Sorry this took so long to get out! But I had to do some research, find some quotes, and come up with a way to write this chapter without sounding mind-numbingly dull. Next chapter will be up ever so much quicker, an will be mostly a Sands POV of the time that Tessa was gone. Should be fun. : )
If you're actually reading this, I'd love to hear from you if I haven't yet. It's sad, but feedback really does fuel the imagination.
Author Thanks at the end.
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As soon as the words had left her mouth, Tess felt a deep loathing for herself. It had been years since she had begged anyone for anything. And even more years since she had been stupid enough to plead for someone to stop what was obviously meant to be a lesson. How had she managed to forget that begging was weakness, and weakness was punished? But her body had forgotten the sting of those long ago punishments, even if her mind had not, and it was her mind screaming now for her to run as far and fast as she could. Her inner voice was screaming that if she didn't want to really get it, she had better stay where she was. Her body made a compromise between the two and she found herself pulling as far away from the man on the bed as she could – which wasn't far since he was still holding her arm in a death grip.
Let me take over – I'll keep us safe. Tess knew what that safety was; it was being locked in the prison of her mind. True, she wouldn't feel too much pain, but she would lose all control over herself, and there were too many people depending on her right now for her to give in. Maybe when this is all over. Then we can find a quiet corner and . . . . She realized that she was talking to another person. Or perhaps I can just make sure I take my medications tonight. I think I may have forgotten yesterday, what with all the excitement. That was incredibly stupid. No wonder her dopamine suppressant was doing a poor job. "I'll answer your questions, senor, but first you have to let me go. I won't be much use to anyone if I can't use both hands."
Sands heard the suppressed panic in his captive's voice, but unfortunately he was in no shape to enjoy it. Perhaps if the very thought of a smile didn't send shivers of pain down his spine . . . or if he had any belief that he had any control over this situation at all. But he wasn't able to delude himself into thinking that.
Good, because an illusion of control is what got you into this in the first place. The voice was quiet for a moment before asking, Are you planning on holding her hand all day? Because I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I really don't think you're going to be able to keep that grip up for much longer, my friend. It was true; his arm was already starting to shake with fatigue.
Damn blood loss. "Give me a gun."
"What?" The man had to be loco if he thought she was going to give him a weapon with which he could threaten her. She did have more sense than that – perhaps not much more at the time, but some. Enough to learn from past mistakes.
Sands heard this opinion in her voice, and this time he very nearly did smile no matter how much it would have hurt. "Let me rephrase that," he said while tightening his grip and eliciting a gasp of pain from the woman. "Either you can give me a gun, or I can break your wrist. It's up to you."
Tess didn't doubt that he would do as he threatened. That's why I don't want to give him a weapon. If he doesn't like what I have to say, what's to keep him from shooting me?
Just make sure that you don't say anything that will upset him, nitwit.
And if I screw up we both die . . . or at least I'll die, and that means you'll be dead too.
Perhaps, or perhaps I'll find someone else to drive mad.
"You're going to need to sit up, señor. I can't reach any of the guns in the house from here." Slowly leaning down as her "patient" leaned forward, she grasped the handle of one of the semi-automatics on the floor. Sitting back up, she held it out. "Here, take it." The man took it in his left hand, not releasing his grip on her arm until he was satisfied that she had given him one of his own guns. When he did release her, her hand tingled painfully as blood rushed back into it. She grimaced, thankful that it would go unnoticed.
"Señora Tessa, I found a banana for Lena. What do you want me to do with it?"
Lena! I forgot about the baby! Looking around the room, she saw that Lena had found a pen and was scribbling harmlessly on the walls. Briefly she wondered if she should have René take the child and leave the room, but decided against it. It seemed too much like admitting fear . . . or admitting that she believed that he was capable of the cold-blooded murder of children. She refused to believe that of him. "Bring it here. I'll feed her right after I finish with señor Tirado."
As the boy brought her the piece of fruit she thought, It's a good thing that these children are so obedient, otherwise I'd be in big trouble right about now. I don't think I could handle having to keep order among them when I can barely keep it within myself at the moment. "Thank you, René. Now will you go play in the living room or something until I come out to start dinner?" The boy looked longingly at the armchair in the far corner of the room – he clearly wanted to stay.
"What's wrong, niña? Afraid I'm going to take a shot at your young charges?" Sands still spoke in English, taunting her fears.
