Chapter 8 - Break Out (July)

You make me dizzy
Running circles in my head
One of these days I'll chase you down
Well look who's going crazy now
We're face to face my friend
Better get out
Better get out

You know you make me breakout

Foo Fighters- "Break Out"

            Shawn waited until it was dark. They had very few people roaming the halls at night. Why would they though? Most of the people here were bed ridden catatonics. There were only one or two people who made hourly rounds, like clockwork. So as long as he didn't dance around the halls (like he could anyway) Shawn figured he could at least make it to the door.

            Wincing slightly he put his feet down and his slippers on before taking a few tentative steps. Despite his "accident" on the parallel bars, he'd done his best to get back on his feet. Actually participating helped a lot.

            Go figure.

            He was able to stand on his own now, and take some wobbly steps. Aiden was ecstatic about his progress, as was the rest of his friends and family, but he'd have to do better than just walking tonight. He had a mission. Trevor Jones needed to be stopped and he'd be damned if something as annoying as 'not being able to walk' would hinder him.

            He managed to get to the door and looked up and down the hallway. He was suddenly glad that they let people wear their own clothes here. Running around in an open backed hospital gown was not his idea of a good time, plus the conspicuousness of it would give him away in a second. Using the wall as support, he made his way down the hall, past the thankfully empty nurse's desk. She'd left five minutes before and would be back in fifteen.

            The squeaking wheels of a cart came from down the corridor and Shawn lurched into a doorway to stop from being seen. He prayed that they'd keep going, and not come down the hall he was hiding in. Flattened against a wall or not, they'd see him if they walked right past him.

            Please keep going!

            He breathed a sigh of relief when the squeaks became more distant as they headed down the opposite way. Continuing slowly down the hall, Shawn finally made it to the front doors with only a few minutes to spare before the nurse came back. There were cameras but he hoped they weren't watching them too closely, or this escape would probably be the most pathetic attempt in the history of the hospital, short of the paraplegic last week who used his wheelchair to try to climb stairs to freedom.

            The glass doors popped open easily, but he knew they would. His mandated reading as a kid included fire code laws as well as the penal ones. You can't lock viable fire exits. Shawn wanted to laugh in triumph, but he settled for a quieter amused snort. No use giving himself away inches from a successful get away.

            Once outside, with the doors latched shut behind him, Shawn took a deep breath through his nose, relishing the night air. He took a few shaky steps down the stairs in front. He made sure to use the rails as much as he could, his legs were already getting tired, but he needed to do this. Trevor Jones had to be stopped, and he was the only one that could stop him.

            Shawn looked around in awe; he had never realized how large the Cottage Hospital complex was. The front door lead straight out to De La Vina Street, which was where they'd look first as soon as they noticed he was missing, so he decided to go east and traveled down one of the side streets to avoid detection.

            As he ambled along, holding himself up on anything he could get a firm grip on, Shawn tried to think through all the places he could look to find evidence.

            The case was extremely cold, but there was always a chance and he doubted Trevor Jones just suddenly cleaned up his act in the last few years. He remembered something he'd overheard Trevor Jones’ boast at the candidate party he'd attended with Juliet. Gus had just gotten done telling him about the stuffed mushrooms and he was walking to accost Swaggerty about his involvement in the prior mayor’s death.

            "I've recently acquired some property next to the Santa Barbara Country club. Of course I'm already a member..."  

            The country club was only a couple of miles away. He'd find a phone book and see if Trevor had the property listed under his name. It was a start and he didn't have much time.

I can do this... Shawn grit his teeth and fought to get his uncooperative limbs moving. The thought of going two more blocks, let alone two miles, was almost too much. One foot in front of the other man. Just keep going.

            "Hey!" Shawn heard a shout behind him and turned to look. An officer in a tan uniform was approaching him from a squad car parked a half block away from him.

            Tan... Sheriff. Shawn remembered. He wasn't breaking any laws, and it was too soon for anyone to know he was missing, so he kept going. He can’t be talking to me...

            "Sir," The Sheriff Officer walked up closer to Shawn warily. "I'm going to need some ID."

