The Long Way Home
By
E. S. YoungChapter Five: Unwanted Visions
Wow . . . five chapters already . . . .and if my evil computer hadn't decided to be so darned uncooperative, there would probably be even more than that. But still!! I'm on a role with this, I really am. I just hope I don't contract writer's block or, as I prefer to call it, 'Mort Rainey Syndrome.' . If you've read the book or seen the movie 'Secret Window,' you'll know what I'm talking about.
- - -
'Beatrice' . . . . 'BEATRICE' . . . !? If he were still capable, Sands would have blinked in surprise. What . . . WHO . . . Who the hell was 'Beatrice?' He didn't know anyone by that name . . . . he was certain he didn't . . . yet . . . the name rang a bell. It was distant, faint, but somewhere way back in the depths of his mind, a bell went off at the sound of that name. However, some stupid bell's ringing didn't tell him who the hell 'Beatrice' was.
Whoever she was, she was starting to grow heavy. At first she hadn't seemed to weigh anything, but now . . . Sands arms were shaking with overexertion. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep up his vice grip for long. Damn blood loss . . . Damn cartel . . . Damn that bitch . . . At the very thought his energy seemed to have renewed itself. Clenching his teeth, Sands intensified his hold on . . . what's-her-name. 'Beatrice.' But . . . wait a moment, wait a moment . . . she had said something after that.
. . . . Beatrice. . .
No . . . it couldn't be . . . that would be all the proof anyone would need if they wanted to prove him crazy . . .
. . . Lynné . . .
Ajedrez's face was still clear in his mind. As clear as if . . . if instead of being blinded . . . someone . . . some sick fuck had only taken a picture of the bitch and then plastered it over his eyes.
. . . Beatrice Lynné . . .
SHIT!!!
Sands dropped Lynné so suddenly he could tell she wasn't ready. He picked up her startled 'Oof!' but he didn't make any response. Raising a hand to his temple, Sands staggered backwards, lost in the complete and utter shock at what he had just done . . . or had been about to do.
Smooth move, jackass. Tell me, d'you think you're gonna get a prize for killing BOTH of the people you ever cared about in one day?
'Shutup!Shutupnow!' Sands thought frantically, running his fingers through his hair. 'I . . . Oh Christ . . .I could've KILLED her . . .'
Huh. Guess I was wrong. I never thought of the possibility of YOU killing HER.
"Are you alright?" Liam had rushed to her side and was looking at her with wide, concerned eyes.
"Fine, fine . . ." Lynné murmured, distracted. She tried to get to her feet, but it proved rather difficult due to the fact that her partner's hand remained glued on her shoulder. Covering up her annoyance with concern, Lynné shrugged off his grip as politely as she could.
'That could've gone . . . .'
Worse? Better? Care for a tip or do you think you're a big girl and can do it allll yourself?
'Come on.' Despite herself, Lyn responded to the voice. 'You and I both know that I'm too fucking proud to ever accept help from anyone. '
Which, need I remind you, is EXACTLY why you're still in MEXICO after . . . how long has it been? Three years? Three YEARS, Lynnie? And you're still sitting on your arse in MEXICO —
'Still in Mexico, yes,' she mused silently, 'but I wouldn't say I've been sitting on my ass. I'm pretty much the cause of the major revolution that went down today, aren't I?'
Mmmhmm the voice agreed, And you're also the cause of Sands' sudden . . . loss.
Lynné scowled inwardly and managed to put the mute button on her inner voice for the time being. She looked over at her brother and saw that he had managed to find the bed and sit down on it, despite how much it must have hurt to bend his legs. His head was bowed and hidden in his hands. This look didn't suit him, not at all. Like this, he gave off the air of a man who had been utterly defeated, and he seemed older that he really was, much older.
Seeming to have come to a decision, Lynné stood and silently left the bedroom.
- - -
This was awkward. This was really awkward. Liam shifted nervously, stealing a glance out the bedroom door, hoping to see a sign of Lynné's return.