"No." The answer was sulky, her tone indication that this was exactly what she was thinking, and she knew it. Nice job, Tessa. She couldn't tell René to leave without risking the man's ridicule and making it appear as if she thought him a monster, but she didn't feel comfortable with letting the boy stay in the room either. Too bad you're backed into a corner and the three of us know it.
Bite me. "Fine. You may stay if you want, but I need you stay out from underfoot, and you have to promise to leave if I ask you to, okay?"
"Sí, señora." She watched as he ran from the room and came back with several picture books. He settled into the armchair and the quiet sound of turning pages filled the silence of the afternoon air.
"I'm still waiting, niña. And while I can entertain myself for some time with all sorts of thoughts that I doubt you'd fully appreciate, I would find it ever so much more amusing if you'd open your mouth and share some answers to my earlier questions."
This sudden monologue started Tess back to reality. "Do you want any Novocain salve?"
"What? What the hell are you talking about? Did you just hear a word I just said?"
"Yes, I heard you. I just thought it might be distracting to feel my needle as I stitch you up again," she answered innocently. She was stalling for more time and they both knew it. "Or would you rather do without?" She doubted it. He had to be in enough pain as it was without having this added to it.
"Fuck you."
"I'll take that as a yes." She reached for the cream she had left out on her nightstand. "This is going to be a bit cold." As she applied the balm, she started talking, unable to put things off for any longer. "Yesterday . . ." she sighed. Yesterday was a blood bath. I think you're probably more aware of the causes behind that than I am."
"Why do you say that?" Sands' voice was tense as he wondered what exactly she had learned from the earlier conversation she had had on the phone. He really hoped that she hadn't discovered too much . . . it would be difficult for him to find another doctor at the moment.
"It's not every day that a person sees a blind and severely injured gunfighter take out several members of a rather powerful cartel. It's not every day that one sees a severely injured blind gunfighter. It wasn't hard to guess that somehow you strayed onto Barillo's bad side, and knowledge is often the cause for such drastic retribution." She shrugged, sitting back until the Novocain could take effect. "I don't know who you are; mercenary, a cartel member who played the odds and lost, do-gooder, or government. It's enough that you were seemingly fighting against the cartel."
"And how would you recognize this job as their work . . . or more specifically, how did you become acquainted with Dr. Guevera's handiwork?"
This is where she stepped into dangerous waters. If she wasn't careful, she might very well get herself shot. Haltingly she said, "Remember how I told you that Barillo ruined my life?" She waited for him to acknowledge this reminder. "The cartel took an interest in me at a young age, and when they take an interest in you, you don't refuse without severe consequences. I was brought up among the ranks of henchmen to be a doctor . . . Ajedrez' personal medical slave if you will. After receiving my degree from Harvard medical, I was summoned back home. I was told to do an internship with the good doctor – I didn't argue. I thought that the man could surely teach me a thing or two." She laughed bitterly. "And he did – it just cost me whatever innocence I had left by that time. I left soon after, always managing to stay one step ahead of Barillo, thanks to a man who felt less loyalty to Barillo than he did to the memory of a slaughtered brother. He didn't like me – hated the sight of me, in fact – but he hated Barillo more. And incidentally, that's how I managed to show up here in time for yesterday's slaughter." The memory of some of the things she had learned, saw, and even done while under the thumb of Barillo and Guevera made her skin crawl and her stomach turn. But you're repaying that. Slowly, but repaying it nonetheless. And you'll soon be done. Just patch this man up.
Just patch him up? Is that all I can do for him?
He has no eyes. You're a doctor, not God. Just be content with doing all you can.
"You know, dragging any information out of you is like pulling teeth."
Startled, Tess looked up from the needle she had started threading to distract herself. "It's difficult to talk when you're not sure if you're next words will earn you a bullet between the eyes. At one point in my life I was better able to deal with the feeling, but sadly, it's been a few years since I've had to practice. Forgive me for wishing to prolong my life." Sands flipped her off, but he did lower the weapon to his side. Ignoring the man's silent statement, Tess reached out and laid a gentle finger on the area surrounding the open bullet wound. "Can you feel that?"
"Feel what?" Sands asked irritably.
"Feel me touching you. I wanted to make sure you were numb before I stitched you up again." Concentrating on her task, she pierced his skin, wincing as she did. This was her least favorite part of medicine – sewing people together like they were ragdolls. "There were other things you wanted to know? I can't tell you what has happened today, what news of the army and the cartel there is to be had. I've been a bit busy to have had time to listen to the radio. If you wish, I can turn it on for you once I'm done." Tying off the first stitch, she checked again on Lena and René. Lena had taken to scribbling in one of the old, battered picture books that Tess had in her possession. No matter, she would be leaving soon anyway. And the children? What of them?
