The Long Way Home
By
E. S. YoungChapter Four: Fire to Ice
Wouldn't ya know it? I don't have anything to say. blinks Really, I don't. That's a first, for those of you who know me from my IZ Fan Fiction, which there will be more of, I assure you. But first, this one. I hope I've written Sands well. His lines and actions are hard to think of, y'know? You never know what he's gonna do. (looks over at Sands, who is placidly drinking his tequila) Erm . . . . I won't ask where he got that, I just won't.
- - -
Ohhhh this was going to suck. The pain had slowly been ebbing away at the remaining drugs the cartel had injected into him. It had been doing it for the past hour or so, Sands determined. He could feel the drugs fading quickly now. At first it had been slow, tedious, feeling a bit like pin pricks, but the pins had started to dig deeper and had begun to lengthen, widen to the point where they felt, no, had turned into daggers. Big, long, ten-inch things that were plunging into every part of him, and each one was on fire. And now . . . . there would soon be no drugs left, none at all . . . and the thought of suicide would be very tempting . . . .
NO. No, no, fuck NO. Not like this. If he was gonna do that last tango in Paris, he wasn't going to do it lying on a bed writhing in pain, and he certainly wasn't going to do it in Mexico. He hated the godforsaken country and everyone in it. He had only taken on this damn assignment because he was bored. He had nothing better to do, and he hated having to remain in one place longer than necessary.
Sands gasped sharply when he was once again afflicted by the burning sensation that shot through his body. It was just like the others he had been suffering through that day. Only difference was this one didn't subside. It wasn't like the others. It remained with him, gnawing at his wounds, cuts, scrapes, bruises, everything imaginable was being bitten and torched.
'Where the hell is Lyn!?'
Gone, ditched you, I expect.
'No . . . that's not her style. She wouldn't leave like that.'
Wouldn't she? She's left people before. First her family, then the United States, quickly followed by the CIA, how long do you think it'll be?
''Til she leaves me alone? Never. She's my sister, for Christ's sake; she'll never leave me the hell alone.'
Yes she will, his so-called conscience insisted, She'll leave you all alone with no one but me for company.
Sands had to smile at what the voice had said despite how grim his situation looked.
'Then I won't be alone then, will I?'
- - -
"What's wrong?" Liam asked as Lynné came flying down the stairs and into the living room. She said nothing but flung herself in front of his laptop and exited out of his game of solitaire.
"Hey, I had four hundred-something on that game," he cried in protest, but Lynné silenced him with one look. Her eyes flashed and that was all it took.
Within seconds her fingers were flying all over the keys, her eyes never leaving the screen of the little computer. Her face wore an expression one in deep concentration mingled with slight irritation might wear. She was clearly looking for something because Liam heard the annoyingly familiar, "You've got mail!" sound from the computer.
"Yeah, yeah," Lynné muttered under her breath, more to the screen than to him.
"Might I ask what you're doing?" he inquired mildly.
"No," was the sharp answer, then, "just get me a medical book. One about eyes, preferably."
Liam raised an eyebrow in her direction but said no more and went off in search of the book. Meanwhile, Lyn's furious typing subsided a bit as the search engine slowed to a halt. Nothing but a blank widow appeared on the screen.
"Damn you AOL," seethed Lynné, "Stupid, slow piece of shi – bingo." A somewhat triumphant grin crawled across her face as she clicked on one of several links the computer showed.
"I found your book." Liam's voice came from somewhere upstairs.
"Flip through it 'til you find a picture of the eyes and all the –"she waved her hand, searching for the right word – "junk that's behind them."
"What are you getting at?" Liam asked as he leafed through the thick volume he was carrying.
"Guevera, sick bastard that he is, didn't complete the procedure," she explained. "He only ripped out his eyes."
She looked up just in time to see Liam's mouth fall open. Shit, she'd forgotten he didn't know.
"So . . . so . . ." he stammered, oh get a hold of yourself, guy. "He . . . doesn't have any –"
"No. But that's all he's missing."
"Um . . so?"
Lynné rolled her eyes at him. 'Men.'
