Author's Note: sorry this one took so long. Things kept developing to the point where I ended up writing an entire chapter I hadn't meant to write. That's the problem with borrowing someone else's characters – the really don't want to listen to you. (You know I'll win in the end Sands! Stop being so difficult!) Enjoy, and next chapter we'll see Tess get into a bit of trouble – or at least a different kind than she's in now.
BTW – this (//\\) is Spanish speaking during the telephone conversation and this ("") is English. You'll see what I mean. At other times I think I say which language the people are speaking. Sorry of that got confusing.
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Well, that would certainly explain why she speaks English so well. While Sands was surprised by this news, he wasn't shocked. When she spoke English, some of her words had a distinct American accent to them instead of a Spanish one, or the more cultured European one that would have been taught by tutors in upper-class Spanish homes. "So what, you spent the school year in America and spent the summer in Mexico? Or was it the other way around? Or did your parents simply throw you back and forth without warning?"
The last situation would have been the most accurate had her father not felt the need to keep all those around him under this thumb. He certainly hadn't cared for her, and had he not found a need, a role for her to fill, she certainly would have been thrown out. But that was none of this man's concern, and he wouldn't feel sympathy for her if he did know. "I didn't go to America until I was seventeen, and that was only to go to university. Before that I lived in my father's house." Not his home – home implies family. Family implies some sort of caring for one another. I lived in a wolf pack, and I was the one they chose to pick on. A virtual slave, being raised to be a subservient nonentity to my sister. "But anyway, my shots are all up-to-date. The ones required by the US government and the Mexican government. And that's all you should need to know."
Sands heard the sound of a stool or chair being dragged across the floor to a position near the bed. He listened as his hostess took a seat, a knee or some odd joint popping. "Now, if I have laid any and all objections to rest, can I take a look at those stitches I spent so much time putting in last night?"
"Smart ass."
"Takes one to know one." There was a clink of metal against a hard surface. "I'm going to cut the gauze off, so don't get jumpy on me. These may be medical scissors, but there's still the risk that I could cut you, and I don't want to run it. I think we've both dealt with enough blood for the time being."
Sands tried to keep still as Tess sliced away the bandages, but the feeling of cool metal against his skin made him tense. It was too much like a medical procedure for him to be able to actually relax. The blasted woman noticed and actually tried to comfort him. "It's okay."
That irritated him beyond explanation for some reason. He wasn't a gun-shy dog that needed a steadying hand to keep from bolting or a high stung thoroughbred that needed a firm hand on the rein. "Of course everything is 'okay.' I have three extra holes in my appendages and a madman left two gaping vacancies in my face. Yeah, everything is just peachy-keen. And if you believe that, then you can kiss my scrawny American a– "
-Ring- The sound of a ringing cell phone cut him off before he could get suitably crude. Both adults froze – Tess wondering whose phone it was and where it was, and Sands silently cursing Ramirez for throwing the phone back to him. Damn interagency cooperation.
-Ring- Tess wondered if she had managed to overlook a phone in 'Giovanni's' belongings. Her cell phone never played a basic ringtone. She had too much time on her hands at times to allow that. She froze when she saw her patient do the same. Either he was still incredibly jumpy (which was entirely understandable), or he had some idea of who was calling.
She got up. "Don't answer that." Tess ignored the directive, much to the irritation of the man on the bed she was sure.
-Ring- Where is it? She was sure it was in the room, but she couldn't seem to locate it. Not that the room was messy – Tess kept things almost compulsively neat. Mess gave madness a foothold. But while she could hear the ringing of the phone, she couldn't seem to see it anywhere. -Ring- Under the bed. It must have gotten caught in the American's many belts and holsters, and when she had put them on the floor the night before, it must have slid under it. -Ring- Tess got down on her hands and knees.
"What are you doing?" She would have responded with a rather snarky comeback if she hadn't felt some sympathy for this man who had been on the wrong end of the Barillos' wrath.
"I'm getting the phone." She stuck her head under the bed. There it was, sitting like a legless scarab beetle halfway between her and the wall. Lowering herself to her belly, she reached out and grabbed it.
-Ring- The display was lit up, a number flashing slowly on it. It was a stateside number, she knew that much, but she didn't recognize the area code. Vaguely she thought that it was from somewhere on the East coast. Not that that mattered. What mattered was that someone was clearly trying to get a hold of her patient, and he (though he might deny it) was distinctly nervous about that.