Foster home? Or an orphanage?
Right, let's leave them in the caring hands of the Mexican welfare system. Why don't you just toss them out on the street?
"I'll think of something. Just give me time."
"Time for what?"
Crap. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking out loud."
"I noticed." He paused before relaxing marginally. "I sure hope you're pretty, because I'm not so sure the 'intellectual' gig is working out for you."
"If you don't have your health, you don't have anything," Tess murmured under her breath.
"What the hell are you talking about now?"
"Sorry. Quote from 'The Princess Bride.' Sewing people up has never been my favorite thing to do."
She's as crazy as you are. Or perhaps they're as crazy as we are. The sounds of childish whimpers reached his ears. "How many people are here, niña? I got the impression that you were here alone. What changed?"
"Can you hold that thought? Need to go see what's wrong."
I don't think so. Sands raised his weapon. "Answers first, señorita. Then you can go running about."
"May I ask you something?" There was an odd note in Tess' voice. She hated hearing a child in distress left uncomforted. It reminded her too much of her own childhood. "Have I ever given you reason not to trust me? Do us a favor. I know it's difficult for you, but please stay here. . . ."
"And what would that quote be from?"
"A movie. Please, she's just a child, one that's frightened and alone." Just like you must be feeling. At least the child isn't too proud to ask for comfort. "Truthfully, I will come back and finish answering your questions. I just want to run across the hall."
"Oh god, will you stop groveling? I'm not going to blow your head off." He was pissed to find it was true. Pissed that he was in a foreign country with no one to trust but a woman he knew nothing about, other than she had some knowledge of a wide variety of subjects and a love of quoting literature. As he heard her footsteps migrate across the room, the voice in his head observed, Something like the mad leading the blind, isn't it?
Do you have any better ideas?
I have no problem using her in the same way you used the kid. Just don't go soft on me, Shel-don.
What makes you think I'm going soft? If the pain in his head didn't stop soon, he'd find himself begging for painkillers without a second thought. Pain should never be allowed to get so bad that it warped reality.
Well, you told to kid to run before you initiated that shoot out with the two cartel flunkies, and then actually waited to make sure he listened to you. You haven't told this woman off; just made vague threats about what might happen if she doesn't do what you want, and lastly, you're listening to me. And talking back, I might add.
Damn, he hated it when he was right.
The rest of the afternoon had passed uneventfully. She had employed Marcos in keeping the three younger children busy while she finished talking with Sands. She told him that she was looking after Marcos and his younger siblings at the moment, though she neglected to say why, knowing that Marcos would tell the man when he was ready. She wasn't sure how the man would react, or if he'd find any empathy within himself to comfort the boy, but she prayed that somehow he would be able to help the boy. Sure, she could comfort, but Marcos was reaching the age where he was going to start relying less on the comfort of women and more on the models set for him by men. And she had seen in his eyes and heard in his voice how much he felt for the other man. Respect, compassion, belief, and a smidgen of reverence. Tessa wasn't sure if the man was a safe person to hang such hopes on, but it was all she had, and other matters concerned her more at the moment.
The only tense part of the afternoon had come when Tess had mentioned her planned outing that evening to run a few errands. "I need more food if I'm to keep six people fed, and Lena is definitely going to need some more diapers."
"And you are telling me this why?"
"Because I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be out of the house for an unspecified amount of time leaving you with four children, and I was wondering if you wanted me to a) pick something up for you while I'm out, b) run by where ever it was you were staying to get you a change of clothes, or c) simply put you under before I leave and tell the kids to stay out of here."
"What, you're a multiple choice test now?" Silence. She wasn't going to fall for the bait. How boring. "Get me a pack of cigarettes."
"No clothing? Surely you must have more than those black ones I patched up earlier. Something easier to get on over all those lovely stitches of yours?"
"You want to know where I was staying." It was a statement, one that cast doubts on her level of intelligence. If he thought that was stupid, she had better keep her other plans for the night to herself. "Don't be an idiot. You have no idea whether or not someone is watching my place. It would be tantamount to suicide. I'm what you would call persona non grata around here. What makes you think you would possibly . . . ." While Sands had pulled some risky – even what might be called "foolhardy" – stunts in his day (heck, he'd done so yesterday), he couldn't comprehend what this woman was thinking. If she truly had a high level of experience with the cartel, she should know better. "No. It's too dangerous."
