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Lassiter was on the way to the scene that he had been called on to only a short while ago by Shawn. The phone was propped on the stand that was on a portion of the dashboard. Shawn was on speaker mode with no visual representation of him and Gus. Which wasn't that terribly often enough to be concerned that he wasn't face timing them. "Babe,""Spencer, we just got out of traffic." Lassiter started. "Be right there in a few minutes." O'Hara added. Shawn had a loud audible inhale. "I can't." Shawn said. "Do what?" Lassiter asked. "I can't..." Shawn answered. "I can't take you with me.""Spencer, what is this about?" Lassiter asked, irritated yet confused. "The spirits have told me there is evidence that Mr McDoogle did the crime at his apartment, it's in the closet, above the clothes, the dogs love meat sticks, meat in general, they'll be disarmed if you do that.""Relax, it is only shortly." Lassiter replied. "Jules, did you get that?" Shawn asked. O'Hara's pen was flying on the notepad."Got it down." O'Hara replied. "Knowing me I will have it forgotten by the time you get here in the frantic moment."Shawn was laughing on the other end."You could have told us after we got there about your vision." O'Hara said. There was a loud inhale as he heard the sound of Gus's voice calling Shawn's name out. "Shawn, we got to go!" Gus called, distantly. "Come on! Shawn!"Lassiter could hear him close his eyes in only a way a husband could. "There is a bomb at the crime scene." Shawn revealed.O'Hara's eyes flashed open darting toward the head detective who's mouth slightly fell, his eyes shrinking, frozen, the words piercing his icy heart leaving behind a emotional wall of shock and surprise."And we can't get out." Shawn sounded emotional in the moment full of heartache and regret. "Gus thinks there's still a chance we can..." The pair heard the sound of a pained sob. "I don't think so. Really don't see an exit out of here."Lassiter's heart leaped into his throat."Spencer, don't talk that way!" Lassiter barked. "The clock is ticking fast," Shawn sniffled. "and I don't know if either of you will get here fast enough.""Baby--""God, I wasted so much time."Lassiter can hear the sound of the fake psychic pacing around."With that argument, I took my time letting all those moments go by!" Lassiter shouted. "Not getting married sooner. Should have proposed to you earlier instead of years later..."Shawn's voice was full of dismay and disappointment but mixed with happiness having become legally tied to him. Lassiter was paused by the words. Oh, those words. Those were the words that voiced all the regret of going to him after the divorce, dating him sooner rather than later, entering the opening."That was the best thing I did!" His voice became animated. "Marrying you, Lassie." O'Hara covered her mouth. "Remember that.""Don't you dare." Lassiter's voice was on edge fighting back tears.O'Hara's eyes were emotional gazing back and forth. "Shawn!" Gus called distantly.Lassiter's foot met the pedal speeding on toward the building then came to a skid. The wheels squealing loudly in his ears, parking the car, staring at the building, unbuckling, briefly pausing seeing the blueberry parked across. None of it was a joke. Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster, his life partner, were there, stuck, locked in the building. "I love you, babe."Shawn's voice was much like the way it was during the wedding only a few months ago, sincere."Baby, calm down." Lassiter instructed with calm and ease. "We're going to get you out of there."There was a sob over the phone call like Shawn knew the odds were against him going in there in the nick of time. "And I always will..." Lassiter can hear the tears in his voice that cracked. "no matter where." He can visualize Shawn hanging up then closing his eyes and lowering the phone embracing the ending while his best friend was fighting to live behind him.Lassiter unbuckled and flung the door open then ran toward the building as his heartbeat echoed in his ears heading toward the front door. Then the house exploded knocking back the two detectives to the front lawn and the first thing O'Hara heard was the sound of Lassiter's screams of anguish. She was up to her feet, stopping him, preventing the head detective from joining the psychic in the sweet thereafter. His lone scream rang in her ear drums. Two dogs were barking at the fire missing their collars.Lassiter was emotionally numb for the next few days returning to a abandoned apartment and the psych office gathering dust. Waiting for them to come back like they were going to reappear right behind him and be laughing about the scare that fooled him and everyone else, most importantly the men who had tried to kill him. Appearing with a grin smacking Lassiter's back with a smile being silly and grinning. The warm lights in the office with the cozy light colors. The green text was bright as ever.Shawn's specification had came in handy and still nailed the murderer against the wall who had claimed two guys he knew did it (except they couldn't be found)Firefighters had scoured the house for survivors and arson investigator, Morgan Conrad, investigated where the fire started. What they found were two corpses side by side quite a distance apart looking like their wrists were tied and damaged iphones were found nearby the corpses.The world without Gus and Shawn Spencer