Psych Fan Fiction ❯ One Flew into the Cuckoo's Nest ❯ The Vanishing ( Chapter 2 )

This chapter gave me hell…

 

Ever since the Scary Sherry incident when he was little, Gus had never liked mental hospitals. Therefore, when the Becca Ulmer Mental Health Facility was added to his route, he was less than thrilled. The place looked nice enough with its red brick walls and clinging vines of ivy. However, the rumors of a recent murder did nothing to ease his nerves. It was with a bolstering breath that the salesman finally made his way inside the building.

 

The medley of patients and employees that greeted him inside made his guts squirm in apprehension. He closed his eyes for a few moments in a futile effort to make things less terrifying. After a mental mantra, he opened his eyes to see another pair less than three inches from his own. He screamed.

 

"Dude. Relax, Gus." Shawn simply stared at his friend with a raised eyebrow. “You're not still scared of Scary Sherry, are you? Remember Dad telling us that never happened?”

 

Gus simply glared at his friend. “What are you doing here?” he huffed. Suddenly, struck be a sudden bout of suspicion, he asked, “You didn't sneak a look at my day planner, did you? How many times are you going to invade my privacy?”

 

“I've never looked in your day planner. Give my investigative skills a little more credit, will you?”

 

Gus opened his mouth to reply, but Shawn cut him off. “That's not important right now.” He paused for a moment, glancing around in over-emphasized suspicion, before continuing in a very loud stage whisper, “I'm under cover.”

 

A brief perusal of the entrance room revealed a surprising lack of concern on the part of the doctors. It was almost as if they considered Shawn harmless. Obviously, they didn't know better.

 

“Undercover?” Gus asked, wondering exactly when he was going to be admitted to the hospital as well. With the way his life operated, it was far overdue.

 

In response, Shawn took a well worn newspaper clipping from his pocket and shook it in front of his face. Despite the wild movements, Gus managed to read a few words. “What does an increase in tariffs of Peruvian pineapples have to do with anything?”

 

A puzzled expression crossed the psychic's face as he examined the article. “Wrong article,” he stated after a moment, reaching into another pocket to retrieve a different clipping. This time, Gus managed to snag it from his grasp before Shawn could wave it in his face.

 

The words “Security Officer Murdered in Mental Health Facility” dominated the headline. Further drawing his attention to the phrase were Shawn's numerous scribbles pointing towards it. Squinting a bit to see through the doodles, he read through the rest of the article. His stomach seemed to drop. He could see where this was going.

 

“Please tell me I don't have to go undercover as well,” he entreated.

 

Shawn merely snorted in disdain. “Of course not. I'll need someone on the outside.” Then, spotting an audience, he proceeded to whistle a remarkably poor rendition of the Mission Impossible Theme, throwing himself against the wall in feigned stealth. A smattering of applause came from the congregation, and one particularly confused individual yelled for Stalin to move his spaceship.

 

Gus hung his head with a groan. “We're going to die,” he stated matter-of-factly.

 

“Don't be a Gloomy Gus, Gus!” Here, Shawn took a moment to ponder his choice of phrase. Suddenly, he glanced at his bare wrist and, declaring, “we're late,” skipped off down the hall, leaving Gus to follow in his wake.

 

After traversing a maze of corridors, the duo finally stopped at a door. On the outside was a colorful, handmade sign proudly declaring “Shawn Spencer and Tom Jitter.” To Gus' horror, the “I” was dotted with a pineapple sketch.

 

Heedless of his friend's dismay, Shawn threw the door open. “Hi, Tom!”

 

A mousy man sat alarmingly close to a television. On screen, a sponge was talking to a squid. Without removing his eyes from the scene in front of him, he tossed the psychic a pineapple fruit cup. “SpongeBob sends his regards,” he murmured.

 

The salesman gave his friend a questioning look. Shawn explained, “This is Tom. He thinks TV shows contain hidden messages that tell him what to do.”

 

“Delusions of reference?” Gus tried to clarify, but Shawn was already viciously attacking the fruit cup. This was going to be a long case…

 

Question of the Day: Why is “SpongeBob” in my word processor's spell check dictionary?