The Long Way Home
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Seventeen: Seven Years
Well, I'm officially on summer vacation. Hopefully that means I'll be able to get more chapters and stories posted –
Sands: Unlikely.
Captain Jack: I'll hafta second that, lass. The trigger-happy kid's got a point.
Sands: ò.o 'Kid?' I'm thirty-two and beg to differ, ah, "Captain." u.o
Jack: It's CAPTA—oh. Um, right, well . . . yeh don't seem to be capable of doin' any WORK on this ship, therefore, yer a kid. Live with it.
Sands: (annoyed) I'm NOT a kid.
Jack: Fine. Whelp, then. u.u (takes a swig of rum like it's nothing)
Sands: No, not a whelp either. .o
Jack: All right, then. Yer're a eun –
Sands: (whips out a gun) I wouldn't be making false accusations if I were you, "Captain." For all you know, you could be wrong, savvy?
Jack: (mildly surprised) How d'you know that word? ô.o
Sands: What do you mean 'how do I know?' I use it all the time –
Sidney: (always there to prevent bloodshed) Children . . . let's place nicely now, hmm? If not, I'm gonna have to take the noisy , dangerous toys away from you. u.u
Jack: Fine with me, luv. (drinks his rum calmly)
Sands: (grudgingly puts his gun back in his pants) ò.
- - -
"Your serve, Lynné. And you can't serve underhand this time. It's gotta be over; otherwise, you'll never learn."
"Fine," eleven-year-old Lynné Sands called to her father from across the tennis court, "but I'm tellin' ya, we'll be here 'til noon if you want me to do that."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take, dear, now serve."
The preteen sighed, annoyed, but raised her tennis racket and tossed the small, neon green ball into the air. As if it had suddenly been put into slow motion, he watched the little sphere rise and fall. She eased her racket forward, took a swing . . . . . and missed.
'Damnit!' she cursed silently. Eleven or not, the girl swore . . . a lot, but she was wise enough to restrain herself in front of adults. Until the day she was old enough to use such language, that is.
"You've gotta hit the thing, Lynné!" her father yelled from the sidelines. "Don't just wait for it!"
"Yeah, yeah . . ." Lyn muttered under her breath. She took her time, scooping the little ball back up and bouncing it on the court a few times, doing all of this just to annoy her father as well as Catherine, her opponent, who sighed in disgust from the other side of the court. Lynné smirked and silently congratulated herself on aggravating her stepsister.
Yeah, yeah, good job, a small voice in her head agreed, giving a bored little golf clap. I think dear Sheldon is beginning to get annoyed too, however, so you might wanna pick up the pace a bit, Beatrice.
'I think I asked you not to call me that?' Lyn replied calmly. She had been hearing the voice for the longest time. She was not sure when it had first shown up; it had just spoken to her one day many years ago and had been getting more prominent as time went on.
You might have, the voice said mildly, knowing full well that she had. I'm not sure.
'Well now I'm telling you,' Lynné snapped silently. 'Don't call me Beatrice. That name sucks.'
What d'you want me to call you then? the voice demanded, slightly irked. You can't be Lynné cuz I'm not gonna be Beatrice.
'Why not?' Lyn asked snidely.
Because Beatrice is a stupid name!
'Ha!' Lyn crowed triumphantly, 'You admit it!'
"While we're YOUNG, Lynné," fourteen-year-old Catherine yelled suddenly, letting her irritation show. Beside her, Sands of sixteen years rolled his eyes. He didn't care for waiting in the heat anymore than Cat did, but if he got a chance to see said stepsister vexed, it was worth it.
"Okay!" Lyn shouted back, raising her tennis racket once again.
"C'mon, Lynné, you've gotta hit it this time," Grace pleaded beside her. "They're five points up and you only get one more chance to serve after this."
This is why she hated playing doubles. For some reason she was always weighed down by pressure whenever she had a partner for a game. It wasn't as if she felt like she had let anyone down if she cost them a win, she just felt . . . annoyed. Yes, annoyed because there was always someone next to her to rattle on about how they had to win, and how important winning was, and how if they didn't win it would be just awful, and just plain winning in general. Lyn didn't like losing, but she didn't like being pestered either.
"Cat's playing really well today," she heard her younger stepsister mutter frantically. "I'm not sure why . . ."
"Isn't it obvious?" Lynné asked, getting ready to throw the ball into the air. "She's partnered with Sands."
Grace stared blankly as Lynné swung her racket forward and sent the ball flying over the net.
"She has a thing for him," Lynné explained offhandedly.
"Oh," Grace said as she bent back and watched Sands hit the ball with ease and send it pelting back in their direction. Her older sister actions caught her attention. Cat was eyeing her stepbrother with great interest as he raised his arm to take a practice-swing. If Sands noticed, he didn't show it.
"And the only reason Cat's interested in my brother," Lyn continued, taking another swing at the ball, "is because she thinks he looks like Johnny Depp on that show, '21 Jump Street.'"
