Red Tides
By Megan@Midnight
Dead people bleed. It's like they don't know they're dead. It explodes like rain in a hurricane, flows like the tides. Covers the walls and floors and the ceiling in red.
"And the waters turned to blood." Agent Sheldon Sands watches the blood pool and pour. It's very dark. The darkest shade of red he's ever seen. There's blood on his face, blood on his shirt, blood pooling around his shoes. "Shit." He takes a step back, but that's not enough. He quicksteps backwards on his toes until he's well away. There are little red patterns marking his steps.
"Sands!" And then there are CIA agents everywhere.
"Here we go," he mutters and turns into the miasma of people. All dark colors and not a hint of red.
It's near three a m when he gets home. There's still blood on his shirt and his face and his shoes. There are half moon shapes on his rug. Sands heads straight for the shower.
Water mixes with dark hair and pours in streams down Sands' back. Red and clear mix pink and cover her his face in pink. Pink trails down a tanned chest. Sheldon watches the water flow down. And down and down. He doesn't notice his knees buckling. When they hit the tile, it's a surprise. He kneels on the shower floor, head down, dark wet hair covering his face, hands held in front of his face. He flexes his hands, in and out, in and out, blood and water mixing on a tiled floor. "I killed four people," Sheldon says, watching his hands flex in the water. "And I don't care." For a moment he wonders what kind of a man that makes him. Shrugging looks odd frorm a man on his knees in the shower, but it's apt. "I don't care. I just don't care." Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands kneels in the shower after his first kills until the blood is off and the water runs clean. Then he gets up, washes his hair, and steps out. Clean.