"Uh, excuse me. You're...you're in my seat," Shawn comments to the new hire, Detective Juliet O'Hara.

"Damnit, why is Shawn here?" I mutter to myself questioningly. Why am I asking? It's not like the voices know. I'm not going to have a psychic revelation just because I want to. 

I slide deeper into my seat, pulling my hood further over my stupid unmanageable hair. Hiding is the only way our sting will stay in one piece.

"Spencer's there? Where is he? Never mind, I'm coming in."

"Las, you can't come in. It'll ruin the operation. Stay there!" I whisper-scold into my two-way earpiece.

"Fine, but if Spencer distracts O'Hara..."

"If that happens, I'll take care of it. I really need to get you some anger management classes, buddy."

"I do not need anger management classes!" I cringe as Las's shout shatters my eardrum.

At this point, I'm mentally begging Juliet not to take an interest in Shawn. Not only is he barely intolerable, but he's also distracting, and we need Juliet focused. If she messes this up, she'll never live it down. Mistakes are not easily forgiven by Las, even if you're close to him. Juliet has no relationship with Las, and mistakes won't be forgotten.

"Am I?" Juliet questions, raising an eyebrow questioningly at the fake psychic. She hasn't had the 'pleasure' of meeting Shawn yet.

Honestly, I'm not surprised that Shawn piqued Juliet's interest. What he doesn't know is that Juliet's already got a Romeo. His name's Bryce Amos. He's an adrenaline junkie and professional stuntman. Bryce's smokin' hot, but he only has eyes for his Juliet, Juliet. It's sweet and sickening. It's sweetening. Sickeet? I don't fucking know.

"Actually, yes, you are," Shawn repeats.

"Are you one of those weirdo compulsives who come to the same restaurant, sit in the same chair, and eat the same food every day?"

"Uh, no, no, no. I was sitting right there three minutes ago, and then I went outside to get myself a paper. I ordered the juice, and look- I made a crawling snake out of a wrapper. You can finish it if you think you're up for the job."

"I'm sorry. Do you want me to move?"

"Not anymore. So, what's up?"

"I don't have time to talk."

Good job, Juliet. That's step one in successfully stopping Shawn from being Shawn.

"But you haven't heard what I'm going to say." Typical. It's like he knows what I'm thinking and naturally does the exact opposite. You know, like in a comedy show.

"See, now we've already talked more than I wanted to."

Juliet grabs her purse, and Shawn takes a moment to make some personal assessments. "Well, I did give you my seat, you know. I think that gets me one question."

"Listen, Diner Guy-"

"Shawn."

"Shawn. Flattered, really. Very often, I am happy to meet new people, but today, right here, right now, I can't talk."

"I understand. I do. What if I do the talking for both of us?"

"Have at it. Do you mind if I read the paper and stare aimlessly out the window while you two talk?"

"No. Can I get a name to work with?"

"Juliet."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Juliet. [En falsetto] It's nice to meet you, too, Shawn, and I'm very sorry about your seat, so lunch is on me. So, what do you do for a living? [Normal voice] I do a little bit of everything. [Like a pubescent teen male's voice crack] Oh, that sounds interesting, and maybe a little bit dangerous. Ooh, I like your jacket. I like it-"

"Okay, can I stop you there? First off, in your portrayal of me, I sound like I'm in the eighth grade."

"Well, in my portrayal of you, you only have an eighth-grade education."

Typical.

"All right, smarten you up. College? Yeah? Top of your class, graduated early... Got it. [Falsetto] I'm new to town, and I don't know many people...but I do know my cats. Two of them. The gray one is very affectionate. The white one makes me work much, much harder for the attention. [Normal voice] And what about your family? [Falsetto] My family's amazing. My parents have been together for...what is it, 30 years now?"

Now that I'm thinking about it, how does Shawn pretend to be psychic? He puts his hand to his temple, flails around like a fish out of water, and comes up with (somewhat) probable theories. He clearly doesn't have a source, so where the hell are the answers coming from?

"Okay, do we know each other?"

"Yes, you're the girl who stole my seat."

The door opens and in enters the man of the hour. Juliet looks at me for confirmation, and I give her a curt nod.

"Oh my gosh. You're a cop."

