No Place I'd Rather Be...

Carlton Lassiter and Shawn Spencer watched the Blackhawk Captain on their tracker from the stakeout van. They had him and heard him, as he sat down on the stairs. Shawn got up from his chair and hovered over the head detective, who sighed.

“The poor guy. I really feel for him. When I went missing, I know Gus was livid. I mean, he wasn’t in love with me, but you know--”

Carlton spun in his chair and gave the younger man an annoyed, stern look. “I got it, Spencer. Shut up.”

“Lassie, man, you need to lighten up sometimes. Show some concern for the Hawk. He just lost his best friend...”

“Spencer, I’m a detective and I can’t be caught up in feelings for little hockey players. I have a job to do and that involves stopping this horrible serial killer team from killing anymore.”

Shawn sat back down in his chair and resumed tossing a ball into the air with himself. Carlton whirled back around to his tracking equipment. But he was startled to find that Jonathan was missing.

“Shit! Where’s the Blackhawk?”

Shawn opened the back doors and gazed out. He saw a figure vanish into the yard of one of the houses on the block. He was running and just like that he vanished. The psychic wasn’t sure what was going on, but he could take a guess, as he looked back to the house and saw the wires and bugs on the sidewalk.

“Spencer?”

“Lassie, he’s gone. He took off the wires. I think whatever he saw on his phone, it wasn’t good. I think he went after Patrick himself.”

“Son of a--!” Carlton spat. “Okay, we need to find him. He can’t do this himself. He needs our help. We have to find him. I’m calling in O’Hara and Gus!”

Shawn nodded. He glanced back at the spot where the Blackhawk had vanished to and smiled. The guy had bravery and smarts. Maybe he knew what he was doing. The psychic slowly closed the doors and jumped into a seat, while Carlton hopped into the driver’s seat and zoomed off.

****

Jonathan Toews found the back door, to a typical Chicago brick house. It wasn’t considered to be apart of any neighborhood. It was in-between two sets of patches of trees - not exactly forests - and on the edge of a lake. It was the perfect place for a murder to happen. It fit the common stereotype in movies, where killers often lurked in the abandoned cottages. But this wasn’t a cottage. It was actually the Summer house for Stan Mitka.

But the location was spot on. And Stan wasn’t there.

The Chicago Captain tried the handle and found it unlocked. He pushed it open and darted inside. He snuck around in the dark, not sure where exactly he was or what he was in. He felt his way around and listened keenly for any foreign sounds. He heard nothing, except the scuffling of his feet and his heavy breathing. It was cold in the dark room, but he found his way into the kitchen.

The light was still dim, but he could see. He stepped forward, hearing muffled grunting noises like someone or something in distress.

He peered around the corner and found himself looking into a massive living room. It only took him a few seconds to instantly spot something moving on the couch. Or rather struggling. The thing moving was a person and at a closer look, he saw glimpses of red. A red jersey. He knew the jersey for the Blackhawks and...

It was Patrick! It had to be.

Throwing caution to the wind, he darted out of hiding and bolted into the room. Sure enough, on the couch was his best friend. The blond was grunting with his effort and squirming, trying to get free from his bonds, but failing to do so.

“Patrick! Oh Patrick!”

Jonathan dropped down and wrapped his arms around his friend momentarily, before he peeled away the black adhesive from his mouth and removed it entirely, balling it up in his hands. But before Patrick could speak, Jonathan grabbed his head in his hands and kissed him on the lips in relief.

“It’s okay, baby, Jonny’s here, Jonny found you. You’re going to be okay,” the centerman gasped in between breaths.

They kept kissing for another full minute, before they finally broke apart.

“I’m so sorry for snapping at you and hurting you. I never would do that. Never, ever, ever. No.” Jonathan combed his fingers through Patrick’s blond locks, as he grinned. He was so happy that he had found his best friend and that he was safe. But, the blond winger was not relieved however. He still had his worried look and he was anxious. “I like you tied up, baby, but not like this...Kaner...baby, what’s wrong?” He cocked his head to the side and stopped smiling.

“Jon--” Patrick began.

Suddenly, Jonathan was struck over the head by something hard and he slumped unconscious, falling forward. His head slammed against the edge of the couch, but luckily didn’t do much damage, as it was soft and cushiony. He heard Patrick scream his name with an alarming panicky dread. But then he blacked out.

(And everyone goes, “NO!!!!”)

****

Back at the temporary police office, Carlton Lassiter and Shawn Spencer burst in the doors, shouting and ordering people - mostly Carlton, but Shawn called for Gus.

“Where’s Jonathan?” O’Hara asked, as she darted out from a small office, where she’d apparently been filing papers or something.

“Vanished.”

“Any visions on him?”

“None yet. I tell you, this has been the most difficult case to get any readings or psychic visions with. I’ve been blocked this whole time...but if something comes up…” he trailed off, as he glimpsed a piece of paper sticking out of the small office where she had been in.

On the paper, as he zeroed his vision in on the text, could make out a note - a ransom note. As he read it, he stumbled backward, putting his fingers to his head. He had something. A big something.

“Shawn?” Juliet questioned.

“Oh my...I got a vision!! I see a note.”

“A note?” Gus inquired.

Shawn stumbled and fumbled until his hand rested on top of his black partner’s head. “A note from the killers and it says that they have Patrick Kane. But wait...it’s a note that says that this is their final kill and they are going to go out in style. I think they planned to capture Jonathan too and now they are going to end it. The poor centerman fell into their wicked trap.”

“How--?” Juliet started to say in shock.

“Psychic,” Shawn remarked putting his finger to his temple. “Where’s Lassie? We gotta get him and go! Gus and I aren’t going to let two talented Blackhawk players die tonight!”

“Right!” Juliet exclaimed, sticking her finger into the air and giving an awkward look.

The trio ran through the station in search of the head detective, finally finding him busily letting more people know what had happened. He was communicating with the person, who was in charge of doing tracking through computers. He was busily typing on his computer and trying in vain to locate the Blackhawk, either through cell phone signal or something, but not getting anywhere.


“Lassie!” Shawn shouted.

“Spencer?” Carlton spun from the computer guy.

“He had a vision. Also, I received this note a little while ago. Basically Shawn saw it and it’s basically talking about ‘the end,’” Juliet explained.

“The end?”

“The end of the killings and the killer. I think that they know that time is running out and that they will get caught. And we agree that Jonathan Toews was set up and fell for a trap of some kind. We think that he is in terrible danger and that he won’t succeed in freeing his friend.”

“Dammit. Okay. We gotta figure out what he was looking for and what he discovered. And we gotta find him fast!”

“Time’s ticking, Lassie. Jonathan and Patrick need our help.”

The head detective nodded in agreement. The four dashed out of the station and back to another, different van. This one wasn’t decked in technological spy equipment. It was normal and roomie. They are zoomed off, frantically trying to race against the time.

Notes

Now it gets extremely dark and disturbing...the next two/three chapters, I'm warning you now and will post warnings for them are sick. And I don't mean cool. I'm not being easy on description with this, so it may get pretty grotesque and demented.
All I can say is...Poor Kazer, I'm so sorry.


Next up: Kaner's Torture (and some nasty things)