The Long Way Home
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Twenty-Two: Revisiting and Revelations
Geh, everyone was a little OOC in that last chapter, weren't they? (winces) I was afraid of that. But I'm just thinking of it this way: It's the night before Sands goes into surgery, there's a possibility he might die, and this is probably the last chance he's ever gonna get to, eh, 'vent.' And, since Liam and Grace had conveniently stepped out, leaving him alone with Lynné, his sister (and the only person he trusts anymore, I might add), it just seemed like it would be a good idea to have him confide in her . . . a bit. Not a lot, never a lot, no. u.u Plus, like I said in my little note at the end of the chapter, I really do think he loved Ajedrez and that's why he's been so discontent lately. Well, that and the fact that he had his eyes gouged out with a motorized corkscrew, but, y'know, who wouldn't be upset after an experience like that?
PS: I have dwelled on whether I should post this chapter the way it is or not. I've had it finished for about a week now, but have put off posting it because I have been debating. I just keep thinking that it's a bit much, even for this story. Ah well. Let me know what you think, and if I'm right, I'll rewrite and post it again. Thanks much. =)
- - -
"Lyn . . ." Sands sighed theatrically, ". . . you're gonna have to tell at least one of us what happened. Besides . . . after tomorrow, you might not be able to."
"Liam already knows." She nodded her head to her partner and continued, "Ask him why don't you."
"I'm one of those . . . who prefers to get his information straight from the source," Sands explained.
"Belini was proof of that," Lynné commented.
"Exactly," Sands agreed, "and I'm not sure Fusco would be very interested in hearing what happened to HIM."
"I have a pretty good idea, though," Liam said fearfully.
Sands grinned and Lynné rolled her eyes but smirked at her partner before turning back to Sands.
"I seem to remember you not wanting to tell me what the cartel did to you," she said pointedly.
"Yeah, but I told you anyway, so," Sands sighed again, "just consider this returning the favor."
Lynné sighed in annoyance and looked across the room at Liam for support only to see that he was just as curious as Sands was. Grace was biting her lower lip in worry but she looked as interested as the other two. Finally, realizing that she had no choice, Lyn let out an agitated breath. If they wanted to hear her story, fine by her, but they were the ones who'd have to sit through the details.
"Fine," she stated finally, "but I must warn you that this DOES get rather nasty so . . . please hold your gagging until the end of the story." Lyn smiled pleasantly when her stepsister's eyes grew round and her partner let out a little shuddering gasp.
"As you know," Lyn began matter-of-factly, "I was stationed in Cullican, Mexico three years ago. The CIA sent me and my small team of half-wits – no offense, Liam."
"None taken," her partner squeaked breathlessly.
"Good. Anyway, they sent a few others and me to Mexico with a mission to bring down the Barillo cartel. The cartel was just gaining power three years ago, so it wasn't much of a threat back then, but the CIA felt it best if they did something about it then before anything . . . bad . . . happened."
At this she let out a short, mirthless laugh.
"Of course, those weren't their real intentions, no, see . . . their REAL intentions were to get ME out of their hair. They weren't big fans of mine, the CIA, still aren't, probably. And after my little brush in Switzerland – I did do my job, by the way, the CIA just didn't like the way I handled things – they weren't too keen to keep me in the States much longer. So, they sent me on this mission in Mexico so, that way, I'd be out of the country and able to do whatever I wanted . . . and THEY'D be rid of me – everybody gets what they want, right?"
She shook her head.
"No. See I've always hated the country, we all know that, but actually having to be there . . . MONTHS at a time? You can understand how agitating that can be. I grew restless, but I kept my head, set everything up, talked to who I thought were the right people . . . and then . . . things just started to go downhill . . ."
- - -
"No, listen, you don't understand, the mission has been compromised . . . . . . . . Compromised, what the hell do you think it means, fuckmook?" Lynné let out a disgusted sigh of annoyance. "They know, the cartel know, okay? Do you hear me, dumbass? . . . . . .Yes, yes, that's right. Good boy, you figured that out all by yourself? Aww . . . so listen, I need people out here. The team you sent me with is worthless and you know it, so I'm gonna need some more guys out here, get me weapons, tanks, the whole nine yards cuz this is gonna be D-Day all over again unless you get your rears in gear and do something -- Hello? . . . . He-hello?"