            ID? Shawn paused and felt his pockets, even though he knew they were empty. He'd never needed identification at the center, so they'd never given his wallet back. For all he knew it was in a box in his father's attic. "No."

            The impassive look was gone from the officer’s features, replaced by a deep scowl. "Sir! You need to show me some ID."

            I don't need to show you jack. He didn't have to try hard to remember that cops need to suspect you of a crime before they demand an ID. He hadn't done anything. He really needed to get this guy off is back if he was going to get anything done.

"Go w−way!" He wanted to smack himself in the face for that one, Yeah, that'll show him...

            "Do not shout at me sir! Go stand over there and stay put!" The officer pointed next to a car on the curb and grabbed his radio from his belt. "This is Officer Bowden. I have a 647F on West Alamar Street. I'm taking him in."

            647F...I know that don't I? Shawn gripped a fist and put it to his forehead, closing his eyes tightly, Think! Think! He hit his fist against his head, trying to force the memory to come. His eyes shot open once it did, and he opened his mouth in shock. The idiot thought he was drunk.

            "No dr−dr…” Shawn protested as loudly as he could once the officer's attention was off the radio and back on him.

            Rolling his eyes, the officer grabbed him by the arm. Forcing him to move faster than his legs were capable of. "Sure buddy. You can convince them down at the station. Let's go." The officer tried to lead him towards the waiting cruiser but Shawn's legs were about to give.

            Damn it I don't have time for this! "No! M−move." Shawn shoved the officer back and stumbled forward. He caught himself on a light post near the curb. His arm shook with the effort of keeping himself upright, but it was better than the alternative of falling on his ass into the street.

            "Get on the ground!" The officer shouted once he’d regained his own balance. The man was obviously done playing games.

            Shawn ignored the order and pushed away from the light, but he wasn't all that fast. He glanced back and saw the officer pull a Taser and point it in his direction menacingly.

            Oh shit!

            "Last chance man! Down on the ground!"

            Turning around and stumbling faster, Shawn didn't get more than a few feet before he felt the barbs of the Taser dig painfully into his back. It was excruciating and all the fight he had, what little there was, instantly left and he slumped to the ground, hard.

            He lay there breathing in choked gasps while the officer radioed in that he had to pacify the "suspect."

            Ow ow ow ow ow! Once Shawn's head stopped spinning, he opened his eyes and realized things had started to glow, brighter and brighter. The Taser must have triggered something. He was about to have a seizure right out in the open and there wasn't time to say or do anything to get help. As the searing pain shot through his head signaling the start of it, his last coherent thought was that he might have made a mistake leaving the center.

------------------------------

            "Son of a BITCH!" Carlton shouted and slammed his palm against the steering wheel. Even with his brain scrambled eggs, Shawn was still a pain in his ass.

            Henry had called him in a panic saying that somehow during the night, Shawn had flown the coop. The guy could barely walk and he somehow got out of a secure hospital. Only Spencer could be that brash. He promised he'd look for him and kept an ear out for anything suspicious. Brash or not, Shawn could only make it so far without help.

            It had been at least five hours since they figured he escaped, and no one had heard anything. Not a word. As  Carlton thought about it, dread seeped into his thoughts. What if someone found him and figured he was an easy target? Lord knew the crime in this city was at epidemic levels.

            Carlton decided that looking at police reports from around the time Shawn escaped would be the best bet, so he headed for the station and his computer.

            He barely made it in the door when he was accosted by Buzz McNab, whose large frame practically blocked the way so Carlton had to talk to him. The tall officer's eyes were wide and panicky. "I heard about Shawn. I could get in a squad and go look for him. Would that be okay?"

Carlton was about to bark at him to move and tell him Juliet was already out looking with Henry, Gus, and Maddie, but realized Buzz wasn't trying to be annoying, he was just concerned for his friend. "Fine, go get a black and white. Let me know the second you find anything out McNab."

            After Buzz jogged off, Carlton headed to his desk. He paged through all the reports for the precinct but besides a few domestics and an assault, it had been a quiet night.