returned into the same dark and cruel world that was gritty. He felt young, alone, and empty. If he could only go back in time and shake his younger counterpart's shoulders demanding that he didn't open the cage to him then maybe he wouldn't have this severe pain in his heart. The last thing that had been given to him over Shawn Spencer was a death certificate that mattered very little to him."In my honest opinion, I don't think that was Shawn." Woody said. "They were in there." Lassiter snapped. It wasn't an award handed over for their achievements. "Have to disagree," Woody said. "they were most definitely not.""He called me from in there--" Lassiter's voice started to rise. "I couldn't in the right mind sign the death certificate as them." Woody said. "You didn't." Lassiter frowned tilting his head so slightly. "He's got big tells.""You didn't write them down as John Does, Strode!""The chief tore that up and told me to make another paper." Woody said.It had been digitized before he snatched it out of Woody's hand in a moment of heavily being insulted. "List it." Lassiter requested."The phones, namely." Woody began to explain. "Shawn's necklace would've burned into his skin. Gus's phone would have been standing out of his pocket instead of being found on his person, it's quite a big iphone! And the phone case--sure the fire can eat it away but portions of the back survived and I didn't see the brand's name.""Slightly big contrary to your opinion, Carlton." Juliet spoke up.Lassiter ripped the paper in half then tossed it into the trash can with a fake sarcastic smile."Denial at it's highest." Lassiter said."The Iphone 6 was pretty big compared to the earlier models and they've been getting bigger ever since." Woody remarked.Juliet saw that familiar bitter, sour, sarcastic, smile. Reduced to the way that he had been all those years ago in the raw pool of emotions turning away from the morgue that had two burnt up corpses. He couldn't face the corpses even after the fire department fought the fire until it was down."Shawn Spencer is in your morgue and so is Burton Guster." Lassiter stated, annoyed, bordering on rage, and exasperation. Woody wore sympathy so well with a shake of his head that Lassiter felt like charity. "If that's true then why aren't you the one identifying the body?" Woody asked. "He's got a dad who can do that." Then he rebutted. "If isn't him, then why did you hand over a file with his name on it?""The chief hired an outside ME from Las Vegas. Albert Robbins, something like that. Or maybe it was Henry Morgan. Some big shot who was kind in trying to lift finger prints from the corpses. I asked that the guy with guts do a face cast just to quell my concerns about the corpses since men can't call with their hands tied up."Lassiter didn't hear the rest of that monologue after the words fingerprints. "You can't lift a finger print from burned corpses!" Lassiter stepped forward raising his voice. "Difficult but not impossible." Woody replied. Juliet grabbed the head detective by the shoulder stopping him from going further. "And." Juliet said. "The corpse didn't have finger prints on the fingers, weirdly." Woody remarked. "Fire must've ate it."Lassiter turned around then began to walk on from the morgue heading out of there in the fog of grief hanging above his head. Lassiter sat there on the edge of the empty bed gazing out the widow with a uneasy breathe. He got up to his feet then walked out of the room heading into the living room. When he looked to his side right at the couch with a pillow, he could expect to see Shawn's head to bob up waving the remote and offering him to watch a horror comedy featuring deadly squirrels. That brilliant supernova of a smile that lit up the entire room. Shawn and he had had discussed largely about kids, engaged on surrogacy, Lassiter's sister had helped out on the whole effort as had Shawn.There was a surrogate who was walking around with a baby cooking inside of her.Their baby.The news that she was expecting had lifted them together that one night bringing happiness to the couple and joy that their family was growing. The apartment felt alive and warm in that moment. Full of smiles and laughter between them holding on to each other. The joy filling the room in a thoroughly delightful way. A moment that was over. He rubbed his face at the mostly empty small table. If he had only gotten there in time and kicked the door open, flew in, searched for the psychic, faced him, seeing that big stupid grin, or, otherwise, how grave Shawn looked turning away when the bomb was set to go off at any moment. The fear in his eyes that they were leaving their baby behind as a orphan. Just getting to be there at the time of death going along would have been better than being here without him. The only physical things left of Shawn Spencer was his DVD case and his plaids hanging in the closet still nice and not wrinkly (courtesy of Gus and his ironing). The black DVD case resting on the table in front of him facing the head detective waiting to be open and a DVD to be slipped out. Something resting right in front of him on the table. Taunting him to open into the soul of his dearly departed partner. Full of movies that he loved so dearly as much as he loved the head detective. Lassiter thought of the day he joined the fake psychic years from now---and then the dam broke. Lassiter wept in the confines of the apartment. The department was eerily