"I'm not a cop."

"The paper, the vantage point, the layout...of course. You got defensive when scary guy walked in, you know YN. You're totally a cop."

"Okay, Shawn, I'm going to need you to do me a favor."

"Name it."

"Duck."

"Police!" The four of us pull out our guns. Stillinski and Ruzek hold the perp down, quickly cuffing him as Lassiter and his backup roll in. "Gun!"

This being Juliet's first sting op, her hands are shaking, her gun trembling.

"Get him up," Las orders.

Shawn wiggles his fingers at my brother nonchalantly. Las, for the first time, says nothing and turns around. He's probably hoping that if he doesn't acknowledge the problem, it'll magically disappear. I wish life worked that way.

"Let's go, O'Hara," I call out, waving my brother's new partner over from her perch at the bar.

"First time pulling your gun?"

"Maybe."

Shawn haughtily sips his OJ before calling me over. "YN, how nice of you to join us."

"Fortunately, we can't stay," I taunt, pulling Juliet out of the diner. Shawn moves to follow, but I flip him off before screeching off. We follow Las back to the precinct.

"You know him?"

"Unfortunately. Don't let him distract you next time. Detective Lassiter won't forgive your mistakes."

Juliet doesn't know about my relationship to Las, and I don't really want to explain it to her. 

"How do you know Shawn?"

"I've worked with him before."

"Are you two dating?"

"Yes, because I love my boys in need of high doses of Adderall." We pull into the parking lot and park. I shift so that I'm facing Juliet. "No, we aren't. Just acquaintances. Look, you're new, so I'll let you off the hook. I don't share my life with people that I just met. Force of habit. "

~Timeskip because of new plotlines, coming at you with supersonic speed ~

"YN! YN, what's wrong?"

"Car...I don't feel...so good." YN's desperate pleas are interrupted as convulsions shock her four-year-old body. She collapses on the floor, twitching and unable to move. Tiny beads of blood begin lining the inner rim of her ear.

"YN!"

"Carlton, call 911!" Lauren orders. She's always had a much clearer head than her brother in situations involving their younger sister. "We need to get YN to the hospital."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know, but she'll be okay," Lauren consoles, placing a tiny, warm hand on her brother's tense shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. YN'll be okay."

"Okay," Carlton whispers, almost pleading. He picks up the phone, dialing quickly.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"It's my little sister. She can't walk and has trouble speaking. She fell on the floor, and now blood's coming out of her ear. We need an ambulance!"

"Keep calm, sir. How old is she?"

"She's four."

"Is she breathing?"

"Yes. What's wrong?" Carlton asks worriedly. He's always been protective of his sisters, and this incident was no different.

"I don't know, sir. Is she conscious?"

"Her eyes are open, but she's not moving. YN?"

"Okay, what's your address?"

"XXXX Kowalski Ave. Please hurry. YN, can you hear me?"

"Help is on the way. Stay on the line. How long has she been on the floor?"

"YN's only been down for a minute, maybe two. She was walking over to me, but then she started shaking. What's happening? She was fine a few minutes ago. YN! YN? Can you hear me?"

"Sir, she's going to be okay. Are there any adults with you?"

"No. I'm 16, and my other sister Lauren is six. Our mom just went grocery shopping. Do you know what's wrong with YN?"

"No, but help is coming. The paramedics will do everything they can to make sure your sister is okay."

The shrieks of sirens grow louder with every passing second, though it feels like hours before the paramedics knock on the door.

"Come on, YN. Stay alive! Stay with me!"

"It's open! We're in the kitchen!" Lauren shrieks. Her quiet voice becomes increasingly loud as her panic and anxiety grow. Her calm demeanor is mostly for her brother's sake. Like a wild animal, if Lauren shows fear, Las will close off, gradually becoming aggressive.

"Carlton, she's going to be okay. We just have to wait for the paramedics. She's going to be okay."

"Don't give up on us, YN."

~One painstakingly long ambulance ride later~

"We've got a four-year-old female with loss of motor function. She was seizing on the scene. We gave her two ccs of diazepam."

"Okay, we need to prep her. Take her to OR five."

"If you two will wait here, we'll update you when we have new information." A nurse instructs. "Is there any way to contact your parents?"