            "Shit." Carlton slumped into the chair and drummed his fingers, before suddenly remembering Buzz's reaction. Pretty much everyone in this station knew exactly who Shawn was, and what had happened to him. If they didn’t, they had been living under a rock for the past seven months. If any of the police had picked him up, he would have already been brought back to the hospital.

However, Shawn had never worked with the other law enforcement center in town; the Sheriff's office.

            Unfortunately, they didn't share a database with the SBPD, and it would be hard to explain the situation over the phone, so he decided to just grab his coat and take the ten minutes to drive over. He caught the eye of the Chief as he was leaving and she gave him a nod. Obviously she’d heard about what had happened as well, and had just given him the official go ahead to search. Carlton nodded back and headed out the door.

            The Sheriff's station was located on a larger plot of land next to the County Jail and the search and rescue center. There were only a few cars in the parking lot when Carlton pulled up and headed in the entrance. Good, less people to run into. Most of the Sheriff officers tended to get "owly" when the Head Detective of the police department walked in their door.

            The receptionist was typing away while talking on the phone and chewing gum. It sounded like a personal conversation to him, so Carlton didn't mind interrupting it. He  walked up and tapped the desk to get her attention. She gave him an annoyed look before continuing to talk on the phone.

            He cleared his throat and gave her a look, one that basically said, 'Get off the phone or your life will become very complicated, very quickly.'

            She ended the call and with a sneer she asked, "Can I help you?"

            He flashed his badge, "Carlton Lassiter. Head Detective for the Santa Barbara Police Department. I'm looking for any information you may have about a ‘Shawn Spencer’ or if you’ve had anyone report picking up an injured man in the last six hours. He figured he'd give the time frame some wiggle room just in case they were wrong about when Shawn had escaped.

            Sighing in exasperation, she turned to the computer and started looking.

            While he waited, a Sheriff's officer approached him and extended his hand. "Lassiter. Good to see you." It was someone he knew from the academy, but who had decided to join the Sheriff's office instead of the regular police force. He couldn't for the life of him remember his first name.

            "Officer Grayson." He greeted. The man wasn't too bad of an officer and had been very forthcoming with information in the past. Best to keep it friendly with him.

            "What brings the Head Detective down to our little shop?" he asked, leaning on the counter.

            "I'm looking for a police consultant that went missing from the hospital last night. I think he may have run into trouble since we haven't found him yet."

            Officer Grayson looked at the secretary who was just finishing her search. "Sally, you find anything?"

            She shook her head. "No, it was a quiet night last night. Just brought in a few traffic violations and a drunk and disorderly."

            Carlton's hopes crashed down. "Damn it."

            The officer cocked his head and asked her, "That last one is the guy who got Tasered?"

            "Yeah. Still hasn't woken up fully." Sally popped her gum.

            Chuckling, Officer Grayson stated, "Man, he must have had one hell of a night if he isn't sobering up yet."

            A cold feeling crept up Carlton's spine. "Wait... what was the man's name?"

            Sally looked back to the filing cabinet and dug out a new looking folder. "Doesn't say. He hasn't been coherent enough since confronted on the street. The officer involved said he just dropped when the Taser hit him. Had a bad reaction or something."

            "Give me the report!" Carlton demanded frantically, leaning over the counter.

            "Hey!" Sally protested and Officer Grayson's eyes widened.

            Carlton ignored them and scanned the report quickly.

            Notes from Officer Michael Bowden:

            Male, 140lbs, short brown hair, was seen walking unsteadily down West Alamar Street at 2am. He refused to show ID and refused to stop. Speech was slurred. Officer attempted to lead him to the vehicle but was pushed by suspect. Officer then ordered suspect to the ground and suspect attempted to flee. Taser was employed and the suspect dropped to the sidewalk.

            "Oh my God." Carlton felt like he couldn't breathe. They couldn't be that stupid. It can't be Spencer. He continued reading.

            The suspect continued to shake and was slow to recover after Taser was no longer in use. Suspect did not regain consciousness but had a steady heartbeat and breathing. Officer concluded the suspect had passed out due to intoxication and was carried by officer to the patrol and brought to Santa Barbara Sheriff's Office for processing.

