to leave, he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “You don’t have to listen to him, you know.”
She seemed to contemplate this, then looked at him with sorrowful eyes.
“What else would I do?”
---
In the morning, she came down and threw him a knife. She watched him carefully as he struggled to cut the zip ties, rifle in hand. It got easier once he got his right hand free- in less than a minute, he was standing. Free, sort of.
She ushered him up the stairs. His muscles ached at the sudden movement, and he had to stop himself from falling twice. He tried to map where they’re going. Past a sitting area, past a kitchen. As they turned a corner, he saw the front door, and the temptation to run is so strong he nearly stopped and stared. Then Yang nudged him with the gun and he was brought back to reality.
He’s locked in a room upstairs. It was bare, beyond a mattress on the ground in the center of the room, a lightbulb on the ceiling, and a bucket in the corner. There were a pair of handcuffs on the bed, attached to a chain that was stuck to the on the back wall.
Yang instructed him to put on the handcuffs. Once he did, he sat down on the mattress; his body cried in relief.
"So," Yang said. "What do you think?" She bit her lip, waiting for him to reply.
"It's great. Thanks." It was better than before, at least. Despite the handcuffs, an actual bed was much more comfortable than the chair in the basement.
“I’m so glad you like it. I'm really sorry about the cuffs, Shawn, but Dad thinks you’ll run if you don't have them.”
He nodded in response. “I understand.” I will run. I will play this deluded game, but as soon as I can, I will run.
I will get out of here.
"I knew you would, Shawn." She winked. "Let me get you breakfast. I'll be back in a jiff!"
As she shut the door, the door locked automatically with a deafening click.
He was going to be here awhile.