"You think?" Grace asked, confused.
"Yeah," Lyn said, sending the ball off in the other direction.
'I don't know why I'm doing this,' she thought disgustedly,'I like badminton better, anyway.'
Me too, the little voice in her mind agreed. 'Specially when we get to hit the birdie. Heheheh . . . hit the birdie, hit the birdie!
'Shut up! D'you want them to think I'm crazy?'
Yes.
'You suck, y'know that? You really do.'
Well, come on. You gotta admit that 'hit the birdie' is MUCH more fun to say that 'hit the ball.'
'Okay,' Lyn reluctantly agreed. 'You've got a point there.'
Mmmhmm, the voice murmured absently, then, God, how does she play so well when she never takes her eyes off HIM?
Lynné's eyes scanned the tennis court for whatever had outraged the voice so much. It didn't take her very long to find out. Cat was now lowering her racket, but she was still ready to hit the ball that was soaring in Lyn's direction. Her eyes darted continuously from Sands to the ball as she tried to see if he was watching her. It was only then that Lyn noticed how short her stepsister's crisp, white, spotlessly clean tennis skirt was.
'Oh that is it,' she decided firmly, narrowing her eyes. 'She's fourteen and he's her stepbrother—that's just as bad as if he were her REAL brother.'
Too true, the voice mused, What say we fix that little problem?
The ball was getting closer.
'Hmm . . .' Lyn pondered silently, 'the head or the mouth? Either one would be good.'
Go for the mouth. That'll shut her up.
'But if I hit her in the head, I could knock her out,' Lyn pointed out.
Hmm, that's true, but you don't know if you'll knock her out for sure. You DO know, however, that you could do some damage if you hit her mouth, so I suggest you aim for that.
The little green tennis ball was getting closer still. Lynné began to get ready to hit the ball just as she heard her stepsister say:
"Hey, Shel, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a trail ride when we're done here."
'Ohhhh,' Lyn crooned mockingly, as she watched Cat twirl a strand of hair around her finger. 'I'm sure he'd LOVE to, sweetheart, but somehow I don't think you'll be up to it.'
The ball was only about a foot above her now. Smirking mischievously, Lynné raised her racket. The voice inside her head began to cackle uproariously and she was the only one who heard it.
- - -
"Poor Catherine," Sands sighed with sympathy that fooled no one. "And I was going to take her up on her offer to go riding, too."
"Well, you're riding with us," his sister pointed out, reaching down to stroke the mane of her chocolate-brown pony. "That's better than nothing."
"That wasn't funny, Lynné," Grace said from atop her own, creamy colored pony. "Cat could've been hurt –"
"She WAS hurt," Sands and Lyn both said, exchanging looks.
"I meant hurt bad!" Grace snapped and her pony tossed its head fretfully.
"Yeah, and you'll be hurt bad if Cat ever finds out you took her pony," Lyn smirked.
"Well," Grace began uncomfortably. "I don't have one of my own and won't until I'm twelve, so . . .so I'm allowed to use Cat's if I want to."
"So long as Cat doesn't find out," Sands said, grinning wryly.
"She likes you, you know," Grace told him, eager to change the subject. Beside her, Lynné rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, I know," Sands said darkly.
"Don't you like her?" Grace asked curiously.
Sands looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Guess not," she said quietly.
"Exactly," he replied before turning to Lyn. "I should thank you," he told her. "I'd be out here with Cat if you hadn't sent that ball flying at her mouth."
"Oh, it hit her right in her mouth?" Lynné asked, pretending to look surprised and ignoring Grace's scowl. "I couldn't tell from all the way on the other side of the court."
"Yeah . . . lucky she didn't get any blood on me," Sands added as an afterthought. "Red on white doesn't come out easy. She did try to, mind you."
"She was looking for help!" Grace cut in so shrilly that her pony whinnied nervously. "And YOU backed away from her!"
"I didn't want to . . . injure her further," Sands said casually, "You never know what could've happened."
"You're just saying that because you don't like her," Grace continued angrily.
"You do?" Lyn questioned idly.
"I . . .well, sh -- I . . ."
Sands and Lynné smirked down at their small stepsibling.
"Oh, shut up," she said finally, glaring straight ahead of her and refusing to look at either of them.
Fast-forward sixteen years, and in her sleep with her eyes wide-open, twenty-seven-year-old Lynné Sands grinned wickedly at the memory.
- - -
"Hello, could I speak to Doctor Fusco, please," Liam whispered feverishly into the phone.
"Doctor Fusco is busy at the moment," the whiny secretary on the other end replied.
"But this is urgent!" he cried desperately. "I need to speak with him!"
"I'm sorry, sir," said the secretary without a trace of remorse, "Doctor Fusco has just completed a very complicated surgery and cannot be disturbed."
"But that's what we're calling about!" Grace broke in, snatching the phone from Liam's hand.