Lyn flipped her phone shut, staring off in disbelief.
"Okay . . . stay calm, breathe . . . breathe . . . just . . . don't . . . freak . . . out." She inhaled heavily. "Okay."
Watching the cars drive by and the people continue on with their merry shopping and touring, Lynné Sands bit her lower lip, trying and failing not to look panic-stricken. The cartel knew exactly what she had been up to, for how long, she didn't know, but she knew now that they knew who she was and what her intentions were.
Ooo, bet they're pissed at you.
'Bet they are,' Lyn returned, cheerfully sarcastic. 'Bet the Cleavage Inspection Agency chucked my ass out the window, too.'
Defenenstrate.
'What?' Lyn asked, irritated.
Defenenstrate. Means 'to throw out a window.'
'Oh, ha, ha. Ha, ha. Fuck you.'
And with that, she continued to walk down the busy street in Cullican, trying to seem as normal and innocent as possible. Of course, walking down the street with a wide-brimmed straw hat on your head didn't exactly help her blend in with the rest of the crowd. Nor did the strappy black sandals her feet were encased in (which made her at least three inches higher). And the plain black tank top and the flowing, knee-length, white skirt that was patterned with little black flowers weren't what someone would call inconspicuous.
I don't blame them if they DID throw you away, you know, the voice went on, unmoved by the thought that neither it nor Lyn might be alive the next day. You're not exactly everyone's favorite agent. No one likes you.
'Yep,' Lyn agreed with insane cheerfulness that made passersby on the street stare at her warily.
Especially the heads. Hoo boy, the voice sighed happily, you really jerked their chains, didn't ya? The little Miss Amoral and Corrupt I-Can-Do-Whatever-I-Want-So-Fuck-You attitude got reeeally annoying after a while, just so you know. You need to know when you stop, girl, 'else you're gonna get a lotta people pissed off at you.
Lyn gave a little mental shrug, smiling disturbingly.
'That's why my beat's in Mexico.'
She was just about to cross the street when a large black limousine came out of nowhere. Normally, Lyn would have flipped the driver off, but at the moment she was too distracted to bother. The limo screeched to a halt in front of her.
Lynné lowered her cell phone slowly, never taking her eyes off of the car. If the pair of wrap-around sunglasses she was wearing hadn't protected her dark orbs, the occupants of the car would have been pleased to see the panic and worry her eyes contained. Slipping the little phone into her purse, having given up all hope of ever getting help from the CIA, Lynné stood her ground and waited for the worst to happen.
The reaction was almost instant. As soon as the cartel realized that she wasn't going to do anything, they pounced. Members of the drug ring poured from the limousine, guns aimed, ready to shoot whenever they were given the command. Collecting herself as best as she could, Lynné readied herself for a fight. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell she'd survive, but she'd be damned if she was going to go down without a fight.
But the fight never came. Armando Barillo stepped out of the limo, and smiled at her with the kind of amusement one only got when they had done something they considered a personal triumph. Finally catching up with the person who was going to bring an end to one of the major drug lords in Mexico would be an example.
"Señorita Sands, I presume?" he said in his heavy Spanish accent.
Her heart hammering in her chest, Lyn returned the smile.
"Now, now," she said, putting on a cool façade, "you shouldn't go making presumptions unless you are sure that what you are presuming isn't, in fact, very dangerous."
The Mexican drug lord laughed at her coldly.
"I assure you, señorita, I am certain my presumptions are correct. I must admit," he continued, "you are not the woman I expected to see," Barillo told her, as if drug lords stopped to kidnap CIA agents all the time.
"Oh?" Lynné asked, glancing down at her small frame. "Well, in case no one has told you, señor, looks can be deceiving."
"Indeed," Barillo agreed, his smile washing away from his face. He raised his arm, made a motion with his hand, and his men swarmed Lyn like thousands of bees. A pair of them grabbed her arms, lifted the woman easily (she was elfin compared to the cartel members), and carted her around to the back of the limousine. A third cartel member wrenched open the lid of the trunk and before Lyn could flail or kick or even scream in desperation, she was lifted higher and thrown into the trunk.
- - -
Aside from picking her up and tossing her into the back of a drug lord's limo, the cartel hadn't done anything to harm her, and until they did, Lynné wouldn't make the mistake of putting up a struggle.