more quiet than it was before with only the sound of phones ringing, footsteps, the occasional scuffle from those under arrest being brought in to holding. Approaching Lassiter about there being funeral plans was a painful subject to breach. Pretending that Shawn wasn't dead was something that most unanimously agreed on. The soul of the police department still out there on the run or something like that in some case that was hard pressing for him that making everyone think he was dead made the air ease around them. A couple days after the death certificate was ripped apart, Juliet was called out off from her desk. Her line of vision shot over toward the office where the psychic once roamed. The singing that Shawn sometimes did, the acts, the performances, the men exchanging 'suck it', 'I heard it both ways', 'I can't do this with you right now', and 'Gus, don't be a ---'. Words that she never had a chance of hearing being uttered once again. Turns out no one could deal with Shawn's absence with the seriousness that was deserved and process that he was gone. "Juliet, how is he doing?"Juliet was in the chief's office facing her with the door closed behind her. "Not terribly well." Juliet answered She turned and faced the direction that his office was in. "It's been only a few days." Vick reflected. Juliet turned back in the direction of the chief. "Can you attend the funeral, chief?" O'Hara asked. "If there was one being held."Vick looked aside for a moment with an inhale. "I don't think I can." Vick replied, regrettably. Juliet lowered her gaze for a moment with her arms folded against her chest then lifted her gaze up. "He isn't attending the funeral, either.""And?""He needs to talk to someone."The pain was so raw and the hurt."How sure are you that this is getting to the bottom line?"The bottom line being the head detective's investigative techniques and performance on the field."I tried to talk to Henry yesterday about making him talk," Vick closed her eyes as the junior detective spoke. "Henry refuses to believe Shawn's gone, said he won't be attending a sucker's funeral, a stranger's, his son could easily escape that."Two tears fell down her cheek recalling those words."Acts like Lassiter is not holding a funeral.""Good, good..." Vick said, lowering her gaze with relief. Admitting Shawn was gone was hard on the entire department. "Good?" O'Hara repeated, surprised. Vick pressed her lips together looking back up toward her."I can't attend their funeral." Vick revealed.Juliet's face faltered as her eyes became saddened and sympathy wrote over it thinking how everyone was having a tough time. "He... he... he..." Juliet started with great difficulty. "he snapped in front of a suspect on a unrelated case.""Which one? The Calfree or the Macualo?""The Macaulo one.""Oh, God.""Flipped the table over demanding to know the location of Mr Macaulo's partner and if he told, he might get a plea deal.""Did he?""Not after we found the body."The silence hug between the two women. "Holding up well, Juliet?" Vick asked."Doing better than I was yesterday," O'Hara lowered her gaze the back up facing her. "taking it one day at a time."Vick studied the sorrow on her face for a full moment before making the decision. "I will be calling a sanctioned psychologist consultant in for the entire department." Vick explained. "A counselor can only do so much. Being an outsider...""Won't have the tact needed for these discussions." Juliet finished, helpfully. Vick cleared her throat in a moment of emotional heartache. "His mom will help them heal as we help her." Vick said. A painful saddened smile came from the junior detective then she was dismissed.
Lassiter and Henry sat side by side between the table outside of the family house. Henry could feel the sadness radiating from the head detective. Pouring right out of him with each sigh. The cool air hanging there between them with the sound of waves lapping against he beach nearby. Henry breathed a heavy sigh at the unjust situation.
A can of cold beer in each other's hand as the sun was setting in the distance after a morning full of fishing. A sigh full of content on the older Spencer's breath contrasting guilt and regret. The man wore a blue plaid that had various other shades oft the color with very little white in it. He could tell it wasn't one of Lassiter's due to the sleeves not being long. It also looked a little too big on the head detective for that matter.
"Is that one of Shawn's plaids that you have on?" Henry asked.
The head detective's nod was a little too brisk while gripping the can.
"Yep."
Lassiter took a sip then lowered the can on to the table with a sigh
Henry sighed leaning back facing the head detective.
"Speaking of which, I have been meaning to talk---"
"We're not taking about when we tell the kid about their other dead dad."
Henry's eyes softened on the mourning man.
"About the office." Henry replied, softly.
Lassiter's cold gaze shot over in surprise.
"Psych?" Lassiter asked.
Henry nodded, this time, gently.
"The boys an't pay the bills up front." Henry continued on leaning forward clasping the can with his hands. "Mind elsewhere and full attention on a very risky case."
Lassiter sipped from the can listening to the older man.
"The boys are gone, Henry." Lassiter's voice was full of anger.
Henry faced him for a moment.
"Did the two of you talk about who pays the rent when Gus can't chip in?"
Lassiter shook his head very grimly.