"Frankly, I'm touched –"
"You're touched in the head. Don't get me mistaken – I don't want you caught by anyone. One good torture session and they'll know where I am."
Personal gain. Should have seen that one coming. "You're not getting those jeans over those injuries. If you think they hurt now, just wait until they're encased in a denim prison."
"Fine. Buy me what ever you think –"
"Which are you trying to hide from; the cartel or former employers?"
What the h– That had hit far too close to home. "What did you learn from your little telephone conversation, niña?"
"Nothing, other than the phone in your possession had a government line. U.S. government. And the people at the other end weren't too happy I was on it. That's why I was asking for more information. I can handle the cartel. Right now they're leaderless. I need to know if there's anyone else looking for you though. How else can I keep everyone currently under my roof safe?"
"Just because I'm under your roof doesn't mean that I'm your responsibility. You have nothing that ties you to me. If you're worried, just shove me out the door. I of all people wouldn't blame you for looking out for number one."
Don't listen, Tessa. We both know you carry more responsibility for this than you care to admit. Your family, your fault. "The sins of the fathers will carry down unto the third and forth generation . . . ." "With great power comes great responsibility." Your father ignored that – don't you make that same mistake.
Wistfully she sighed. "One is the loneliest number." Shaking her head she continued, "No, you are my responsibility, but if you don't want to tell me, fine. I'll find something for you to wear somewhere."
Satisfied that she was going to let the matter drop, Sands asked, "You said something about a radio?"
It wasn't as easy to sneak out of the house as Tess had expected it to be. First she had to wait until the children were asleep, or at least close enough to it that they wouldn't seek her out. Then, she had to check on Sands. That had been worrisome. The man was sporting the beginnings of a fever. She dosed him with aspirin and hoped that would hold things off until she was able to look into what might be causing it. She sincerely hoped that it wasn't infection.
"Here, take this." She had given the man another gun. "I don't anticipate being gone for more than two or three hours. I'm going to have to drive across town and find a store that's open late. All the shops in this area know me by sight and would know that I don't usually buy enough food for six or purchase many diapers. I'd rather avoid as much suspicion as possible until I've figured out what I'm going to do with the kids. They at least deserve a happy ending out of all this." There had been a minimum of argument from the man, which had worried Tess more than the fever. "Are you sure you don't want a stronger painkiller?" Surely he was running low on obstinacy or whatever it was that was keeping him from caving to the pain. She understood that he didn't want to lose consciousness, to be vulnerable, to be locked in his dreams without escape, but he shouldn't needlessly suffer either.
But he had refused on the grounds that if he became too doped up on meds, he'd likely end up shooting someone accidentally. It was a good argument to use when there were small children in the house, so she had let him be.
Now, an hour after she had left the house, she was sitting in her car two blocks from where Marcos' parents had been found. She had bought her groceries with a minimum of effort, thankful that she always kept a supply of cash on her for times when it was unwise to leave an identity. I suppose I could have a fake ID made. I do know people who could do that for me. It's just that I'm already struggling to maintain my own identity. I don't need a third.
She looked out her windshield. There were a surprising amount of people out for a city that just last night had been rocked by riots and an attempted coup d'etat. Life goes on . . . for some people. Others just watch and smile and wait like wallflowers at a high school dance. Have you ever danced Tessa?
Everyday, on the edge of sanity. That's enough for me. Life is for the sane, existence is for the rest of us.
Getting out of her car, she walked down the block to the corner. All evidence of blood had been washed from the sidewalk and brick of the surrounding buildings. There were no bullets lying around. Of course not. Why make this easy? She glanced around. Three meters away there was an entrance to an alleyway. I've come this far. It'd be a pity to go home now. Making sure that her small handgun was easily accessible in her pocket, she walked to the alley, checking it thoroughly before chancing to go inside.
For this part of town she was pleasantly surprised. There were no piles of garbage, no trashcans to supply cover for anyone who might wish to lurk. There weren't even any stray animals. Here goes nothing. Pulling out the penlight that was attached to her keychain, Tess took a few steps into the alley, cautiously looking around her as she did. She did not want to be trapped here. Tess swiveled her beam side to side, waiting to catch sight of the dim light reflecting off a spare shell casing. There, and there . . . there. Quickly she gathered her evidence, holding the casings to five bullets in her hand. She didn't stand around to examine them here; she wasn't that foolish. Instead she walked back to her car and drove to her second-to-last destination of the night.