"Yeah, I can call mom." Lauren takes charge while Carlton mumbles incoherently, "She was fine. What happened? Did I do this? Is she going to die because of me? She's going to die because of me. It's my fault, it's my fault. She was fine, and now she's going to die."

"Carlton, snap out of it. YN's going to be fine. She needs our support right now, and she wouldn't want you feeling guilty. What happened isn't your fault. It happened, and there is nothing either of us can do about it. It's not your fault."

"Okay. Whenever you're ready, there's a phone over there," The nurse informs the two terrified minors.

"Carlton, we have to call mom."

"Yeah. Let's call mom."

~12 hours later, in the OR~

"Okay, Dr. Dolion, we're about ready to-"

The heart rate monitor begins beeping erratically, signaling a rapid increase in YN's heart rate.

"The clips must've re-opened. We have to go in," the assisting neurosurgeon, Dr. Erka, urges.

"The pressure's probably already turned her into a vegetable. If not, she'll bleed out before we can save her."

"We have to make a decision now, so what will it be?"

"Time of death, 4:27 am."

I jolt out of my weirdly vivid dream when Gus turns up the volume on the American Spelling Bee.

I decide to make a note on my phone to talk to my doctor since this could be the product of a new migraine med I started a few weeks ago. It's used as an antipsychotic and antidepressant in larger doses, and, frankly, I did notice a change. Anyway, stingy amounts treat migraines.

"Beautiful Santa Barbara, California, is the backdrop for this afternoon's coverage of the American Spelling Bee, being held at the downtown Cabreo Theater. Champions from all over the western United States have made the trek to test-"

Gus quickly shuts off the TV and slides back to his desk as Shawn opens the door and pulls his bike in. I don't move from my perch on the sofa, being too groggy and lazy to put effort into the afternoon. Wait, what time is it? Yeah, 1:50 counts as afternoon.

Gus texted the address to me when I woke up earlier this morning. Imagine my shame when I woke up, it was dark outside, and the clock read 4:18 AM. I was disappointed in breaking my 18 year ritual of staying asleep past noon. It was killed, just as it reached its prime.

"What are you watching?"

"Nothing."

"What was he watching?"

"Something," I answer honestly. It's something I have no interest in.

"Is that Korean porn? Come on, man."

"Yes, because Gus, a gentleman, would watch porn on the television where he works. I don't know if this makes a difference, but I would also like to point out that I'm here. So save the porn for your personal computer, Shawn."

"It's the regional finals of the American...," Gus pauses, clearly weighing his options.

"Spelling Bee," I reveal.

"What?"

"Don't mock me. It's a huge event."

"No, I'm shocked that you didn't take the whole day off."

"It's on SportsCal2, for your information. And it's hosted by Bud Collins."

"Really? Did they...did they bump the car washing championships for this? And, is it over soon because I'd like to get back to the woodcarving finals?"

"Let Gus watch it. After all, it is your fault he lost back in '89. Though, I personally don't like big events. Something bad always happens, especially the public ones. Private ones, it's usually just family critiquing your life. So you get drunk, make a fool of yourself, and continue the vicious cycle until you're 'that' aunt. You know, the alcoholic who's not married and somehow has three 28-year-olds."

I think Shawn and Gus are used to my craziness, because without missing a beat, Shawn begins peppering Gus and me with questions. "Wait, how do you know about '89? Gus, what did you tell her? You should've known not to follow my advice. I was the first person out."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Gus says before moving back in front of the TV.

"Let's recap this morning's unexpected high drama-"

"It's being held in Santa Barbara this year, right?" I ask. They likely mentioned it before, but I tuned it out.

"Yeah, down at the Cabreo. It's huge, sold out. I tried to get tickets, but you gotta know somebody."

"Somebody lame. Dude, I can't believe you're watching that."

"He's taping it."

"I don't care what either of you think. I watch the Bee Semis every year."

"Aww, you gave it a pet name," I mock.

"Okay, for your sake and mine, stop giving the spelling bee hip little nicknames."

"SHH!" Gus hisses, waving Shawn out of the way.

"For those of you who have just joined us, well, this is a bit of a shock. And a little sad, too. The heavy favorite has had a bad spell, and Brenda Vu is out."