-Ri- She pressed the receive button. Speaking in Spanish she said in a voice that was a cross between cautiousness and fear, //Hello?\\
"Who is this?" demanded a man's voice. "Who's using this line? This is an official line, and anyone who uses it without permission will be subjected to the penalties laid out by the United States government. Where's the agent this phone belongs to?"
//I don't speak English, sir. I am sorry. Please repeat that in Spanish?\\ Tess heard cursing coming from the man. He clearly didn't speak Spanish, and it sounded as if he didn't have anyone nearby who did.
Idiot. In a nearly hysterical voice she started spouting nonsense, rambling drivel as fast as she could, trying to sound as if she were afraid for her life. Or paranoid. Or mad. //Did you know that the pink crayons gallop on icebergs in front of fancy garages? And the raining sun falls down on arrogant know-it-alls who can't speak the native language, which is why I can get away with saying nonsense like this. Only seven different types of fool would wear their pants backwards and speak in a foreign tongue to stupid Mexican señoritas. Or perhaps people who get off from that sort of thing, but that is just sick in the same way that an anteater picking it's nose is sick.\\
"Hold on, señora. Calm down." There was a muffled conversation before a new voice came on asking, //Señora, what's wrong? Where are you? We'd like to send someone to help you.\\ Oh crap. I have to start making sense. //Señora? Are you still there?\\
Thinking fast, Tess let out a small despairing shriek. //The sun! The sun! It burns my face! And the man! Black Death with no eyes! Where are they? My husband, my children?! Dead. Lost. Taken from me.\\ She stopped for dramatic effect. //What? No!\\ The person on the phone was trying to get her to talk the him, but she ignored that. //No! Leave me alone! NO!\\ She let out a strangled sound, then cut it short. Crawling out from under the bed, she placed the phone on the wooden floor and grabbed the stool she had been sitting on. Turning it so the seat would contact solidly with the floor, she brought it down on the phone, smashing it and terminating the connection. With a sense of satisfaction she had not had in some time, she raised the stool so she could survey the damage.
"Amusing ourselves were we?" Turning to look at the room's other occupant who she had momentarily forgot, she blushed, embarrassed to be caught letting some of her madness out. "You almost had me believing you were crazy. Perhaps you should have gone into radio theater instead of medicine. You certainly aren't doing much to make me feel any better."
"It's not my fault that real life insists upon intruding on my schedule." Picking up the stool, she brushed electronic bits and plastic crumbs off the seat . Bringing it back over to the bed, she set it on the floor and sat back down, acting as if nothing had just happened. "Besides, you have to admit that it was fairly entertaining, more so than me reciting poems about death." Picking up the scissors again, she resumed taking the wrappings off the flesh she had labored over the previous night.
Sands was mentally kicking himself for not getting rid of that phone when he had had the chance. In a sudden reversal of his luck in finding dependable people, this woman seemed to genuinely want to help him. But it was a slim piece of luck at best, and who knew how long it would last. I thought that Cucuy, Ajedrez, and 'El' were dependable too. Cucuy left me for more money, Ajedrez was lying the whole time, and the guitar player . . . I really don't know if he managed to complete his mission or not. Probably not. Probably got all loyal and angst ridden at the last moment. He didn't know though. He knew nothing. Lack of information led to failure, and failure was not tolerated.
And this girl who says she wants to help you. What about her? She seems to be rather mysterious. What has she told you beyond her name? If that's even her name. Nothing, no news of what happened yesterday, no news of what happened today, nothing. Sure you may get a tidbit here and there; her name is 'Tess,' she's a bastard with American citizenship, she attended medical school in America, and she seems to know what drugs the cartel prefers to use. How does she know that? It doesn't seem like information they would randomly or freely hand out. A sudden flare of pain stopped the voice in his head. Pity – he was starting to enjoy its chatter.
"I thought you were checking up on the state of your blue ribbon stitches, not tearing them out with your bare hands. I've had enough experience to know that the customary procedure is to use scissors, not pliers."
So much for being gentle, she thought. "This one has broken open again, señor. Two of the three stitches have come loose and the third is about to. The dried blood from the wound is making the fibers of the bandages stick unnecessarily. I'm doing my best to be careful, but the truth is, I wouldn't need to be careful had you resisted the urge to go exploring."
"What can I say? The sound of your siren-like singing drove me to measures that I normally wouldn't have taken. Surely no man chooses to commit suicide in such an inane and painfully drawn out manner unless he's otherwise compelled to."
