Shawn’s hands shook slightly as he held Juliet’s heavy firearm. He looked thirty yards ahead to where Andrew Hayes was holding a gun trained on him, and a six-inch knife against Lassiter’s throat. Sweat was beginning to roll down the back of Shawn’s neck as he let go of the gun with his left hand and ran it through his hair before letting it resume its grasp on the gun with his right hand.

                Shawn shifted nervously back and forth; he never expected that a simple gas station burglary investigation would lead to this standoff situation. The air in the abandoned garage was still thick with fumes, and the remote location vanquished any hope Shawn had of being rescued.

                A soft moan to Shawn’s right told him he needed to act quickly. Juliet was crumpled on the smooth concrete floor of the garage, nursing a gunshot wound to the abdomen. The injury was secreting blood quickly; it was a time bomb for Juliet.

                “You holding up okay, Psychic?” Andrew called, tightening his grip around Lassiter to where his knife’s blade was resting against the detective’s neck. “You’re not feeling pressured, are you?”

                “Of course not,” Shawn said, contradicting every single emotion he was feeling at the moment. “In fact, I couldn’t possibly feel any better.”

                “Is that so?” Hayes asked, flicking the knife slightly against Lassiter’s neck, drawing a visible amount of blood.

                “Spencer,” Lassiter warned; a conspicuous amount of urgency in his voice. Shawn saw a glint of panic and pain in his blue eyes.

                Shawn shut his mouth. His heart was racing and he was thinking in quick sporadic bursts that made no sense, even to him. The different courses of action he could take were swirling around in his head, but he could not think any of them through completely before switching to the next one.

                Another moan from Juliet brought Shawn back to a saner mindset. Her blood was beginning to creep into his peripheral vision, so he needed to decide what he was going to do, and fast. He weighed the pros and cons of all the actions he could take. Running away would probably be the safest for him, but it would almost certainly result in Lassiter and Juliet’s deaths. Trying to negotiate with Hayes would probably prove useless, and if Hayes decided he was bored with him or he did not want to deal with the circumstances any longer, all three employees of the SBPD could end up dead. The final choice Shawn could make would be to take a shot at Hayes. It was much riskier than any of the other scenarios Shawn could choose, but it was the only option that would save the three lives that he cared about.

                The cons of Shawn’s plot were that, if he missed, the perpetrator would most likely slit Lassiter’s throat and shoot Shawn, which would lead to Juliet bleeding out. Another unpleasant detail was that Hayes was positioned behind Lassiter to where only a small portion of his forehead was exposed. The shot would have to be incredibly accurate or he could kill Lassiter.

                Shawn started aiming the gun, when he started trembling. If he killed Lassiter, he would not be able to live with himself. To calm himself down, Shawn thought back to when his father taught him to shoot:

                “Shawn, hold the gun steady,” Henry said to his fourteen-year-old son. “The good thing about guns is the bullet goes straight to where you point it. There’s no way it’ll go anywhere except for in the direction you put it in.”

                “What if it ricochets off of something and ends up somewhere else?” Shawn asked, feeling the cool metal of the practice gun in his hands.

                “Well, then you pointed the gun at something the bullet could bounce off of, which is your own fault,” Henry said, patting his son on the shoulder. “Go ahead and take a shot.”

                Shawn raised his arms, gripping the gun tightly, and aimed the gun at the target paper. He found the point where he wanted the bullet to go and pulled the trigger. The bullet shot through the air and straight through the dark head of the printed person.

                “I’ll be damned,” Henry murmured, in obvious disbelief at his son’s success. “Do it again, Shawn.”

                Shawn, feeling a little more confident with the gun, raised his arms again, aimed, and fired, once again hitting the target in the center of its head. He looked up to his father, who to Shawn’s delight, had a dumbfounded expression on his face.

                Another whimper from Juliet brought Shawn back to the grim reality.

                Shawn told himself to calm down; that this was only another practice session back at the shooting range. He unconsciously steadied his stance for the kickback the gun would deliver. Shawn raised his hands slightly, realizing they had stopped trembling.

                He leveled the gun, making sure the bullet went directly where he wanted it to, and he fired. The bullet ripped through the air and hit Hayes directly in the forehead. He was killed instantly.

                Lassiter sprang up from the crouched position in which Hayes had been holding him in. He quickly checked the perp’s non-existent pulse and jogged over to where Shawn was crouched by Juliet, taking off his over shirt to apply pressure to her wound.

                “Call an ambulance, Lassiter,” Shawn said, applying stronger pressure.

                Juliet moaned and looked up at Shawn. She opened her mouth to talk, but Shawn quickly silenced her.

                “Don’t worry, Jules,” Shawn said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Lassiter is outside calling for an ambulance.”

                Juliet nodded and lowered her head back to the floor of the garage.

                Lassiter returned to Shawn and Juliet several minutes later.

                “Show long until they get here, Lassie?” Shawn asked, glancing briefly to the head detective.

                “Ten minutes,” Lassiter replied. He had a strange look on his face; one that Shawn could not read, but it was not the time to pry for information.

                “You look like you’re going to need a couple of stitches,” Shawn said, gesturing to Lassiter’s neck, which was still bleeding to some extent.

                Lassiter brought his hand to his neck and winced. “It’s not too bad. You’re not hurt, are you, Spencer?”

                “Nah,” Shawn replied. “I managed to get away from the first little scuffle without any injuries.”

