Title: Seeing Stones
Author: Nevoreiel (lamort_noir@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: How far would Sands go to succeed? Far enough.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except the story itself and that's not much.
Notes: Agent Sands's POV. Pre-Once Upon A Time In Mexico.
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The street yielded to me, or, at least it seemed to. It's good to keep some illusions around because you see, it wasn't really the street yielding, there were no crowds swarming over the pavement to do the yielding.
I walked, unhurried, after all the time was yet mine. The sun was high in the sky and I watched the shadows of the plaster buildings. The old Spanish constructions are decent to look at but some of the more modern built huts, for there's no better word for them, are in horrid contrast to history.
An old woman, bent, a shawl wrapped about her face, leaned out from a doorway. A cheap sign stood in front, introducing her as a fortuneteller. I passed her as readily as I passed everything else but her hand shot out to clutch at my arm and she hurriedly spoke in Spanish, urging me to learn my fortune for just a small fee.
I politely tried to peel her fingers off my arm but she was strong for an old crone. Insistently, she pulled me through the doorway and pushed me back into a rickety chair.
Striking a match, she lit a candle ceremoniously, taking the edge off the gloom gathered about the room. The setting conformed completely to the stereotypical fortuneteller's booth
Slightly amused and somewhat annoyed, not enough to take a more persuasive hand to the woman, I sat and watched her flutter around. "Setting up for the right atmosphere," as she mumbled to herself.
I studied my hands, ready to twiddle my thumbs, when she finally sat down heavily opposite me. The table wobbled, making the candle sputter uncertainly.
She reached out, palm up, smiling archly I flopped my own on top of hers. The woman turned it palm up and bent close, tracing a finger over the lines. The sensation was vaguely ticklish and I had an urge to laugh but decided that it would not be worth it.
"Hmm, seňor has a long life line but here," and she pointed at some random spot on my palm, "there's a break in it. A large challenge you will face. It will be great and hard to overcome."
"Oh, no, believe me, I love challenges." I tried to regain my hand but she clutched at it.
"Do not take warning lightly. Serious business brought you here." She nodded gravely, wisely.
I sat silently, waiting for the next grand revelation. Pointedly glancing at my watch, I sighed heavily. Getting the quite obvious hint, she released my hand and produced a slightly dirty glass sphere.
She cleared her throat and peered into the depths. Comically scrunching her features, she squinted, putting one tinkling hand to her forehead and waving the other over the ball. She got a ten out of ten on fulfilling the stereotypical fortuneteller routine.
I finally reached my limit. I usually like to do the actual conning; I get rather maltempered when I'm the one being duped. The chair made a horrible sound, scraping against the floorboards, as I pushed away from the table.
The faux fortuneteller gave a mighty start and stared at me with wide eyes. She also rose and grabbed my arm, keeping me in the little room.
"You must understand. You're in danger here in Mexico." She looked me in the eye, her features somber. "You have very deep eyes."
"Yes, so I've been told but I don't need a fortuneteller to divine this." My fingers were itching to go for the gun; been a while since I've had it put to use.
She shook her head, beads clacking together, "It would be such a shame were they plucked out."
I smiled indulgently and almost patted her hand, the poor lost soul. "Such tales you tell. You can keep the money but I've very important business to attend to." Cramming some bills into her hand, I waved farewell and pried her fingers off my wrist.
Stepping out into the sunlit street was pleasant after all the doom and gloom inside. I did not take two steps when the woman called after me, "El hombre sin ojos!"
I decided not to make a mess of her on the street and chose my steps carefully. Anger is such a fickle thing. I think the water is partially to blame for her fragile state of mind; she really should use filters more often.
***
My eyes were wide open, I think, but nothing save darkness greeted me. And it's not the blessed cool darkness of night but burning and tearing darkness akin to hell. Yes. Just like hell. Maybe worse. I should know about such things, you know.
Tentatively I reached up and, before I even had the chance to touch my burning eyes, the pain flashed like a spike through my skull. Pounding, driving agony.
I tried to blink, to induce some motion in my eyes but realized that I could feel nothing but pain and…no, just pain.
Clenching my teeth until it hurt, I tenderly touched a fingertip to the place where my left eye should've been. The howl tore from me. My finger felt like a poker.
There was no eye in the socket. Nothing. Empty. Holding no seeing stone. It was then that I realized that my cheeks were slick with something sticky. I put a finger to my lips and tasted blood. Figures that it wasn't tears.
In a flash I saw the old crone – that showy fortuneteller – and I felt the intense urge to laugh. That hysterical laugh of those who actually have something to cry about. But I'm not sure if I can cry. Almost screamed at the top of my lungs but when one's left with one's life, there should be some thanksgiving going on. Bastards! Thank you and I hope you like your brains hanging out of your ears because that's what you'll get when I see you again. Oh, wait; I won't be seeing you or anything else for that matter. You saw to that. Justice really is blind, isn't it then. Heartless, too, you fucking pigs.
I forget myself and cover my face with my hands. My nerve endings scream mercy!, thrilling through my being.
I gasp, pulling in air and bolt upright. Just a dream. Disturbing but just a dream…hopefully.
Reaching out for my eyes I hope for the best and what do you know? My head is bandaged. I poke at the gauze over my eyes and almost choke on the pain.
No. No! It was a dream!
Footsteps patter into the room and I'm up and have my arm around the intruder's throat.
"Who did this to me?! Who took my eyes? Answer me!" All I get is gurgurled noises. Guess I should let up on the strangling.
It's a woman's breathless voice that answers – babbling in Spanish, apologies and more nonsense. I push her away and grasp my way back to the bed…hospital bed if I have the smell pegged right.
Taking in calming breaths, I think back on the last thing I did and that damn fortuneteller pops up again. Like a damn weed; never to be gotten rid off again. But what if I squeeze my inner eyes just so…and –
***
I think I'm awake. Now way to check but to grasp for my eyes again. And, to great relief, I find them whole and present. I think I might be losing it after all. No more late night horror moves for me or fortunetellers, the frauds, for that matter.
I get up and stare at myself in the scratched mirror over the rusty sink. It's reassuring to see myself stare back.
Nothing to do now but proceed with the plan. Prophecies be damned! I've come this far and I will not stop because of some prediction. I'll pluck out my own yes before I give up.
The End
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A/N: Feedback appreciated.