"No, no, Spencer." Lassiter denied, sadly looking aside at all those fleeting moments. "Never seemed necessary to hold that particular discussion."
Henry's eyes rested on the younger man who had graying side burns and gray streaks on the crown of his head.
"I need to ask about this," Henry put it. "The place is abandoned, empty space, storage worthy, and store front material, but we both know that Shawn would never be over having to open Psych in a new building."
Lassiter took another sip from the can then lowered it back down.
"You're the landlord." Lassiter assumed.
Henry closed his eyes in response to the comment.
"As of after the death certificate," his eyes opened facing the head detective. "yes," then he added the next breath, lowering the can, sighing. "temporarily."
Lassiter eyed at him as he took another sip then set his mug down.
"Sell it to someone who needs it, Spencer."
Henry let go of a deep breath and looked up toward him.
"I can't do that."
"He would want you to."
".....Maybe not."
"What's eating you up about selling the office?"
"Consider myself the current key keeper of it."
"Like the executor of a will."
"Someone who judges when it should be closed, keeping the place warm, these two left suddenly, leaving it there, running off, almost tempted to renovate it and hand it over to someone else to run... but," Henry sighed with a shake of his head. "I know they're going to come back one day and turn my world upside down."
Lassiter looked at him with his lips lowered facing him in a moment of utter sympathy.
"Can't bring the dead back." Lassiter reminded.
Henry took a long sip from the beer then faced the head detective.
"The dead are very capable of having surprises behind them." Henry lifted his hands up then shook them.
Henry breathed a sigh.
"What I am trying so say is, would you like to keep it as a memorial for Shawn?"
"Not ready for that. Not yet."
"Neither am I ready to go into it."
The men clunk their cans together then Lassiter cleared his throat before ending the short term silence.
"How are you handling his absence?" Lassiter asked, curious, sipping from the can, then lowering it.
Henry shrugged with a sigh.
"Handling it." Henry admitted.
"Poorly." Lassiter guessed.
Henry lowered his head then shook it.
"Numb a little." He looked back toward the fence in front of the house and back with careful consideration.
Lassiter mulled over the thought of raising his own child early than expected and he got to outlive them. The emotional turmoil twirling within his chest. The immense well of sorrow contrasting against the divorce ten fold including eclipsing the loss of Shawn Spencer. A world that lost it's light. He tried to imagine being in Henry's position. Finding himself unable to do that.
The silence swallowing in the moment shared by the threads being unraveled from the sudden absence of a psychic. He should've predict this in the end. Should've seen it coming and given the head detective a heads up then again, Shawn wasn't that kind of psychic. He saw the past strictly. Sometimes it was metaphorical, wrong, and incorrect, the spirits having confusing times remembering who did it. That's how he wrote off the errors not that Shawn got things wrong along the way to solving a case.
"How do you feel about planting your feet and staying one place more than a year, Carlton?"
Lassiter turned his attention back toward the older man with a nod.
"Sometimes, I thought about it." Lassiter confessed
Henry's eyebrows knitted together.
"Didn't discuss it with Shawn?" Henry asked.
"It didn't feel real some days, and, we had room, we have a nursery all set up--we largely planned just for that one kid."
Understanding the pain and heartache left behind by the psychic was all unique. It took a lot for Lassiter to crack open and the wounds to begin to hurt in the heart. Henry was a harder nut to crack and that, that, that would take longer. Every men had their deadline when it came to breakdowns over loss. There was hope that it wouldn't be a terrible one compared to his own. The man who had raised the sharpest detective deserved a soft moment of weeping and a little swearing at his son's good heart while smacking the table alone in the darkened house.
"Think about it."
Lassiter's head turned back toward him in alarm.
"You're thinking of selling." Lassiter said, flummoxed.
Henry sipped from the beer can then set it on to the table.
"The house has memories." Long memories. "Too many." Henry shook his head reflecting over the memories that could constitute as a 80s or 90s family comedy television show. "If I stay there too long then it's like he can walk in. Staying too long knowing he's gone--you don't have that same association with the house as I do--"
"Does the house have pieces of him." Lassiter cut him off.
Henry faced him for a moment thinking back to all the things that were still in storage.
"Plenty of them." Henry answered
"How long can you hold it before getting a real estate agent involved?"
"Not long."
The head detective tore his attention off back toward the fence seeing the specter of a event from years ago playing out finding them side by side.
"How much do you want for it?" Lassiter looked toward his father in law.
The chief came to a stop by the head detective's desk one day then beckoned him to her office. The head detective was simply not terribly there taking the cup of tea that was offered and seated at a table that had been offered to him. The chief was quiet for a long moment seating on the other side of the table.