'I can't believe – wait. Yes, I can. It's perfectly understandable to forget there are other people in the room if you were so close to being killed. And it's perfectly understandable for Lynné to just up and leave with no other explanation. So why am I surprised? '
Liam didn't expect anyone to answer his silent question. After all, it wasn't like he was schizophrenic or anything. And he wasn't imaginative enough to have the things artistic people called 'head-voices.' He had grown up with his respectable family in a quaint little God-fearing community who frowned upon weirdoes. Liam had been a nice little, honor-achieving boy who had matured into a polite, intelligent man, and people liked him, even if he did tend to be a bit . . . nervous, skittish, uneasy. But being in the CIA was slowly helping him overcome that.
'Then why did I --' He couldn't said 'faint.' He just couldn't. '. . . lose myself . . . back . . . back there?'
He switched his gaze from the door to the hunched over man on the bed. As much as he hated himself for it, he was grateful that Sands could no longer see the panic-stricken looks Liam was giving him. If he could have, Liam knew Sands would have thrown some sharp, sarcastic remark his way. And that he, Liam, would not know how to answer it.
Well, wouldn't anyone want to gag right after seeing . . . something . . . something like . . THAT? He suppressed a shudder as the haunting image tried to flood his mind. It nearly succeeded, but surprisingly he was able to dam it in time. Only years of living with Lynné could make that possible for someone as edgy as him.
- - -
Well, that was it. Those who Sands had let past his cold exterior had left the scene. The two people that had ever gotten past the barrier . . . were gone. One dead, one soon-to-be leaving, but either way they were both gone. There was nothing he could do now. Yeah, he could go out and shoot a few people, but what would that solve? The damage had been done; it was beyond repair now . . . just like his eyes . . .
Oh, GOD, don't go getting all depressed on me,his inner-voice groaned. You're no fun when you're angst-y.
'Oh, so sorry,' his thoughts spat sarcastically, 'I didn't stop to think about how YOU might feel. How could I've been so selfish?'
Well, you were, y'know, it chided thoughtfully. If you hadn't been so caught up in your little 'Death to the Bitch' plan, then you would've realized it was Lyn you were trying to choke. And . . . the voice added maliciously, THAT little fiasco wouldn't have even occurred if you hadn't been so set on 'restoring the balance,' as you like to say. And, if you hadn't been blinded by Ajedrez's so-called love for you . . . you wouldn't have been blinded at all.
Sands was silent for a moment, then:
'Or maybe . . .' he ventured, 'that was you doing everything . . . and I was just watching from the sidelines.'
ME? the voice snorted, sounding shocked. Don't kid yourself. You know how you always have to be in control of everything, even your own mind. Trust me, Sheldon, it said, using his hated first name, despite how insane you are . . . it was allll you.
Sands cursed softly under his breath, not caring if Liam -- he knew he was still there; he could hear him – heard him or not. He had lost everything, and the fact that he no longer possessed the sense of sight was just an added bonus. Everything was gone; he was past the point of caring now.
'No! No fucking way. There isn't a snowball's chance in Hell that I'd turn into some desolated, angst-ridden a --'
Something warm and damp was gently being pressed to his face. Sands flinched reflexively. Whatever it was stopped and drew back.
Lynné withdrew her arm when she saw Sands wince at her sudden presence. He hadn't felt her sit down beside him on the bed. Carefully, she reached out and touched his shoulder, the one that hadn't been shot.
Sands stiffened slightly at her touch, but did not move away. He recognized her palm when he felt it. Lynné's hands were like her, in a way: Smooth and cold. It wasn't exactly comforting, but he wasn't looking for comfort at the moment.
Slowly, Lyn picked up the warm washcloth she has retrieved from the bathroom and gently began to clean the blood from Sands' face.
"Liam left," she told him quietly.
"I know," Sands said, picturing her raising her eyebrows at this statement. "I heard him."
"Oh," was all she said.
"Just for my own benefit," Lynné asked a moment later, "did you mistake me for Ajedrez?"
He turned towards her sharply, but said nothing.
"The only time I ever heard you actually speak Spanish was when you were talking to her, and even then you only used it to call her by pet names," explained Lyn as she continued to dab the cloth against his face. Every time he felt it pain went through him, throbbing in the back of his head. However, the cloth was warm and he was freezing, so . . .
"Yeah," he admitted, "yeah, I did think you were her. Tell me . . . are you always right?"
