The ride to the funeral was quiet. I sat in the truck beside my uncle, still thinking about what had happened at the mall. Seeing Cam and Mitch in real life, even if only for a moment, felt surreal. It confirmed everything I had been suspecting since the day of the plane crash. This world was built with pieces of TV shows, stitched together in the most bizarre way. And I was part of it.
I kept glancing out the window as the city passed by. Billboards, familiar architecture, odd celebrity gossip on the radio—it all had layers now. Were those people real? Actors? Characters? I couldn't tell. Not anymore. And honestly, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to.
We pulled up to the cemetery. It was a private funeral, modest despite the wealth of the man being buried. Mr. Clayton had died in that crash, and now he lay beneath the earth while the world moved on.
I adjusted the collar of my shirt—the one I picked out at the store. Still uncomfortable. I wasn't used to dressing up. I had spent the better part of my life in the forest wearing worn-out clothes and hand-me-downs, plus that one awful Jesse Pinkman shirt.
At the funeral, Samuel stood out—not in a loud way, but with a quiet, unshakable presence. At just 11 years old, he was already tall for his age, his frame lean but strong from years spent running through the forest. He wore a clean, button-up navy shirt and neatly fitted slacks—both new, a far cry from the torn and tree-stained clothes he usually wore. His bright blonde hair was combed back, though a few wild strands refused to stay in place, hinting at the restless energy beneath the surface.
His green eyes were sharp, constantly moving, taking in every detail of the crowd with a focus most adults lacked. He was good-looking in a rugged, untamed sort of way. Something about him made people glance twice, Samuel had a presence, effortlessly good looking, with a rugged edge that made him stand out even in a room full of adults.
Michael looked over at me. "You okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah, just... weird being here."
"You're doing good, kid," he said. "Don't forget that."
The funeral was filled with unfamiliar faces, mostly people in suits and expensive sunglasses. I recognized a few from business articles I had read during my research sprees. There were whispers around about Mr. Clayton's estate, about his mysterious last words, and the investigation surrounding his death. Nobody said murder outright, but I could hear it in the tone.
And then I saw them.
Shawn and Gus stood under a tree a little distance away, talking to each other like they were plotting something. Gus was trying to fix his tie, and Shawn was poking at a plate of food from the small reception nearby.
They were here.
I stayed back. Part of me wanted to run over and say hi, but the other part knew better. I had already drawn enough attention during the crash. Besides, if I knew anything about Psych episodes, things would unfold on their own.
Instead, I stood by my uncle, who was sipping coffee from a paper cup and watching the scene in silence.my uncle said "Those guys again?"
"Yeah," I said. "Think they're onto something?"
Michael shrugged. "Probably. But so are you. You notice more than most kids ever would."
I didn't answer. I was too busy watching the gears turn in Shawn's head. He was pacing now, tapping his temple and pointing at people subtly. Gus was rolling his eyes.
This world wasn't just different. It was alive in a way I hadn't understood before. And I was finally starting to feel like maybe—just maybe—I belonged here.
For the first time, I didn't feel like an observer.
I felt like a character.
And the episode had just begun.
Shawn walked over to me and looked me up and down. "So Tarzan became a real boy, huh?"
I chuckled, glancing at my more formal outfit. "Yeah. And what's the incredible psychic doing here?"
Spencer leaned in with a smirk. "Well, Mr. Clayton spoke to me. Told me who the murderer is. Also asked if you could be here."
I raised an eyebrow, turning to my uncle. "Were we even invited?"
Michael blinked and turned toward Shawn. "I got a call from a family member who wanted the guys that found the plane to be here."
Shawn grinned. "Yes, that was me. And the family member who invited you?" He paused for dramatic effect. "Mr. Clayton himself."
I looked at Gus, who gave me a flat, tired stare. I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh? And what ghostly message did Mr. Clayton deliver to you, oh wise spirit medium?"
"All will be revealed at the funeral," Shawn declared.
My uncle gave me a sideways glance and whispered, "You wanna leave? I think these guys are a bit... off."
But the show was just beginning.
The priest began his speech, solemn and practiced, going on about how Mr. Clayton was now in a better place. Hopefully, I thought, remembering the weird nothingness from before.
Then came the moment: "Do any of the close relatives want to say a little something?"
Mr. Clayton's wife stood up. But before she could speak, Shawn bolted to the podium.
"I am communicating with Mr. Clayton!" he cried.
Gasps. A few awkward coughs.
He clutched his head and stumbled theatrically. "The winds are whispering... all we are is dust..." he said dramatically, spinning the urn around in his hands.
Then he raised the urn over the son-in-law's head and started shaking it. The man flinched.
"Can someone get this lunatic away from me?" the son-in-law growled.
Spencer's eyes narrowed. "You killed Mr. Clayton."
The crowd gasped—except me and my uncle. For two very different reasons.
Michael stood stiffly, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold at the podium. In his mind, Shawn Spencer was completely unhinged—dramatic, unpredictable, probably a few steps away from being institutionalized. Normally, Samuel would've agreed with him. But not today.
Michael glanced down at his nephew. Samuel was grinning, eyes wide, completely absorbed in the madness. And for the first time, Michael didn't see the quiet, reclusive boy who preferred trees to people. He saw someone coming alive, finding his place in a world that suddenly made more sense to him.
Michael thought. And somehow... he fits right in.
Shawn kept going, talking about how the son-in-law wanted the money. How the daughter wanted to donate it to charity, and how her husband had panicked.
That's when Mr. Clayton's daughter stood up. "Is that why you were gone the day my father died?" she demanded.
Shawn stepped forward. "The plane was flying too low. He messed with the speedometer. I see it now—a boy staring at the sky, watching the plane come down..." He pointed at me. "That boy."
All eyes turned to me.
That was the tipping point. The family erupted, yelling accusations, demanding answers.
And I just sat there, amused. Watching it all play out like the world's weirdest murder mystery party.
After the chaos settled and people started to drift away, Shawn walked over.
"Thanks for coming,to the funeral" he said. "I know this one was a bit... different."
I shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "I've been to a few funerals before," I said, glancing around at the stunned crowd still trying to make sense of what had just happened. "But none as entertaining as this one."
Shawn chuckled. "Well, i do have a certain flair for drama. Comes with the psychic territory."
I raised an eyebrow. "Psychic, huh?"
He winked. "Psychic… Detective ."
We stood in the quiet for a second, the chaos of the moment hanging lightly around us like mist.
Then Shawn looked at me more seriously. "You've got good instincts, you know. That observation about the plane—that helped more than you think."
I looked at him, a little surprised. "Really?"
He nodded. "You've got the eye for this kind of thing. Maybe you're more than just a forest kid after all."
Before I could respond, Gus called out from behind him. "Shawn! They're going to start asking questions we don't want to answer."
Shawn turned his head. "Coming, partner!" Then he looked back at me. "Stick around, kid. I've got a feeling this won't be the last case you're part of."
And with that, he jogged off to catch up with Gus, leaving me standing there, more amused than confused.
On the drive home, my uncle and I sat in silence for a while. The hum of the truck and the fading noise of the city buzzed in the background.
Finally, Michael spoke. "So, definitely a different day than usual."
I nodded. "Yeah. It was... something."
After a beat, Michael continued, "So about you starting high school soon... A while ago, my boss asked if I wanted a different challenge. He recommended me for a position flying police helicopters in the city. I've been thinking about it, and I wondered—would you be okay with moving? Maybe getting closer to the city?"
I just stared at my uncle, surprised by the suggestion… but slowly, I started to smile at the thought.