His eyes were focused on the drink feeling the void intimately where life should be bouncing around behind him and the antics that they had testing his nerves beyond measure mostly self inflicted guiding Shawn right into this path by not believing him. He was never meant to become a widow this soon. He was meant to die before the psychic. The psychic was supposed to outlive him. He was a divorced man for a few years, and now, for the rest of his life, he was meant to be a widow. Except this one got to complain and fondly recall him with admiration.
Shawn would still be here if he had never forced him into that position.
Shawn would still be alive if he never stepped foot into the interrogation room.
Shawn would still be alive making calls to the tip line and Gus would still be working selling pharmaceutical medicine to doctors.
Two lives were simply gone and it was all his fault. Something that was eating him alive from the inside. Guilt hanging in his heart.
They didn't talk about anything for that matter in the room for a long moment drinking tea together spending time with one another.
Abruptly, Lassiter got up, turned away then left the office and closed the door behind him watched by Vick. She wanted to open her mouth but she closed her eyes and nothing came out instead. The events of prior to the explosion had been quietly forgotten as a seemingly easily solved and moved on case. A choice had been made.
Time had been in short supply and a rush had been placed in the moment that made his absence all jarring for the police department. She looked out the blinds taking a glance of the department knowing the truth and having to live with it and unable to clear the depressing air in the department was worse than what they were going through.
Vick walked away then she returned to her seat at the desk and sighed.
"Have you told Detective Lassiter?"
"Err..."
"Agent."
"His partner is under the impression it's one of the beat cops and not the psychic."
The conversation from earlier with the us marshal, Ivian Machauauto, played in her mind, seated across from her.
"How did you manage to do that?" Vick asked, incredulous.
"Asking questions about the department's relationship with the psychic." Machauauto answered with regret and bitterness how the misunderstanding had exploded. "And how good he is being what he does."
"There's an answer here that he is safer among us than away." Vick protested, leaning forward.
"Chief Vick, he is more at danger not being watched over, and assigning a cop, on him, it's going to end, and he and his friend will end up dead, and it'll be on you." Machauautio pointed back at the chief then lowered his hand and sighed. "Your psychic has made his decision, he's not letting him. Not after the main threat escaping. The boss level dragon."
Vick turned her head ever so slightly with her eyes set on him.
"Think we can't catch the perp?"
"He's got connections to security detail and fixers." Machauautio replied, then sighed lowering his gaze. "He came to us after reporting in that murder scene after the escape."
"The Galgaro one." Vick stiffened.
"The psychic was not really all that well after that bloody crime scene." Machauautio reflected looking aside. "Gruesome scene I came across. Wish I could I say it was the worst."
"Spencer doesn't need to be afraid of that specific suspect escaping." Vick assured.
Machauautio's dark brown eyes shot over toward her.
"There is more people like that man out there, chief." He wore a dark expression reminding her of that. "and your psychic can't take being murdered before his husband gets home and missing out on being a father forever!"
Vick wished she could lift the phone then stand up and smack it against the receiver without drawing attention.
Shawn and Gus had been gifted a free way of not being suspected of being in witness protection on a silver platter. An unexpected way that would insulate them from harm and being sought after. The person who had seen him needed to believe that Shawn was dead. A fool would allow Woody to call them John Does. A hard decision that she didn't take lightly.
She knew fear just as much as Santa Barbara and knew the fear of not being there. She didn't understand why the ones to see that face during the unexpected shooting (meant to be investigating a private case for a wealthy client) had to be Gus and Shawn.
The day that Lassiter became a father changed the normal that he had reluctantly became adjusted to. A new life landed into his arms in a pink blanket cradling her with care and affection gazing down upon her with such affection. A small baby that brought tears to his eyes standing there in the warm light alongside a window.
A little chunk of his husband was in the room with him.
He kissed Lily Nora's forehead then looked down as she wiggled her small little fist.
Henry arrived shortly there after then looked at the baby in Lassiter's arms who handed her over.
"What's my granddaughter's name?" Henry asked.
"Lily Nora Lassiter." Lassiter said, softly.
Lassiter looked aside waiting for Gus to show up, Shawn alongside him, one hand gripping the pharmaceutical salesman's shoulder steadying himself.
Painful reminders that Shawn and Gus were wiped clean out of his life for the foreseeable future.
Lily Nora slipped into his life changing the trajectory of it forever and made life become bright again.
Seven years passed in a blur. The head detective demoted himself after three years being chief, then transferred himself out of Santa Barbara, and, he hated the administrative work, every little thing that involved paper after paper after paper that lacked the prestige of shooting down someone in the name of justice and the community. He felt like a wee little devilish detective in a seat of power with those thoughts hanging over his head.