"He conveniently forgot to take out the optic nerve. They even left his eyelids, from what I could tell. And that –"
But she never finished. At that exact moment a strangled yell came from the guestroom upstairs. Both Lynné and Liam turned their heads toward the ceiling; a moment passed. Liam suddenly jumped a bit as another scream echoed throughout the house. Eyes widening with concern, Lynné leapt from her chair and bolted back up the stairway, with Liam right behind her.
- - -
When did it suddenly get so cold? A moment ago the heat had been so intense he felt for certain that he had died and gone to Hell. But the flames surrounding him had suddenly gone out, and a cold mist had taken their place. At first it had been a relief from the heat, but soon it had become too much. The fire that had once engulfed his body was suddenly taken over by a horrible frost. It clouded his mind, filling it with thick, swirling fog that made it more and more difficult to tell illusion from reality.
The phone slipped from his hand as he watched Ajedrez slid into the chair across from him. He had told her to meet him there, so why did it worry him to see her? Maybe it was that smug look she had on her face. It looked like a bad imitation of the smirk one his sister always wore whenever she had just gotten exactly what she wanted. But that smile had never concerned him before.
'You never really saw it coming, did you?' she asked with a light laugh in her voice.
Next thing he knew, there was a needle being plunged into the side of his neck and everything was driven into darkness.
Then, out of nowhere, a light appeared, a little blurred but a light all the same. He tried to sit up, but it was impossible. His legs and arms had been cruelly strapped down to a cold, steel table, making him almost immobile; all he could move was his head.
He looked around the small, square room. A few cronies were stationed here and there, and there was Guevera, the sick fuck, giving him a satisfied, slightly twisted smile. Beside him stood . . . . Christ . . . Barillo . . . ? But no, that wasn't right . . . he was dead, wasn't he? Sands turned his gaze to the slim woman sitting on the table next to his with her legs crossed, gun in hand.
Oh. . .
My . . .
Christ . . .
'I'm sorry, baby, but I told you I didn't want any part of your plan . . .'
She was sorry? Is this how she made her apologies? Strapping every guy she dated to table and then doing . . .God only knows what? And then it hit him. He had let her in on his scheme, the plan he had concocted in order to get Lynné and himself out of Mexico, away from the cartel. He had been stupid enough to let Ajedrez in on his little plan . . .
'. . . I'm his daughter.'
. . . and she had sold him out to Barillo, her father. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Guevera moving towards him with . . . what the hell? Was . . . was that a DRILL? His eyes widened, he didn't bother to mask his terror this time. All he could do was struggle, and hope that someone, anyone put a stop – a white-hot pain shot through him.
He screamed, louder than he had ever allowed himself to, as things went from hazy, to bright, vibrant red, to complete and endless black. And then, before he could curse any of them, Guevera, Barillo, Ajedrez, the torture began all over again. Somehow it seemed much worse, now that he only had one eye left. And he yelled again, though it was muffled somewhat this time . . . why?
Sands stood in the middle of a dusty, deserted street in Mexico, panting for breath, barley able to stand no thanks to the two bullet holes going through his legs. And there before him was Ajedrez, the only woman he had given full trust to, and she had betrayed him. But he had killed her, he knew he had. However, there she was, wearing that horrible smile she had worn earlier that day and holding a gun up, the barrel pointed right at his throat.
'Like what you see?'
He HAD killed her, Sands was certain of it, he had heard her drop, but hadn't seen her fall. But that wasn't important. His vision seemed to be working perfectly for some reason . . . he could see her go down now. She was already set up. All he had to do was . . . watch her fall . . .
'Like what you see . . . ?'
She was sorry . . . the hell she was sorry . . . and if she wasn't, which he was sure of, he would make her sorry. . .
- - -
Lynné came to a sharp halt when she finally reached the spare bedroom. Sands was all but flailing on the bed, entangled in the sheets because he was thrashing so badly. Lynné was about to rush over to him, when something solid crashed into her from behind. Wheeling around to throw a glare at Liam, Lyn had to bite back a grimace at the look of absolute horror on his face. She wondered for a split second what was wrong with him before the answer came to her.
'Of course, dumbass! He just now found out Sands is missing his EYES, now he actually has to face it.'
