The Long Way Home
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Twenty-One: Tension
Ooo, here we go . . . 'Tis the night before Sands goes into surgery. (cackles evilly) The anticipation is killing you, no? Mwahahahahaa! Okaaay, probably not, but I can dream, can't I? Right. u.u (evil once more) Ooo, suspenseful . . . . D
- - -
Fear was not something Sands was accustomed to. To be perfectly honest, he couldn't remember the last time he's been so terrified. For once he didn't know what to do; he wasn't in control and that scared him. But he couldn't loose his head now, not when he was the only one around who could do anything.
Twelve-year-old Sands scanned the land around him but saw nothing that would aid him in the least, unless dust, dirt, and rocks could double as treatment for snakebites. Beside him, six-year-old Grace was crying her eyes out, her face already red. White streaks shown through the red blotches where her tears had ran down her cheeks. She seemed to have lost it entirely, but she was his only hope.
"Grace," Sands said sharply, his voice steady and commanding, "go back to the house and get help now. Take one of the horses."
The little girl did nothing but stand there, crying uncontrollably at the small seven-year-old girl who was lying on the ground, bleeding profusely from her right arm. Lyn wasn't crying, but her breathing was fast and sharp, and when she spoke, her voice was higher than normal and her words came out short.
"Go," Sands ordered, rounding on Grace. "NOW."
Terrified at how threatening her stepbrother now looked, Grace squeaked and jumped on her horse at once. The next second, she was gone in a cloud of dust and hoof beats. Sands turned his gaze back to his sister. Lyn had put a hand to her chest, panting. Her eyes were tightly closed.
"Lyn?" Sands said quietly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He didn't want to alarm her.
"What?" she gasped, still not opening her eyes.
"Grace's gone to get help," he told her somewhat lamely.
"I – know," she panted through gritted teeth. Suddenly, she hissed in pain as white-hot arrows shot throughout her arm. "Stupid . . . snake . . ."
"It's gone."
Lyn nodded, still looking pained. Sands swallowed hard, his eyes wide.
"Lynnie," he said nervously.
"Don't you lose it, too," she warned, taking in sharp breaths of air, "I mean it . . . Sands. I'll kill you . . . if you . . . . freak out on me . . . now."
"I'm not!" Sands said defensively.
Lyn opened her eyes to glare at him, but ended up widening them in shock. A breath caught in her throat. She gasped, choking, but not taking her horrified gaze away from her brother's face. Sands looked down at her strangely. She looked absolutely terrified.
"What's wrong?" he asked, worried.
Lyn said nothing but raised her bleeding arm. Blood rolled off down her hand and onto the ground as she pointed up at his face. Slowly, Sands reached up and touched his lips, his nose, his eyes – he stopped. Something warm and thick was pouring silently down his face and onto his lap. It was gushing from his eyes, Sands realized in horror.
Blood gushed from Sands' eyes in an unstoppable flood. Pulling his hands away in fear, he saw that his fingertips were now stained a deep, liquid crimson. He looked up at Lyn, but his sister was slowly fading away from him as the world slowly grew dark, drowning in the flood of bloody tears.
Blinking through the blood that was slowly obscuring his vision, Sands tried to find Lyn. Through the blood, Sands could just make out her expression. It was the same as his: a wide-eyed, transfixed sort of alarm.
Chest heaving, Lyn tried to prop herself up on her elbows, looking around wildly for something, anything that would help. She found nothing. Crestfallen, Lyn looked back up at Sands. Her eyes shimmered with rare tears that she refused to shed for anyone, but Sands would never see them. Just as Lyn turned to stare back up at him, everything had gone black. There was nothing to impair the darkness that he was now surrounded by. It was constant and never-ending and would be with him until the day he died, somehow Sands knew this. He was blind and he would never see again . . .
But suddenly, he could see. He saw a woman his eleven-year-old self didn't know, though at age thirty-two, he would come to regard he as the bitch that screwed everything up for him. She was clad in black and sitting on a table next to him. She was saying something, but he wasn't listening. He was trying to get a look at his surroundings, but he couldn't. For some reason, the auburn-haired woman was all he could see. It was as if someone had burned the image of her into his mind . . . her image and her words . . .
'Sorry, baby, but I told you I didn't want any part of your plan. Too small.'
'You really never saw it coming, did you?'
'I'm his daughter.'
'See anything you like . . . ?'
He wasn't sure that she would be able to hear him if he answered. But she was sitting right there beside him . . . . she HAD to be able to hear . . . Panic-stricken, Sands opened his mouth to speak.
No . . . .
- - -
For the second time in two days, Sands awoke from a nightmare, panting slightly and trying to remember where he was. He hunted around for the alarm clock to find out what time it was. It took him a good twenty seconds before remembering that his search would be fruitless. He wouldn't be able to see it. It took another fifteen seconds for him to remember that he was in New York City about to partake in a serious operation. It was an experimental surgery that would, with luck, enable him to find his alarm clock the next time he went looking for it.
Sands sighed, wanting nothing more than to be able to go back to sleep, but he knew it wouldn't happen . . . not after that dream. It had been a real event once, many years ago. He, Lyn, and Grace had been out riding when a rattlesnake had crossed their path. The horses were spooked, naturally, but none so much as Lyn's. Her pony had reared in terror, and Lyn had fallen. The snake, shaking its tail menacingly, slithered towards her. Before Sands or Grace could do anything, the serpent had struck and slithered away, without a second look at the bleeding, gasping girl behind it.