He remembered the way it had started years ago, and slowly, hating, dreading, the paperwork. An entire mountain that gave him paper cuts from time to time. He simply demoted himself upon seeing a tower of paperwork. He loved filing paper but reading them was another story and not being in the field. Lassiter was adamant on not growing a beard. Still was not budging on the issue despite comments from Lily Nora on how good that actor with his face looked with a mustache and a lovely beard. She compared him to the couch guy on Courage the Cowardly Dog on his stubborness about trying out a beard.
He spent a good chunk of years out in New York getting acquainted with the various consultants and the detectives who slowly warmed up to him.
The old house back in Santa Barbara was their summer vacation home.
Kept in contact with O'Hara who had moved to San Francisco.
He was transferred out of New York to New Jersey eventually.
"Dad, why are we going to the animal shelter?" Lily Nora asked.
Lily Nora grew so fast before his eyes that it was remarkable.
"Because you want a dog, pumpkin." Lassiter replied.
She had Shawn's attentive hazel eyes and his dark brown hair that Lassiter learned to braid on his own with notable struggles and flaws that became flawless over time.
The guilt had become less as harsh on his heart and the pang of loss always hit him on least expected days. Easier to live with any marching day. Something that he didn't think about as much anymore. Hard to think that he was used to this new normal. That he had moved on from Shawn Spencer.
So he didn't think about it.
At all.
"Grandpa said a dog needs a dog house." Lily Nora replied.
"The apartment is a dog house," Lassiter argued back against his daughter's assertion. "we got a dog bed, dog food, dog bowl, and poop bags."
"Grandma and Ms O'Hara agreed with him." Lily Nora replied.
"Those two don't own the dog." Lassiter opened the door then walked in with his daughter in the lead.
Lily Nora took in the building with awe and the design that seemed loud, paw prints everywhere, portraits, a wide screen TV playing air bud, and a couple posters of movies heavily featuring dogs scattering around the building.
"Is this a hollywood studio for pet pictures or a animal shelter."
'It is a animal shelter." A voice that Lassiter recognized drew his attention, toward a figure, except with hair, and a goatee, staring, dumb struck.
Lily Nora walked on past Lassiter tugging him along with a firm grip on his hand and he worked his jaw.
"If that is true then why are there so many movie posters?" Lily Nora asked.
The face so distinctive but that face was burned up and consumed by fire.
"Because everyone love pets!" the name tag on the man's blue polo read 'Elijahiciaua Stone'. Who happened to be wearing an wedding ring with a series of framed photographs around the desk facing him that Lassiter couldn't see without getting alarmed himself at one particular face. "I love the Dog Who Saved Christmas, really laugh worthy."
Then his brown eyes shifted over.
"And you're in for what pet exactly---" the man wore that smile facing the head detective. "Mr?"
Lassiter shook his head at the jarring image of a man long gone.
"Sorry," Lassiter apologized. "you just reminded me of a man who got blown up."
Lassiter watched his eyebrows shoot up in alarm.
"Blown... blown up?"
"Uh huh." Lassiter confirmed with a nod. "It's a very generic face. I see it a lot in my field."
"What's your field?"
"Homicide, namely." Lassiter began to explain withdrawing a hand then put it into his pocket. "Some of the times it involves corruption, abductions, and robbery." He flipped open his badge revealing his name. "I heard this was a no kill shelter."
He watched the man's brown eyes flip open wide shooting over toward him then back up and down.
"It is in fact a no kill shelter, we don't transfer pets to kill shelters. Huh, Detective Lassiter, as in that guy who brought in the Yin Yang killer?"
"That was O'Hara." Lasster replied. "Just recently got transferred over."
"Oh, sorry about your loss."
"It is fine, Gu--" he stopped himself from acknowledging the receptionist by someone long deceased. "Mr Stone."
"Shouldn't you be like a chief by now?"
"I hate administrative work."
"He once shot a guy instead of doing paperwork." Lily Nora said.
The receptionist looked up with his eyebrows lifted and slightly opened his mouth.
"And then got demoted." Stone said.
Lassiter grimaced at the story telling done by his daughter and the receptionist.
"I demoted myself." Lassiter corrected the record. "No shooting incident required."
The receptionist tilted his head staring at him with his hands placed against one another and elbow resting on the counter.
"Who transferred you?" Stone asked, curious.
"Consultant for the mayor, Trout something." then he shrugged it off with ease. "Eh, not my problem. Heard he's still running the department and they hate it."