"Señorita Sands," Barillo said once they had arrived at what she guessed was his estate. Being locked in a trunk with nothing but darkness and catcalls from the cartel members as company had vexed her a great deal, but she forced herself to stay pleasant. Barillo's cold smile, she noted, had returned. He was seated on the expensive armchair leering down at her, while Lyn herself had been shoved onto the couch directly across from him. The two men who had carried Lyn into the limousine now flanked her sides.
"I have heard from a very reliable source that you are trying to put an end to my . . . business," Barillo told her.
"Well, the people I work for are," Lyn explain carefully.
"Really?" he asked, pretending to be interested. "I had no idea the CIA took on people such as yourself and made them field agents."
'One more fucking crack about my size and I am reaching across there and ripping his balls off.'
Do it, the voice encouraged, The fucker deserves it!
"Oh, you heard about my involvement with the CIA?" Lyn asked, feigning delight. "I am so surprised, I wouldn't think that someone such as yourself would be able to find access to that kind of information. I'm sure your line work is VERY tiring. How're the piano lessons coming, by the way? Improved at all in the last two years?"
Barillo wasn't pleased. With one light, effortless movement he motioned to the man on Lynné's right. The next thing she knew, something icy and sharp was being driven into her arm. Lyn had a split second to look down and see a syringe protruding from her right shoulder before her vision blurred and her mind clouded over.
- - -
"Is she awake?"
"No."
"But . . . her eyes are open . . ."
"I am aware, but she was like that entire time."
"She didn't close them once?"
"Not once."
"Fascinating . . ."
Lyn was awake. She had been for the past fifteen minutes, but she refused to let Barillo or any of his men know it. Only allowing herself to blink when their backs were turned, Lynné kept her eyes open, using a method she had learned many years ago to do so. It was simple, really . . . all she had to do was keep her eyes relaxed and not think about them.
They had strapped her to a table, she realized now as she began to come to her senses. It may as well have been a slab of ice for all the warmth it was providing. She couldn't really tell. Not unless she wanted Barillo to realize she was awake, that is.
Well, you've reeeally done it now, sugar-butt, the voice sneered. I just wanna say thank you right now before they realize we're awake and begin the torture. Y'know, just in case I don't get a chance to after this.
'Oh boo fucking hoo. That'd be a real tragedy.'
"Ah, you're awake, señorita."
'Shit.'
Damn.
"And feeling quite refreshed, I might add," Lynné told him cheerfully, though she noticed that her voice had decided to raise itself a few octaves, as sure sign that she was nervous.
"That is good to know, señorita. It would be . . . very unfortunate if you were not relaxed."
Lyn feigned interest.
"Oh?"
"Sí. You see, señorita, I do not take kindly to people who meddle in my affairs."
"Oh, well, actually, it wasn't me," Lyn explained. "No, it was allll the CIA's fault – I didn't even want to BE here, heh."
'I am so fucking screwed. . .'
"Señorita Sands, you're stalling does not amuse me," Barillo informed her. "Nothing you say will make me change my mind."
"Change your mind? About what?" Lyn asked, still playing for time. She knew perfectly well what the drug lord was talking about.
Barillo laughed as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Why, punishment of course, señorita," he said, still laughing lightly. "I intend on seeing that you get exactly what's coming to you."
"I do hope you know –"Lyn swallowed the growing lump in her throat "-- that killing an officer is a federal offence," Lyn blurted as a last and useless attempt at reason. "And that if I die. . . the CIA will be up your ass before –"
"You are not going to die, señorita," Barillo told her calmly, "Not today. No, I just want to teach you a lesson about running around, trying to figure out how to stop the unstoppable."
Lyn blinked in confusion, her eyes never leaving the face of Armando Barillo.
Don't freak out, goddamn you, I swear to God . . . just keep breathing, remember that.
'Right, it's the key to existence, after all. If you don't breathe --'
-- you die, the voice finished. Exactly. So if you just remember that, you'll be okay.
"Right . . . or left?" Barillo asked Lyn, tearing her away from her conversation with herself.
Blinking rapidly, Lyn breathed, "What . . . ?"
"Right or left, señorita? Doctor Guevera needs a decision but he could not make up his mind. So we thought we would be gentlemen and let you make the choice. So, which is it? Right or left?"
Lyn swallowed.