"What?" Gus challenges.

"I don't think they can hear you," I inform.

"Boo-hoo for Vu, Bud."

"No way. Brendan Vu is out? Already?"

"Okay, now you're just scaring me," Shawn comments.

"Come on, Shawn. He took second last year. Everybody knows that."

"No, Gus, nobody who's anybody knows that, except maybe Brendan and his mother," I tell him.

"Okay," Gus says, hiding his anger behind indifference.

It's buzzing. Something's wrong with the inhaler. Bandon Dunes.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk...wait...skip ahead. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive. 

What the heck just happened? 

"I'll be right back, guys. I have to make a call."

I walk into the entryway slash lobby and quickly dial KC. Hopefully, she isn't at the standoff already. Otherwise, she'll never return my call.

"Hey, did anything happen at the spelling bee?"

"Perfect timing. I was just about to call you."

"Oh, well, you know me. I'm psychic."

"Yes, well, we're going to bring you and Mr. Spencer on the case. I hope that's not a problem."

"Nope," I answer, already regretting the life decisions that led me to this moment. "Not a problem. I'll let Shawn and Gus know."

"When you get here, I'll need you and Shawn to question the contestants. The inhaler is missing, and Brendan Vu said it felt funny when he used it."

"Anything a little more specific than 'funny'? Some spelling bee words, perhaps? 'Funny' is just a bit vague."

"He claimed it stung his hand. You can question Vu down at the hospital once you've finished with all the contestants."

"Great. We'll be right there."

"Be safe, but hurry. Bye, NN."

"Bye KC."

I hang up and return to the room to inform the children that they have a case. I stand at the doorway, waiting for a commercial break from the bee.

"He does look to be under some sort of duess, Bud. His inhaler did not appear to help, and Vu tumbled to the floor."

"Dag!"

"Guys?"

"Wait a second. Did you see that?" Shawn moves in front of the TV, grabs the remote from Gus, and rewinds to right before Vu falls on the ground. "There's something wrong with that inhaler."

"Shawn, get outta here."

Before Shawn can spout more psycho-babble, I call the psych hotline. Shawn's in no mood to listen to an adult.

"Psych."

"There's a case."

"It's the chief."

"Whatever, play your mind games. KC wants us to question the contestants. Brendan Vu said his inhaler felt funny, specifically that it stung his hand. When paramedics arrived, it was gone."

"I'll-I'll have to check with Gus. Are we available?"

"You haven't booked a civilian case. Of course, you're available."

"It appears we are. We'll be right there."

"What?" Gus questions.

"I can get us into the spelling bee."

"Really?"

"Guess I was right about the whole Bandon Dunes thing."

"The kid's name is Brendan Vu," I correct, walking back into the room.

"Sure."

"They need a psychic detective for that?"

"They don't unless he was sabotaged. The kid said his inhaler felt funny," I inform.

"When he used it, his hand stung. It's gone by the time paramedics get there. Apparently, it vanished into thin air-"

Gus runs over to his desk and grabs his coat. "Shawn, we are so taking this. Let's go."

"This is the most excited I've seen you since you got Safecracker's Monthly last week."

"How come I can't get you this excited about girls?" Shawn yells from the chair.

"Let's go, Shawn," I call out.

"Or Mexico?"

~Timeskip because I wanna know what you thought about that dream. I also want to explain that every individual bolded paragraph (above) is a different voice. I wanted to include them to share a little more about what goes on inside YN's head when she has an ESP vision.~

"We're here!"

"Go on in YN, Mr. Spencer. I've arranged everything you'll need inside."

"You're leaving?" Shawn inquires.

"Oh, I was only here for the mayor's presentation."

"There's a standoff across town," I disclose. A call came in after the arrest this morning.

KC moves to leave but is stopped by Shawn.

"Whoa, shouldn't I go to the hospital, meet the victim, get a statement?"

"Mr. Spencer, the case is sabotage. There are 43 remaining contestants, all, presumably, with a motive. Now, you can read guilt just by talking with someone, right? Do it."

"You want us to talk to all of them?"

"And their parents," I add on.

"Today?"

"Mm-hmm, by 5:00."

"The bee finishes in two days, and once it's over, all the witnesses will disperse into hundreds of