The man handed over the clipboard after moving the paperwork under the slip of metal.
"Uh, please, sign this clipboard," Lassiter looked up toward the younger man. "we'll get right on with you," His brown eyes shot over toward the waiting room. "seat over there, detective."
Lassiter turned away--
"And you've got hearing aids?"
The sound of alarm in the other man's voice was so startling.
"Bad hearing." Lassiter turned back tapping on the side of his ears. "My partner kept insisting..." then he stopped himself from sharing that specific memory with a stranger and his smile faded. "I got these little buggers a week before the incident."
Lassiter walked down the corridor returning to the waiting room then filed out pieces of paper. Lily Nora sighed seated beside him with her eyes trained on the screen. He heard the man at the reception desk flee while jotting down important paperwork regarding number, house address, names, living arrangements, and email address.
He can feel Lily Nora's stare on the empty seat.
"The man is probably out on an emergency operation rescuing an abused animal and it's all hands on deck."
Lily Nora leaned forward looking at him very curious.
"When did you start watching Animal Planet?" Lily Nora asked.
Lassiter was taken back to that couch watching an episode with Shawn the night before it happened.
"I haven't watched Animal Planet since the incident." Lassiter said.
"That guy was acting a little weird for someone who didn't know you." Lily Nora said.
"People are weird, like that one incident where there were these people from Daytona Ohio at a Galavant fan event, we only met one of them, then it turned out there were six others, or somewhere that escapes me."
"It was Dayton, dad, not Daytona." Lily Nora said.
"And then it turned out there was a murder among them, finishing something off, trying to kill the others, it was a whole thing actually."
"Moral of the story is that there holds a chance that he is a killer." Lily Nora said.
"Moral of the story is that people are naturally weird, pumpkin." Lassiter replied. "Murdering aside."
Lassiter finished filing the paperwork. Then clicked the pen so the tip returned inside of the small and thick device. He got up then approached the desk and dropped it on to the table. The door opened revealing the receptionist as Lassiter turned toward the door facing him. The receptionist flashed a smile then took the clipboard, excusing himself, so tense, and left closing the door behind him.
That was quite an odd behavior. Lassiter shook his head turning away then returned to the waiting area. There was an Airbud movie playing across from them drawing laughter from Lily Nora and the occasional smile from the head detective who waited patiently to be called forth.
The door opened this time with the receptionist returning to behind the desk and taking his phone out then placing a call with his back to them.
A moment later the door opened.
"Carlton Lassiter!"
The voice was loud enough that it struck a chord in Lassiter's heart tugging at a string that hadn't been pulled with how sudden and lively that it were.
Lassiter's attention swayed from the television set facing an older man with a notable beard and well aging features approaching fifty. Pronounced baggy eyes and small laughter lines. If he chiseled off all age then he might as well be seeing that familiar young man whom he married for a time and failed to save on time.
"Right this way."
Lassiter got up to his feet alongside Lily Nora then followed him into the hallway then into another hallway full of barking dogs. Dogs that were scared in the cold rooms that had been outfitted completely in comfort ranging from recliners, beds, dog toys, and blankets scattered all over the place. There was dog bowls in front of the transparent doors.
"That is Aurora Phelps, not to confuse with the dual national who did a romance scam on steroids, she's a biter, still not ready to be adopted yet."
His eyes shot over toward the poodle that was silent.
"That's Anna Sorokin, this dog scams you out of good couches, we're still working on it, no, she is not up for adoption."
Lily Nora paused in front of a German Shepard staring the dog down that was in the middle of whining holding up a paw.
"What about that dog?" Lily Nora asked.
Lassiter felt sympathy for the poor thing.
"That dog pretends to have problems and scams money out of her owners like Amanda Riley."
"A dog can't pretend to have medical problems." Lily Nora said.
"It can when it wants attention."
"Aw, that dog is cute."
"And don't look at Sharlton," Lassiter looked at the name tag. "he may look like a nice dog," Then he followed the man. "but he is hardly dog ownership material for a schnauzer," he tapped on his palm while talking like a presenter for a dog show as part of his performance. "he's a menace."
"What about this one?" Lassiter questioned.
The young girl looked over toward a small white dog.
"Spencitter's name is literal, he puts his butt on your face and spends time there,"
The pair walked on.
"I like how creative his name is." Lily Nora whispered.
"His name calling is nothing compared to your dads." Lassiter replied.
"He must have been good at it." Lily Nora said.
Lassiter smiled in response then lifted his head up catching the sight of a name tag read 'Gules' as he passed it.
"What about the calmer dog over there?" Lassiter asked.