"For the most part," smirked Lyn. She reached up to brush a few strands of his silky, dark brown hair out of the way when her fingers brushed across his forehead. She stopped short and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. It was dangerously hot, not to mention the only part of him that was relatively warm. The rest of Sands, she realized, felt nothing short of ice.
"Shit . . ." she muttered.
"What?" Sands asked casually, although he already had a pretty good idea.
"Why didn't you tell me you were freezing?" she demanded.
Sands merely shrugged, an action that only added to Lynné's mounting annoyance.
Oh my Christ, all men are the SAME, the voice in her head fumed, Arrogant, stubborn, and stupid as Hell.
Lyn narrowed her eyes. For once she and that irritating voice were on the same terms.
"Get into bed, mister," she ordered sternly.
- - -
The thing about dreams was you either remembered them, you had vague flashes of the things they had held, you remembered having them but not what they had been about, or you didn't remember them ever occurring at all. Unfortunately for Sands, he had a photographic memory.
Dreams weren't a rare thing for him to have, however. Although . . . perhaps 'dream' wasn't the correct word to use. Especially since he never seemed to be able to wake up from one and not be coating in a cold sweat.
This one, however . . . he could've almost considered it a dream. Almost. It was strange. Strange in the sense that he had had ones like it before, but strange because he hadn't had one like this in a long time . . .
He had thought his nightmares would have contained the sound of drills whirring, Barillo's mangled face, and Ajedrez's horrible smile, but no. In this dream he was a kid again. About the same age as the kid who had helped him out, actually; around eight or so. What was odd was . . . there he was . . . as a little kid . . . sitting on a chair, looking around as if waiting for something. Yet, he was his present-day self and he was just sort of . . . standing on the sidelines, watching his eight-year-old self wait.
Sands was starting to grow impatient and, apparently, so was his younger-self. The eight-year-old boy had crossed his arms, leaned back in the chair, and adapted a bored look that Sands was all too familiar with. It was the look Lynné wore whenever people pissed around but never got down to business, and it was the look he wore whenever he was kept waiting.
'And vice-versa,' he though absentmindedly.
Finally, just when he was starting to wonder what would happen if he just up and left, a woman entered the scene. Sands had to check twice to make sure she wasn't his sister, for the woman was almost an exact replica, save for a few deliberate differences. For one thing, she was about an inch taller than Lyn was, and she seemed older, too, like a Lyn in her late thirties. But the things that stood out the most were her eyes. They were not the dark, intense brown of Sands or his sister's eyes, but a frosty blue. Even though she wasn't his sister, he knew who she was nonetheless. She was, if possible, the first person he has learned to trust, Lyn being the second, Ajedrez being the third. And like the third, she was dead. Although, she appeared very much alive when she picked up his eight-year-old self, set him on her lap, and spoke.
"Hi, sweetie . . ."
Younger Sands simply looked up at her, but after a moment, he smiled slightly and allowed himself to rest his head on her shoulder. Sands sighed, but then, he realized, at the same moment the kid had sighed as well. The woman looked down at him curiously.
"What's wrong?"
"I was stupid . . ." Sands found himself saying. And even though his younger self hadn't said a word, and the woman didn't look over at him, she seemed to have heard what he said.
"How?" she asked gently. "How were you stupid?"
"I didn't see it coming," he admitted. "I got too cocky for my own damn good and then everything fell apart."
The woman said nothing but merely stroked the little boy's hair, nodding slightly. Sands took this as a sign to continue.
"And then . . . her."
"'Her?'" asked the woman, sounding slightly intrigued.
"A girl," he explained offhandedly. "It was nothing . . ."
The woman's face was disbelieving, though she still did not look over at him. Annoyed slightly, Sands continued.
"No . . . not nothing. There WAS something. And y'know what the worst part was?" He laughed humorlessly. "I trusted the bitch. I allowed myself trust and was blinded by it. And now –"he gave another cold laugh, "– I really am blind."
Sands looked up at the woman for a fraction of a second before continuing.
"So, yeah, I was stupid. I was a dumb ass. A fucking, arrogant dumb ass who got what was coming to him."
The woman sighed softly and held the little kid closer to her.
"Oh baby," she murmured sadly, "why do you beat yourself up like this?"