Going to the apartment where Marcos' family had lived had been useless. She had sat in her car for an hour waiting for someone – anyone – to show up. No one had. Whoever had waited for the boy the night before had apparently given up. Then it was probably cartel. They have enough on their hands right now, bigger things to worry about than a hapless boy that played tour guide to a blind man. Things like forming factions to choose a new leader. After that, then there might be danger, to Marcos and 'Tirado.' The bloody head of someone who had messed in cartel business would be a good trophy for a new leader. A good way to gather support. It wouldn't matter if that person were affiliated with the cartel or not – just that they opposed them.
By that line of logic, your own head is in danger.
Are you just now figuring that out? Why do you think I've been so careful to remain a step ahead of Barillo? Because I like the exercise? No, it's because I happen to be rather attached to my head, even if it is often too crowded. But at least you have the decency to stay inside my head, rather than outside ringing in my ears.
Don't press your luck. We both know that could change in a moment. We both know that's what I'm hoping for.
Don't hold your breath.
I'm not. Look, are we going to sit out here all night, or are we going to go into the man's room sometime and fetch him some clothes? Thanks to her careful wording of her concession, she had never actually said that she wouldn't go to her patient's place of temporary housing. She wouldn't have if she hadn't discovered the worn matchbook in one of his pockets. After that she had known exactly what hotel he was staying in, a piece of crap place that was more used to renting by the hour than by the night. But she knew the owner, had managed to patch his kid up after the boy had decided to stop dealing for Barillo. She figured he could let her into the right room and keep his mouth shut about it.
Her car was the only one in the parking lot, and in dark jeans and her denim jacket, she wouldn't look too out of place in the setting. True, if she had dressed like a hooker, she would had blended in better, but she did have some standards, and dressing as if vinyl was a natural byproduct of her body was crossing the line. Shifting the baseball cap on her head so it would better shade her face, she once again got out of her car.
The door to the "lobby" let out a brassy and despondent 'ding' when she opened it. Luck was with her; there were no streetwalkers here with business. Walking up to the counter with its bulletproof glass shield, she called, "Nicholas Garcia, you have business!" From the back room came a balding man wearing coke-bottle glasses and a stained t-shirt. "Hóla, señor. I need some information, and I'm willing to pay to get it."
Fine minutes later she was standing outside a motel door, trying to get the key to turn in the knob. It was a procedure that required tact and patience, and she was running out of both. Something was making warning shivers run up and down her spine, and she had learned to trust her instincts. At times she thought that perhaps her madness looked out for her to keep its host. What good was madness to a dead person? Stepping into the room with a sigh of relief as the door opened, she once again pulled out her trusty keychain. The light from the bulb was dim enough to keep from being noticed from the street, or at least she hoped it was. The last thing she needed to deal with now was someone who might be looking for her patient.
There, in the corner. She looked more closely and realized that she was indeed looking at a suitcase. Good enough. Let's get out of here. Swiftly crossing the small room, wincing as she heard the crunch of some kind of insect underfoot, she picked up the suitcase and left the room, making sure to lock it behind her. Not that a lock would keep anyone with an ounce of determination from getting in . . . unless they used the key. The door was too flimsy to earn much respect.
Quickly dropping the key off in the nightdrop, she jogged back to her car, eager to get home. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite fast enough. As she opened the door to the backseat, she felt a path of fire trace it's way over the underside of her arm, quick as lightning. When a bullet slammed the door shut a moment later, Tess realized what was going on. Cursing because the man had been right, she threw herself into the open driver's side door, pulling it closed behind her. Starting the car as another, then another bullet hit her car – luckily missing the glass – she threw the automobile into gear and raced out of the parking lot at a speed she otherwise would have avoided.
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Quotes for this chapter come to you from: Princess Bride, PotC, Spiderman, and X-Files: Fight the Future. Did you catch them all?
Author Thanks: much thanks to Merrie and Miss Becky, my most persistent reviewers. Also thanks go to Bitchy Little Pixy and Kaliko for the reassurance that there are more than two people reading this, and most especially to WakingDream for volunteering to beta for me. I really do appreciate all the little things you catch. Somehow most of this makes more sense when it's in my head than when it's on paper. [That's actually kinda scary, isn't it? ;)]