Collecting himself, Sands shook his head to clear his mind. Carefully, he eased himself off of the bed and stood. From the living room to their hotel suite, he could hear the sounds of the news blaring. Lynné, Grace, and Liam were undoubtedly watching TV. Following the noise to its source, Sands managed to make his way into the living room.
"Hello," Lyn greeted casually. To Sands, she sounded as though she was engrossed in a book again. "Liam and Grace are out seeing a show."
Sands raised an eyebrow.
"Which show and why?"
"Phantom of the Opera and because they said they needed a way to take their minds off of things," she answered, bored.
"Oh," Sands said, sitting down on the couch next to her. He sighed. Lynné peered at him over the top of her book. There was something he wanted to get out, and they both knew it.
"Anything you . . . wanted?" Lyn asked casually.
"No," he answered at once, then, ". . . yes, no . . . yes."
Lyn regarded him questioningly.
"There is something?"
". . . . . . yeah," he said after a moment. He knew Lynné was looking at him curiously.
"Sands," she said finally, sounding tired, "you know I'm not the best person to come to with problems, but you also know that I'm the only person you're willing to talk to. And Liam and Grace's show only has about two hours left to go, so if there's anything you'd like to say, speak now or forever hold your peace."
Her brother stared at her for a long time. What DID he want to say to her? There were so many things on his mind . . . the surgery, how stupid he was, how he wanted to know what she would do if he died in operation. But that wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Not yet. There may be a time for it, but this wasn't it. Sands settled for how stupid he was.
"I'm a fucking moron," he told her quietly.
"How?" Lyn inquired curiously.
Sands paused, thinking. The way this conversation was going . . . it was going to turn out just like his dream, the dream he had had so many weeks ago, the night Ajedrez had betrayed him and Lyn had found him.
"I trusted someone and that screwed everything up," he sighed flatly.
Lyn nodded.
"I'm not going to disagree with you," she told him, "but there was nothing wrong with trusting Ajedrez."
"Why?" Sands demanded, flying off of the couch as if it had burned him. "Why isn't there anything wrong with that, Lyn?"
"Because," she said simply, "trusting someone isn't a crime, Sands. Admittedly, you trusted the wrong person – "
"And it led to my downfall," Sands cut in furiously. "I'M the one who's to watch them fall, Lyn, it's not supposed to be the other way around."
Lynné glared up at him for a beat. Finally, snapping her book shut, she rose slowly from the couch and stood directly in front of Sands.
"I am well aware of that, Sands," she said tersely, "You remind me every day."
"That's because it's what I do, Lyn," Sands hissed, "I set them up and watch them fall. But when I myself am the one being set up, what do I do?"
"You let them rip your eyes out and pray to God they don't take something else," Lyn answered bitterly.
Sands stared at her, contemplating what she had just said. She was right. He knew she was right. She was always fucking right. Suddenly, he sat back down on the couch, his head in his hands. Lynné sighed and took up her place next to him.
"I loved her, Lyn," Sands said so softly that, if there had been anyone else in the room, no one but Lyn could have heard him. "I loved her and she used me, betrayed me all for her father . . . To be perfectly honest . . . I was beginning to think that would never happen . . ."
"That you would start to care about someone?" Lyn wondered aloud.
"Yeah," Sands murmured, nodding, "I was. But then I met her and after a while I realized that she was more than just a good lay, much more. So I let her in on my plan; my plan to get you out of Mexico."
"You shouldn't have tried to do that," Lyn said quietly, "You didn't have to. I would've found a way of leaving sooner or later –"
"Yeah, but as long as I was there I couldn't stand seeing you the way you were. You hated Mexico, Lynnie, you always have and you still do. And all the while you were there you were miserable and I hated it."
"So it's me," Lyn breathed faintly, "it's all because of me. Ajedrez helped but I'm the real reason you're –"
"Guilt doesn't fit you, Lynnie," Sands pointed out sarcastically. "Don't start feeling regretful, you never did before this."
Nodding, Lynné said, "Right, right . . . ." She exhaled theatrically. "It's nicer just to blame Ajedrez for everything."
Sands grinned humorlessly.
"Exactly." He sighed again, his smirk disappearing as quickly as it came. "But, yeah, I was a moron. A fucking moron who let a pretty face get worm her way into my head and fuck with my mind. And I've suffered the consequences. And I'm still a moron for agreeing to go through with this."
Lyn smiled sadly, wrapping her arms around his slim shoulders in an uncharacteristic movement of consolation. Surprisingly, Sands didn't pull away but he didn't lean into her either.
"You still managed to start and entire revolution," Lyn reminded him, "and you got me out of Mexico. So, really, your plan DID work."
"I'm still a moron," Sands told her.
"Yes," she agreed distantly, "but you're one of my morons, that's something."
"And what does that mean?" Sands asked, arching an eyebrow.
"It means that you're one of the few people I can stand to be around for more than ten minutes," she answered, sounding slightly amused.
Sands let out a short laugh but said bitterly, "I keep thinking about how many mistakes I made . ."
Sighing, Lynné stared at her brother, deep in thought. Finally she spoke, her words penetrating the silence that had filled the room.
"Everyone makes mistakes, Sands," she said quietly, "Your only mistake was learning to love another human being. And as far as things go . . . there are far worse mistakes you could have made."
- - -
Argh, that was kinda sappy, wasn't it? Oh well. See, my idea is that Sands had to love Ajedrez simply because he let her in on his plan. I figured that, if he trusted her enough to do that, he must have loved her at least a bit. It just seems like that's how Sands would work. As they say in Moulin Rouge, without trust, there is no love.
.