                “Good,” Lassiter said.

                The remaining time until the arrival of the ambulance was spent in silence. Once the bus arrived, the paramedics quickly loaded Juliet up and also put Hayes in a body bag.

                “What exactly happened here?” Chief Vick asked, walking up to Lassiter, who was being stitched up by a paramedic. “And why didn’t you have back-up?”

                “O’Hara, Spencer, and I didn’t realize this would turn into a standoff,” Lassiter said, wincing as the paramedic put in one last stitch. All the clues we had told us he was just keeping the stolen goods here. We just happened to arrive here as he was leaving, and he was armed. He shot O’Hara in the stomach and grabbed me and held me at knife point while he trained a gun on Spencer.

                “And how exactly did Hayes end up in a body bag?” Vick asked.

                “Spencer used O’Hara’s gun on him,” Lassiter replied.

                Chief Vick raised her eyebrows and looked in Shawn’s direction. “Is that true, Mr. Spencer?”

                “Yes, Chief,” Shawn replied, feeling slightly shaky.

                “Well I’m glad you got him,” Vick said. She turned to Lassiter. “McNabb just found that Hayes had multiple identities, and one of them was a lead suspect in a murder case that went cold in Sacramento.”

                “Really?” Lassiter asked, sounding very intrigued. “I guess we didn’t know what we were getting into.”

                “I guess not,” Vick replied. “I’m going to have to file a lot of paperwork over his death, but I don’t see how you could have prevented it, given the situation. Good work, Mr. Spencer.”

                Shawn nodded, feeling numb. He was being congratulated for taking a man’s life. Granted, the man had murdered someone, shot one of his friends, and held a coworker at knife point, but he still felt a sense of emptiness and guilt. He sighed and followed Lassiter to his car.

*****

                The next day, Shawn parked his bike and walked up to the hospital to see Juliet. He had spoken to her over the phone the previous evening, but she had been slightly incoherent due to the pain medication she was loaded with.

                Shawn walked into the elevator, rode it to the third floor, and walked down the hall to room three hundred and sixteen.

                “Hey, Jules,” Shawn said, walking into the room and sitting in the chair next to her bed.

                “Hey,” Juliet replied, sounding much more alert than the night before.

                “How are you feeling?” Shawn asked, gesturing to the pillow Juliet was holding against her stomach.

                “Pretty good,” Juliet said. “The surgeon removed the bullet and stitched everything up. There’s some pain, but nothing unmanageable. The pressure from the pillow helps a lot too.”

                “Good,” Shawn said, nodding. He was beginning to feel a little crowded, even though it was just he and Juliet in the room. He shifted back and forth slightly, but nothing helped the anxiety.

                “Are you okay?” Juliet asked, narrowing her eyes slightly, noticing Shawn’s body language.

                “Yeah,” Shawn said, trying his hardest to grin genuinely. “I’m fine. Besides, you’re not allowed to ask me that question. That’s my job. You’re the one who got shot.”

                “That’s true” Juliet said, returning the smile. She hesitated before adding, “I’m glad you took that shot. That was really brave of you. You saved all of us by doing that.”

                “Thanks,” Shawn said, not making eye contact. He knew the reason he was experiencing the uncomfortable feeling was the fact that he killed Hayes. That was the reason he had not been able to sleep the night before, and the reason he was still feeling hollow inside.

                Shawn stayed with Juliet for ten more minutes. He began to feel more claustrophobic, and quickly made an excuse to leave. Shawn said goodbye to Juliet and walked out the door, immediately walking into Detective Lassiter.

                “Spencer, what the hell?!” Lassiter said, very surprised.

                “Sorry, Lassie,” Shawn said, quietly, not making eye contact and walking on.

                “Hold up, Spencer,” Lassiter said, sounding slightly unwilling.

                Shawn stopped walking and glanced back to Lassiter, who was approaching him.

                “Spencer, as much as this pains me,” Lassiter said in the same unwilling tone, “what’s the matter?”

                “Nothing,” Shawn said, walking onward and avoiding looking at Lassiter.

                “As much as this may surprise you, Spencer, I’m not stupid,” Lassiter said, stopping Shawn with his hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “Now, what’s happening?”

                “I killed a guy, Lassiter,” Shawn said, turning around and staring Lassiter in the eye. “Am I supposed to be happy and cheerful after I killed a guy?”

                “Spencer, Andrew Hayes was a murderer,” Lassiter said. “By killing him, you saved at least two lives, not counting his future victims. I know it’s hard to deal with, but you need to realize that sometimes it is necessary to take a man’s life to save others.”

                Shawn nodded in acknowledgement before putting on his custom comical grin. “That was deep, Lassie, I’m surprised.”

                An expression of relief crossed Lassiter’s face before his brow furrowed into its usual scowl. “Whatever, Spencer.”

                Shawn turned around and started walking away, still grinning, when Lassiter stopped him one more time.

                “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Lassiter asked, looking truly confused at Shawn’s talent.

                Shawn shrugged. “I guess it’s a gift,” he said, delighted at Lassiter’s confusion.

                “Nobody can shoot like that and call it a gift!” Lassiter said, starting to desperately grasp for an answer.

                Shawn turned away, grinning and started walking down the hallway. He was still hurt from the life he took, but Lassiter’s reaction made him feel a little better.

                “Spencer!” Lassiter’s voice called. “Seriously, tell me!”