"Neither."
Barillo laughed at her once again, filling the darkened room with cold mirth.
"I am afraid that is not an option, chiquita. Now which will it be, right . . . or left?"
- - -
Lyn paused in her story to take a sip of the strawberry daiquiri room service had brought up. Liam and Grace glanced at each other in anticipation.
"And . . ." Sands prompted, a dark eyebrow arching over his sunglasses in curiosity.
"You should try these things; they make them really well here," Lyn told him, setting her daiquiri down on the coffee table in front of her. When Sands glared at her, she blinked innocently and cleared her throat.
"Anyway . . . I escaped, obviously, shot a few of Barillo's men and –"
"Wait," Sands commanded, signaling her to stop. "Wait, wait . . . your little tale can't be that anti-climactic, Lynnie, and if it was, you would've at least lied about the ending."
"Yeah, I'm getting the idea there's something you're not telling us," Grace added, frowning.
"Quite the astute little thing, aren't ya, Gracie?" Lyn commented sarcastically.
She exchanged a warning look with Liam, one that Sands couldn't see and one that Grace didn't notice because she was busy reaching across the table for her cup of coffee. Eyes widening with concern, Liam nodded and promptly began staring off in the other direction.
"Lynné," Sands asked slowly, noticing her lack of answers, "which was it? Right or left?"
She turned her head sharply, but it was a while before she responded.
"Left."
Liam closed his eyes, his expression pained. Grace's mouth was slightly agape, but she didn't seem to notice.
"The left . . ." she gasped, "the left what?"
Lynné said nothing but bent down over her legs, fumbling with something none of them could see. Liam kept his eyes closed the entire time. He didn't want to see it, it was already bad enough when he had found her on the dusty streets of Mexico three years ago . . . but to look back now . . . it would be too much.
Hearing it was worse, he would later come to find. At least when you had your eyes open you could see what was going on. But when they were shut . . . it was different. All you had was your imagination and the sounds. There was a click and Grace gasped in horror. Liam realized that he wasn't the only one in this position when he heard Sands demand to know what had happened. However, at least he, Liam, had the luxury of being able to open his eyes.
Slowly, very slowly, Liam lifted his eyelids.
"If one of you would be so kind as to explain what's going on," Sands said, letting his irritation with his unfortunate predicament be known, "I'm kind of at a disadvantage here."
"Oh, here," Lyn said nonchalantly, "let me clear things up for you."
Taking his arm with her free hand, Lynné pulled it towards her and told him to hold on as she lay something across his lap. When Sands realized what she had given him, for once, words escaped him.
Grace was shaking her head back and fourth, staring, not at Lyn, but at the prosthetic leg in Sands' arms. Judging by the length of the fake limb, Barillo had gotten Dr. Guevera to cut it off just below Lyn's knee. The leg's replacement was so lifelike . . . Grace realized how easily she had mistaken it for a real leg.
"Where did you get that?" she asked, tears sparkling in her eyes.
"Adam," Liam answered before Lyn could. "Called him up and had it made for her. It's the latest in technology . . . functions just like a real leg and everything."
Sands still hadn't said anything. He was running his hand along the leg, estimating its length, perhaps, and turning it over in his fingers. It even felt like a real leg. He was certain it looked like one too; he couldn't feel any hinges where the ankles or toes were. They felt like real working joints. Barillo had taken Lynné's left leg . . . three years ago, three years . . . and he had never known . . .
"Sands?" Grace asked timidly.
"How did you get away?" he said quietly, not looking at Lyn.
"Same as you. They let me go," Lyn replied with a short laugh. "I guess they thought a one-legged CIA agent was as dangerous as a blind one."
"Guess so," Sands said. "After you were . . . released . . . what happened?"
"Ripped off a piece of my skirt – and I liked that skirt to, so it took a lot of debating before I did it – and tied it around my leg -- half a leg . . .to stop the blood flow.
"Then Barillo sent some of his goons after me. Guess he thought it'd be amusing to watch a girl who had just undergone amputation hop up the street on one leg as she tried to shoot the three men following her."
"You did get them, didn't you?" Grace demanded fearfully.
Lyn rolled her eyes.
"Do I really need to answer that?"
- - -
Get up, goddamn you.
'Don't think I can, sugar-butt.'