"Sir, Ma'am," the secretary sighed, annoyed. "the doctor has had a very long day and has requested that, under no circumstances, that his rest be interrupted."
"I can think of something that would be reason enough," said Liam in his most threatening voice.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," said the secretary sarcastically. "Try me, why don't ya?"
"Maybe we will," Grace snapped warningly. Covering the receiver of the phone she asked mouthed to Liam: 'Is he married?' The agent shook his head. Grace tried again. 'Engaged?' This time, Liam nodded.
"Margaret Emighy," he said, pronouncing the last name like the first name 'Amy.'
A smile spread across Grace's face as she said into the phone, "Perhaps if we told you that his fiancée, Margaret, wanted to talk to him, you would be kinder."
The secretary paused, considering.
"Well then, 'Margaret,'" she said, emphasizing the name, "When're ya getting married if you're his fiancée?"
Liam, for once thinking ahead, had scribbled down the scheduled marriage date on the tablet that Lynné always kept next to the phone. Now, he held it up for Grace to see.
"There is no scheduled date," she said as she read what the pad said. "We're putting off our wedding for a while."
Another pause on the other end of the line, then –
"Well, all right, I'll put him on," the secretary said finally, "but I'm tellin' ya he isn't gonna be happy."
"That's a risk we're willing to take," Liam informed her, once again taking the phone. "Please, put him on."
For a few minutes, there was nothing but the faint hold music to hear. It was the voice of Meredith Brooks that came over the phone:
I hate the world today.
You're so good to me,
I know but I can't change.
Tried to tell you,
But you look at me like maybe,
I'm an angel underneath,
Innocent and sweet.
Liam and Grace looked at each other and back at the phone, confused as the woman continued to sing the one song she was famous for:
I'm a bitch, I'm a lover,
I'm a child, I'm a mother,
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint,
I do not feel ashamed.
Unbelievably, Liam suddenly exclaimed, "I know this song!" and began to sing along with the strange hold music.
"I'm your hell, I'm your dream,
"I'm nothing in between,
You know you wouldn't want it any other way."
A light punch in the shoulder from Grace brought the agent to his senses. A good thing to, for at that very moment the hold music was abruptly cut off and replaced by the tired voice of Liam's older brother, Adam.
"Margaret?" he asked blearily.
"Uh, no, not exactly, Adam," Liam told him, slightly embarrassed.
"Liam?" the other man asked, surprised. "Why're you calling?"
"Um, how did the surgery go? That's what I wanted to know."
On the other end, Adam sighed.
"Not so good," he answered after a moment. "It was . . . unsuccessful."
"What, are they still blind?"
"No," Adam sighed wearily.
"They didn't die on the operating table, did they?" Grace gasped suddenly.
Adam seemed somewhat surprised when he asked, "Is that her? Your volunteer's sister?"
"No," Liam answered vaguely, "No, no, well, sorta, this is his stepsister. He and his real sister are still asleep."
"Oh," Adam said, "Well, to answer her question . . . um, yeah, yeah they did . . ."
Liam closed his eyes slowly. Grace bit her lip.
"It . . . it was blood loss," Adam tried to explain. "They, uh, they lost too much blood, obviously, and, um –"
"Died on the spot," Liam finished quietly, staring at the floor.
"But it wasn't our fault," his brother continued hastily, "Not – not entirely. So . . . they're gonna let us try it again, the only problem is –"
"You don't have any one to experiment on," Grace finished breathlessly.
Liam swallowed slowly before asking the question that he and Grace both wanted to ask:, but before he could say anything, someone beat him to it, and it wasn't Grace or even Adam.
"Would he like a volunteer?"
Sands was standing on the other side of the hallway, having just staggered out of bedroom. Liam silently kicked himself for forgetting that Sands was sleeping on the first floor. He and Grace both stared at as the CIA agent stood with one hand placed on the frame of his bedroom door in order to stay balanced. He was looking at them with an expression of interest, curiosity, and triumph at having caught someone while they were in the middle of doing something secret.
"Well," he drawled brightly, "would he or wouldn't he?"
- - -
First off, I felt I had to get that little flashback in there for some reason. I'm not sure why, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get it out of my head until I did. Plus, it made the chapter longer. Second, the title of this chapter sort of fits with the flashback because, while I do not know WHY the song is called 'Seven Years' it is yet another Norah Jones song and, if you listen to the lyrics, it is another one that, to me, fits Lynné rather well. I won't do it here, but I will post the lyrics to all of the songs I mentioned in this fic in the last chapter if anyone wants. And I'll mention what chapters the songs were mentioned in so everyone can go back and confirm if they want and spare themselves of confusion. :-)
One more thing before I go. Betcha didn't think Sands would figure out Liam's little plan before Lynné did, huh? I've gotta admit, I debated who would find out first, I really did. In the end, I decided on Sands simply because . . . well, his bedroom was closer. End of story.
Oh, and the song 'Bitch' belongs to Meredith Brooks aaaaand . . . that's all I have to say about that. u.u
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