            The Taser could have triggered a seizure. A small voice wheedled into Carlton’s thoughts, but he still hoped it wasn't Shawn. The next page was what convinced him he was wrong.

            Identifying Marks: Recent tracheotomy wound on neck. Scar on upper lip and chest area. Appendectomy scar.

            He angrily looked up at the shocked faces of Grayson and Sally. "Show me where this man is. Right NOW!"

            "He's in the drunk tanks sleeping it off. What's wrong?" Officer Grayson asked, raising his hands, indicating that the Head Detective slow down.

            Carlton took a deep breath, "A few months ago one of our consultants had an accident. He suffered brain damage and he just happened to escape from Cottage Rehab last night."

            Officer Grayson gave him a disbelieving look, obviously not wanting to believe another officer had mistaken a hospital patient for a drunk. "Wait. You don't think−"

            "Yeah, I do." Carlton grit his teeth at the sheer idiocy. "He has trouble walking, and isn't able to talk well due to his injury."

            "Crap. I'll take you down." The officer grabbed his keys and led the way down the stairs to the drunk tanks.

            There were five empty cells. Carlton noticed with smug satisfaction that they were a lot smaller than the ones at the SBPD. Officer Grayson stopped at the last cell and looked through the bars. “He the guy you’re lookin’ for?”

Sure enough, much to Carlton’s dismay, curled up on the cot was Shawn.

            He looked pale and was shivering even though he was still unconscious. Carlton turned, already red in the face, and ordered, "It's him. Open the cell and call 911!"

            Shawn hadn't had any of his medicine, and the Taser probably hadn't done him any favors in the health department. Someone with a neurological disorder getting hit with a weapon designed to shut off neurological pathways was a recipe for disaster.

            Officer Grayson momentarily fumbled with the keys, and opened the cell door, before hurrying down the hallway to find a phone. Carlton walked slowly up to Shawn and put his hand on his shoulder. "Spencer! Spencer can you hear me?"

            Shawn seemed to rouse a bit, but his shivering didn't subside. His eyes opened a fraction. "Las?"

            If the shivering was any indication, Shawn had to be going into shock, or had been in shock for a while. He looked around to make sure no one was looking before putting a hand on Shawn's shoulder. "It's okay Spencer. I got ya. We'll get you back to the hospital."

            "I tr−tr..." Shawn was trying to tell him something important, but they were interrupted by a voice from behind him.

            "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in here?"

            Carlton turned to find a young officer glaring at him. His eyes habitually fell to the man's badge. "Bowden." He said aloud. It was the cop who made the report about Shawn. "You brought this man in?" Carlton didn't even try to hide the malice in his tone.

            "Yeah, tried to assault me. Drunk as I've ever seen anyone." The officer smirked, as if it was a funny joke.

            Carlton took a step toward the man, "And when he didn't wake up after you Tased him, you didn't think to call the hospital, or even get him checked out?!"

            The officer put his hands up, "He was passed out man! Out cold. I figured he would just sleep it off, right?"

            "He wasn't DRUNK you goddamn idiot! He has a traumatic brain injury! Did you even breathalyze him? Huh? Did you give him any test at all, or did you just assume?" Carlton tried to push away the little voice in his head that told him before Shawn's accident, he probably would have made the same assumption.

            He angrily poked the officer in the chest and backed him to the wall, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. This poor excuse for an officer didn't even follow basic protocol and had endangered the life of someone who had probably saved and helped more people than anyone else in this station. Other officers started showing up around him, drawn in by the commotion. If they hadn't been there, Carlton probably would have beat the crap out of the man, but he would have a worse fate in the end. He'd make sure of it.

            "Get the hell out of here you useless twit! You'll be lucky to be in one piece, let alone have your badge, once his father gets done with you."

            Officer Bowden stumbled back and hurried up the stairs past a confused Officer Grayson. "What was that?" he asked.

            "Are they coming?" Carlton snapped, too angry to answer any questions at the moment. He just wanted to get Shawn out of here and checked out.

            "Yeah, yeah they are...is he going to be okay?"