"I don't know," Sands said quietly, and in all truths, he didn't. This was unlike him, VERY unlike him. True, he was as unpredictable as they come but this didn't make any sense. HE at least always knew what he was doing but now . . . he didn't have a fucking clue.
Sands looked up at the woman again and, to his mild disbelief, he saw that she was staring directly at him. But it wasn't the woman now, though the person in her place bore a remarkable resemblance. She looked younger, about an inch shorter, but the most distinguishable difference was her eyes. They were not the cold, icey blue the other woman's had been. They had melted into a dark, nearly black color of brown. He could only remember knowing three people (okay, now it was down to two) with eyes that dark, though he was sure there were others. But the only people that stuck out in his mind besides himself were his father – and eyes were the only thing they shared in resemblance – and his sister, whose visage was uncannily similar to his.
Sands did not know how long he looked into her eyes, only that the moment didn't last very long. Soon the eyes lightened and turned into more of a honey-brown color. Her hair lengthened and curled slightly, changing from dark to light, reddish-brown. And then, her skin darkened. Instead of the pale peachy color Lyn's s skin bore, it had morphed into the light tan of Ajedrez's. And there the bitch was, sitting before him with his younger self on her lap.
Before Sands could react, she had disappeared, only to be replaced by a figure that he was certain would haunt his dreams for quite a while: Barillo's bandaged face leered down at eight-year-old Sands, whose large brown eyes widened in horror. Sands made to run towards them, intending to do nothing more than bash what was left of the drug lord's face in, but something was holding him back.
He whipped around.
And there was the good doctor himself. Fuck that. He was no doctor. He was just some sick bastard who got his enjoyment from watching other people suffer. Even Sands couldn't find much pleasure in that. Guevera smiled evilly up at him and raised his hand. In it was the thing Sands had been dreading. Oh he knew it was coming, but that didn't stop him from fearing it.
The silver drill glinted in the light, its blades held stationary for the time being. He knew that wouldn't last long. And before he knew it, he was screaming. So was his younger self.
Sands looked over and saw that Barillo was holding the boy down while Ajedrez approached him with yet another drill. He was so caught up in watching them that he didn't notice Guevera moving towards him. That is, until he felt it. The nonstop spinning of the drill in his head as it slowly turned his eyes to jelly.
It wasn't as painful as when it had happened the first time, when he had actually had his eyes ripped from their sockets. During that time he had known right then and there that nothing could be more painful than that. Not having your legs cut off right underneath you, not even being burned alive.
Just when Sands thought he couldn't take reliving the Day of the Dead one more time, he awoke with a start. Or at least . . . he thought he had woken up. For some reason he couldn't open his eyes. He looked around, trying to find out where he was but it was useless. Everything was dark.
This didn't make any sense . . . Why, WHY wasn't he able to do something as simple as open his eyes? He had been doing it all his life, why should now be any different?
Panting slightly, Sands reached out in front of him to find out if he could see his own hand. No dice.
'What . . . where – why can't I . . .? ' he thought wildly, frantically waving his hand in front of him and disparately trying to see it.
Ajedrez's last words to him rang in his head.
See anything you like . . . ?
'No . . .'
Somehow an old picture had managed to find its way into Sands' mind amid all the confusion. The people in the photo were all the wrong age. He had been eight and Lyn had been three when it had been taken, but now . . . in the picture they were no longer children, yet the woman who stood between them hadn't aged at all. Of course she didn't look any older, she was dead, after all.
The first person he had ever trusted . . . that was the last thing to enter Sands' mind before he turned over, and lost consciousness once again.
- - -
Well, That Would Be The End Of Another Chapter, Guys. Thanks For Reviewing, I Appreciate It! . And I Am Hoping To Have A New Chapter Up Either By Wednesday Or Next Sunday At Least! R&R, Merci.
Oh, Oh! And One More Thing. I Forgot To Mention This At The End Of The Last Chapter. Ahem. That Quote About Breathing? Y'know, 'If You Don't Breathe, You Die?' Yeah. That One. I Must Give Credit Where Credit Is Due, So, That Quote Is From 'Laughing Wild' By The Brilliant, Yet Eccentric Christopher Durang. It's VERY Funny So Go Out And Find It If You Can!