Liam continued to gaze in repulsion at the man groping around on the bed. He looked as though he was trying with every ounce of self-control he possessed not to retch right then and there. For what had to be the millionth time Lynné wondered how a guy like that could get into the CIA.
Don't dwell on that, fuckmook! Do something before he – shit.
There was nothing she could have done. She had watched as her partner's eyes rolled back into his head, swayed uneasily, and then fainted on the spot.
Rolling her eyes at the crumpled body in front of her and deciding that he was in no immediate danger, Lynné turned to help her brother only to find that he was already standing right behind her. Sands was panting slightly and blood had once again began to ooze out of his empty sockets. Strangest of all, he was wearing a face of absolute loathing and he was looking straight at her. But before she could do or say anything, he had grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the nearest wall.
"Sands, what the he –"
"Shut up," he growled at her, "Shut the hell up."
He had lost his guns somehow, but for the first time being unarmed didn't concern him. All he was thinking about now was how much pain he could cause the bitch who had ruined everything for him . . . and had stood there and laughed as she watched it happen. As the thought came to mind, Sands wound his fingers even more tightly around Ajedrez's throat, but not enough to cut off her breathing. He wanted to hear her beg before he killed her.
Lyn's breathing became short as she felt Sands clench her neck tighter.
"Sands . . ." she managed to gasp, "Sands I want you to listen to me –"
"I'm afraid I don't feel obligated to do that, mi querida," he shot at her.
'Mi querida?!' she thought wildly, 'What the fuck . . ?'
Then it hit her, something stirred in the back of her memory: Just because Sands never spoke in Spanish didn't mean he couldn't speak the language at all. In fact, the only time she had ever heard him use Spanish was when he was talking to —
'Ah shit.'
"Sands . . ," she began, careful to take deep, calming breaths. "Tell me who you think I am."
"Don't play mind games with me, perra," he warned, "Especially with someone whose day has been as fucked up as mine has."
From the doorway of the guestroom, Lynné saw signs of life coming back to her partner. Liam groggily propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head to rid himself of the dizziness that had clouded his mind. Suddenly, his senses fell back into focus when a young woman about to undergo strangulation caught his attention. Without pausing to think, Liam sprung to his feet.
How sweet. . . He's playing the hero and rescuing the damsel in distress.
'Piss OFF. The last thing I need is this right now. I've got everything in my control.'
Control? the voice snorted, Yeah, you've got greeeat control. Whatever you say, honey.
Quickly shooting Liam a warning look, Lynné once again devoted her attention to her brother. Closing her eyes, she desperately searched her mind for a way out of this. He still looked puzzled, though he didn't take another step towards them, so Lyn assumed he got her drift. Inhaling heavily, she let her breath escape through her lips. She was suddenly reminded with a line from a play:
'Here is the key to existence. Are you all listening? Always . . . breathe. It's the basis of life, breathing. It's basically the basis. If you don't breathe . . . you die.'
Yeah, which is exactly what's going to happen to YOU if you don't do something! Quit quoting Durang and get your rear in gear!
She was suddenly drawn out of her mental quarrel when she realized that Sands was talking to her. He was toying with her mind, that she knew, and if she had been any other girl he would have had her right where he wanted her. However, the fact that she WASN'T any other girl was what made all the difference. She was his sister, she had grown up with him and had a decent idea of how his mind worked. And he needed to be reminded of that.
"Sands," she cut off his threats, much to his annoyance, "I need you to listen to me, all right? Just hear me out."
Her brother didn't say anything, but merely increased his grip on her throat. His anger seemed beyond words. Lynné took in another breath and began.
"My name is Beatrice Lynné Sands, I used to work for the Central Idiocy Agency before they screwed me over, and I'm your darling little sister, savvy?"
- - -
Aaaaand I Think That's Where I'm Gonna Leave Off. Mwahaha . . . Cliff-Hanger-Ness Is Maddening, Is It Not? I Think So, Anyway. In Any Case, Hope You're All Enjoying This And I Also Hope I'm Managing To Keep Everyone In-Character. If Anyone Has Any Suggestions, Let Me Know! I'm Open For Advice, Merci. .