The mockery she heard in his voice pricked her temper. Under normal circumstances she could have easily ignored him, but at the moment she was faced with caring for four children and a tetchy stranger, she had gotten little sleep the previous night and she was tired from donating a pint of blood to the man before her who was doing his best to imitate a sieve, plus her dopamine suppressant was fraying her control over even simple emotions. She had sat and listened to many insults in her lifetime that had been more hurtful, but this one was the card that caused her frail emotional balance to collapse. Under her breath she muttered, "At least Odysseus was able to blind his monster instead of things happening the other way around."
Bitch. "You know, they say that when a person loses one sense their others become more honed to make up for it." The hands on his thigh froze. "In other words, niña, I heard that."
A wave of guilt wiped out Tess' anger. This man had been through a lot in a short amount of time. She should understand that and keep her temper in check, or at least her tongue. He had every right to be angry and bitter – just as she was the last rightful target for those feelings. "I'm sorry. That was cruel."
Sands was going to make some kind of snide remark when he was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. "Señora Tessa?"
Tess gave a short prayer of thanks as she turned from her patient to the boy standing uncertainly in the doorway to the bedroom. She pretended not to notice as Sands turned his face in the same direction, although her voice was screaming at her for being an unfeeling bitch, a worthless doctor, and a bastard with the I.Q. of 30 or so for not explaining what had happened since the man had awoken that morning. Shut up. "Yes, René?" Focusing on the boy and what he had to say would drown out the voice. "What is it?"
"Lena woke up. I think she's hungry."
"Thank you, René. I'll make sure that I go check on her as soon as I'm done here."
"I don't think you need to do that." Tess was about to ask what he meant, when she saw a small head capped in flyaway dark hair appear around the corner. Little Lena seemed to have mastered the art of crawling sometime in her short life.
"Well. She's determined, isn't she?" The boy nodded. Not sure of what else she needed to say, Tess turned back to her patient, slowly pulling more of the bandage off.
"Who's that?" Looking over her shoulder she saw that the young boy had gathered the courage in walk farther into the room, braving the company of a strange man. "Why are his eyes covered?"
It was an innocent question, one asked simply to gain information, not to cause hurt or to show horrified fascination. But when she saw her patient freeze, Tess was afraid of how he would react to the boy, of how he would answer that question. He'd undoubtedly answer in English, but anger and aggression could still be transmitted, and that was something the boy didn't deserve. She did, but not a child who had unwittingly stumbled into the midst of this mess. Before the man could say anything she said, "This is –"
"Giovanni Tirado." Tess looked at him in surprise. She hadn't thought he had taken her seriously when she had mentioned the name. He probably wasn't.
"Why do you have bandages around your eyes, Señor Tirado?"
"They got hurt." The answer was short and curt, as if admitting such a thing out loud pained him. And since it was in English the boy didn't understand it.
"What did he say, señora?" When Sands didn't offer to do the job himself, Tess translated slowly, hoping she wasn't starting something that she would come to regret. Once he understood Sands' answer, René asked another question. "Did you come to señora Tessa so she could help you too? My brother Marcos said that's why we had to come here, so she could help us."
"No, I came here because I was looking for my own personal angel of death."
Tess was not going to translate that, so she merely said, "Yes, I brought señor Tirado here so I could help him. Why don't you go see if you can find a banana for me so I can give Lena something to eat?" The girl was currently trying to put on one of Tessa's shirts, but was having a hard time finding a hole to put her head in.
The boy left on his mission, and Tess turned back to hers. As she placed a hand on Sands' wounded leg again, she nearly jumped in surprise as the man grabbed her wrist in a tight grip. Slowly he started to increase the pressure until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. "What are you doing, señor? Are you loco? Let me go." All she got for her pains was a sharp twist to her wrist. If he didn't stop soon he was going to break something.
In a low conversational tone he said, "Let's get one thing straight, niña. I want some answers from you. Mainly to the questions of what the hell happened yesterday, just how many people are in this house, and how did they come to be here, and just what are you trying to do?" Bringing his free hand up to his chin he tapped it, as if trying to remember something. "Oh yes, and how the hell do you know so much about the cartel and Barillo and his pet medic? And how is it that you just happened to be in this miserable excuse for civilization just in time for yesterday's slaughter?"
"Señor, please, if you'll just let me finish–" the hand imprisoning her wrist tightened yet again, and this time Tess swore she could feel the bones of her arm bending in towards each other. "Please, I will answer your questions, but I need to replace those stitches if we're to keep as much of your blood in you as possible."
"You're stalling for time and I am not a patient man."
"No, I'm not. I swear." The pressure rose another fraction; Sands' arm was trembling from the prolonged force he was exerting. Tess could practically hear her bones creak – any moment they were going to snap. "Please, you're hurting me."