"That is Lassie Sassy the husky and his cat friend and the cat's friend. They are a bonded trio. Do not separate, the cat is his emotional support." Lassiter looked over toward the pair that were sleeping together in a large dog sized bed. "The dog is too sassy for his own good."
He came to a stop at the quiet part of the corridor.
"This is the right dog for a man of your standing, detective."
His cagey blue eyes shot over toward the dog that had a name tag reading Morrissey and the dog looked striking familiar.
"We just rescued him from a drug house." His golden name tag read Charles Burthweriz Tomb that clashed against his dark yellow jacket. He wore a wedding ring and engagement ring. "he was the guard dog."
A light bulb went off above the head detective's head.
"That dog was at my last crime scene!" Lassiter spat, raising his voice looking back and forth.
"And Morrisey was proven innocent by that professor consulting with the New Jersey Police Department."
"He tried to bite me." Lassiter whined.
"Wasn't his fault." Tomb replied.
"Everyone is at fault for their actions, and inactions, if no one was at fault for what they did, we wouldn't have prisons out there either."
"Morrisey is a dog, detective." Tomb replied.
"Does that give me an excuse to be late for something important then?" Lassiter asked, bitterly.
Tomb wore a strange look, tinged in concern, tilting his head, squinting, before moving on.
"Trained to be mean, to be bitey, to pounce, and chase people." Lassiter looked toward the dog that tilted his head back at him with no growling or barking. A completely different dog from what the head detective had seen. "However, compared to most dogs here, fortunately, he is very easy to train out of those behaviors."
Lily Nora leaned forward as the man continued to talk.
"Just throw some food his way and he will leap on you then attempt to lick your face silly."
The way that the man was so animated in the way that he talked. Age creeping into his voice. He had those familiar eyebrows and that set of hazel eyes that Lassiter had loved. Almost identical to them if for the exception of being aged considerable since he last looked at them.
"Daaaad, can we give him a chance?"
Lassiter stared at him lost in thought thinking for a long moment about the similarities.
The man was like if Shawn had a glow up. Talking like was the king of the world, all knowing, sincere, and kind. Tomb had that glow about him right at his prime and highest at his life. Painful reminders. .
"Dad!""
Lassiter turned his attention back toward her then faced the dog that was panting.
His eyes shot over toward her pleading puppy eyes.
"Aww, alright, pumpkin." Lassiter relented to the pleas. "if you insist, we'll take him."
"Yess!"
Lily Nora did a fist pump and a little dance pretending to strum a guitar bouncing around. Oh, she had a lot of Shawn in her.
Shaw---Tomb opened the door then Morrisey leaped out and tackled the head detective to the floor with a yelp viciously licking his face.
"Get this mangy mutt off my chest!" Lassiter barked.
Tomb withdrew the Belgian Malinois then hooked him up to a leash as the dog wagged his tail proceeding to bounce back and forth giving the head detective a bark.
"Looks like he really missed you, detective!" Tomb laughed.
"Feeling is not mutual, Mr Tomb." Lassiter retorted as Lily Nora helped him up to his feet.
Tomb grinned in such a Shawn Spencer way then Lassiter snatched the leash from his hand and proceeded to walk away.
Lassiter came to a stop alongside one of the name tags catching sight of the word 'Shassie' instead of sassy. His gears started to roll as he walked on by the name tag then filed out the paperwork and handed over the standard fee to adopt the pet. Things that had happened long ago began to replay in his mind. How the chief insisted on it.
"This never happened." Lassiter's words were audible to the receptionist as Lily Nora was in the middle of hugging the newly adopted dog.
Lily Nora didn't notice her father wedge a white note on the window facing the inside of the building with her attention on to Morrisey.
"Pumpkin."
"Yeah, dad?"
"Might give the beard a shot."
"Might!"
"Just might," Lassiter emphasized. "And if I look like I'm wearing a fake beard as part of a costume, it's gone."
"What changed your mind?" Lily Nora asked.
He looked over toward the grinning seven year old.
"Thinking about your dad." He turned his attention off.
"Do you know those two?"
"Not personally." Lassiter lied.
"That receptionist knew you, dad." She lifted her eyebrows facing him.
"And we're going back to Santa Barbara, old case, something came back up, just need to do a bit of lying and... I think there were two other people who died with your dad and his friend seven years ago."
Tomb opened the door then withdrew the paper watching the car drive away then smiled turning away with a smile as the door closed behind him. Smacking the paper against the palm of his hand looking soft and fond over the letter. Swallowing quite hard over the emotionally charged moment. Not knowing when that could happen. In contrast to the hopeful words that felt like this could be all over in a few months.
The letter read; Come to the old house after the trial is over.