#242 - Bearer of bad news - (theatrical_muse)
Shawn bounced on his heels, the desk rattling slightly as he was leaning against it. Mrs. Mellory watched him expectantly, her polished nails holding on to a handbag smaller than Shawn's wallet. He looked at it in fascination. What was in there? What fit in there?
His eyes traveled upwards until he met her nervous gaze. She was always nervous. There was a reddish mark on her neck where she tended to scratch the skin.
Shawn smiled, she smiled back, averted his eyes. Where the hell was Gus? Shawn had everything planned, the trick dice, the marked straws, the stone-paper-scissors strategy. Gus was supposed to talk to her. And now he wasn't here.
He coughed, it was getting awkward. There was something so plain nice about Mrs. Mellory that made him uncomfortable. He realized she reminded him of Emily. "Mr. Spencer..." she started and he paused, the desk giving one last, wailing creak. "... you... said you wanted to talk to me. Can you give me any answers?"
Shawn took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, the spirits have spoken to me."
"Oh, thank God!" Her shoulders slumped, wiping her forehead and Shawn felt a sudden flare of anger. "What is it, Mr. Spencer? What is wrong with me?"
Shawn took a long look at her. Bounced again, his tongue travelling over his teeth as he formed the word in his head first. He pushed himself away from the desk, locking gazes once again. "Nothing."
She smiled for another moment until the word sank in. "What?"
"Mrs. Mellory, there is nothing wrong with you."
She took a step back, more confused than delighted. "But... I don't understand. The voices I hear... the blood on my mirror... my headaches..."
"Mrs. Mellory!" Shawn stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Trust me when I say that the spirits are very, very upset - but not because of you. There is nothing wrong with you at all. Someone is playing mind games on you. The voices were recordings. The blood was put there by a person, a living, breathing person. Foul-breathed, but very mortal."
"But... but who would do that?"
Shawn fell silent.
She was getting agitated now. Her fingers sunk into his shirt like fangs, crumpling it as she held on as if for dear life. "Who, Mr. Spencer? Who did this? Who did this to me?!"
He pressed his lips together. There, he was bouncing again. She moved forwards and backwards with him, still staring at him, her eyes wide and tired by weeks of lost sleep and psychological strain. "Who?!"
The witty remark on his lips was lulled to sleep by all the bouncing. "Your husband."
Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 446
His eyes traveled upwards until he met her nervous gaze. She was always nervous. There was a reddish mark on her neck where she tended to scratch the skin.
Shawn smiled, she smiled back, averted his eyes. Where the hell was Gus? Shawn had everything planned, the trick dice, the marked straws, the stone-paper-scissors strategy. Gus was supposed to talk to her. And now he wasn't here.
He coughed, it was getting awkward. There was something so plain nice about Mrs. Mellory that made him uncomfortable. He realized she reminded him of Emily. "Mr. Spencer..." she started and he paused, the desk giving one last, wailing creak. "... you... said you wanted to talk to me. Can you give me any answers?"
Shawn took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, the spirits have spoken to me."
"Oh, thank God!" Her shoulders slumped, wiping her forehead and Shawn felt a sudden flare of anger. "What is it, Mr. Spencer? What is wrong with me?"
Shawn took a long look at her. Bounced again, his tongue travelling over his teeth as he formed the word in his head first. He pushed himself away from the desk, locking gazes once again. "Nothing."
She smiled for another moment until the word sank in. "What?"
"Mrs. Mellory, there is nothing wrong with you."
She took a step back, more confused than delighted. "But... I don't understand. The voices I hear... the blood on my mirror... my headaches..."
"Mrs. Mellory!" Shawn stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Trust me when I say that the spirits are very, very upset - but not because of you. There is nothing wrong with you at all. Someone is playing mind games on you. The voices were recordings. The blood was put there by a person, a living, breathing person. Foul-breathed, but very mortal."
"But... but who would do that?"
Shawn fell silent.
She was getting agitated now. Her fingers sunk into his shirt like fangs, crumpling it as she held on as if for dear life. "Who, Mr. Spencer? Who did this? Who did this to me?!"
He pressed his lips together. There, he was bouncing again. She moved forwards and backwards with him, still staring at him, her eyes wide and tired by weeks of lost sleep and psychological strain. "Who?!"
The witty remark on his lips was lulled to sleep by all the bouncing. "Your husband."
Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 446