What do you mean you don't think you can!?! the voice demanded furiously. I was there when you hobbled all the way up the street, and you were in pain the entire time. So what's stopping ya now?
'Dunno. Drugs?'
Fuck the fucking drugs, all right? They're pain numbing aren't they? . . . . Well?
'Brain numbing more like,' Lyn giggled silently.
Clearly, the voice mused, not effected in the least by Lyn's comment.
There was a light tapping sound slowly getting louder as the seconds passed. No . . . not louder . . . . . closer. The noise became louder as it got closer to the broken woman who was lying on the stoops of one of the casas, her bleeding figure shaded from view by the cool shadows of the hacienda.
'Oh good,' Lyn sighed, shifting her right leg so that it hid the left leg . . . or lack thereof.
Good? What's good? snapped the voice, irate.
'Looks like Barillo's men have finally found me,' Lyn told it calmly, and then she and the voice both heard it: footsteps.
WHAT!?! cried the voice in outrage. No . . . no, no, no, no, NO. No fucking way, Lyn. You get your ass up now and you shoot them.
Lyn sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as she made a feeble attempt to sit up.
Shoot them, the voice urged dangerously, Shoot the fuckers, Lyn.
Wincing and in excruciating pain the entire time, she managed to pull herself upright, Lynné grasped the small stump that was once her left leg and bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Blood filled her mouth but she pressured herself to listen for the footsteps. They were getting closer. She estimated by the sound that there were at least three people – all men judging by how heavy their feet fell – getting ever closer to her little hiding spot.
Checking her small pistol and making sure she had enough ammo she had left, Lynné breathed a sigh of relief. Nine bullets . . . Three guys . . . all of whom were set up . . . just waiting to be knocked over. And she could watch them fall . . . . if she only managed to stay standing herself.
Shoot them, the voice was practically begging. Shoot them NOW.
'To Broadway?' Lyn inquired thoughtfully.
STRAIGHT to fucking Broadway, the voice commanded fercely.
Gripping the banister of the stoop, Lyn forced herself into a standing position. There they were. Three men, just as she had determined, all most definitely members of Barillo's cartel.
"Hey pistolleros," she called tauntingly, the stoop's railing hid her stump of a leg and torn, bloodstained clothes.
Every member of the gun-toting trio raised their weapons to shoot. Lyn grinned wickedly, the mind-numbing drugs starting to wear off, and fired, knocking down every single one.
- - -
Her stepsister had resumed shaking her head in disbelief again once Lyn was finished.
"I still can't believe it . . ." she muttered.
"Oh, and before Barillo let me go, the good Dr. Guevera made sure I couldn't have children either," Lynné said as an afterthought.
Now it was Liam's turn to gape. He stared at his partner as she lifted her tight black shirt just enough to let them all (save for Sands) see the ugly scar on her abdomen. Obviously made by a knife, the rough, white-pink mark ran from the left side of her stomach, curved around, going up her left side and ending just below her ribcage. Ignoring the horrified looks she was receiving, Lynné dropped her shirt, hiding her disfigurement.
"Not that I ever considered HAVING children," she told them all, "but –"
"You . . . you never told me that . . . that they . . . did . . . that," Liam stammered, his blue eyes wide with horror.
"I stitched myself up after you took me back to the house," Lyn filled him in, "I'm surprised you never noticed," she remarked calmly. When her partner continued to look terror-struck she shook her head. "It's in the past and both of the people who hold responsibility for it are dead," Lyn assured him in a would-be consoling voice, "and as for me? I'm still standing, Liam, dear, so you don't have to worry."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sands asked her suddenly.
His sister shook her head, knowing he wouldn't be able to see it.
"I have my reasons," she told him, "although none of them make much sense. The only answer I can give you is . . ." She shrugged carelessly. "'I don't know.'"
"Vous ne savez pas?" Sands asked coyly, tossing the leg back to Lyn, who began refastening it to her kneecap in an almost bored fashion, though Liam thought he could detect just the smallest bit of bitterness in his partner's face when she had to look at her false appendage.
"Ah," Lyn replied, sitting back up to face Sands once again, "non."
- - -
I just wanna say, I don't know what made me think of it. Probably the Oreos, no doubt. .O Meep, I'll say nothing more and just leave it here. (cackles) Ta! (sprints away, still snickering) Ahahahahahaaa . . .
.