QueenoftheDamned: Here's your update. Wanna know what she's all about? ;-
) Don't we all?
Miss Becky: Yeah, it is kinda tough to write from a blind guy's point of view. In fact, this was a challenge for me, because I usually like to write from the POV of a girl- but then, we wouldn't have half the suspense if I did, would we? I usually hate writing guys, but... I admit, this is fun.
Merrie: You poor soul. I like to include the spanish to keep things authentic, but you may have a point, so how about this- if I use a lot that you can't figure out by context clues, I'll include a translation at the end, how's that?
ThePinkPanther: Thanks for reading, and hang around- this is gonna be one heck of a story.
Raquedan: One shot only? Me? Never! ;-)
Erinya: Yeah, that's why she kissed him. That, and authorly indulgence, LOL. Congratulations, BTW, you were the only one who mentioned the Sleepy Hollow reference.
AgentSands-CIA: Thanks for reading and reviewing. If, as I suspect, you're new to fanfiction.net, welcome to the club.
Beguile- Perfect? Me? No... well, maybe a little... *big smile* Thanks!
DemonicLittleGirl- Consider this your dose of Sands. Try not to drool too much. ;-)
froda-baggins: ulterior motives? my sweet, simple, completely up front and honest main character? *tries and fails to look innocent*
************************************************************************
-You've simply... seen too much...-
-A needle pricks the skin of his arm...-
-A rush, like fire in his veins.-
-The whir of a small motor.-
-Pain... blood... blackness...-
Oh God, I'm blind. I can't see my hand in front of my face. My face- slick with my own blood. I can hear her laughing- Ajedrez.
Distantly, I recall the meaning of the name- chess.
I played her game, tried to use her like a pawn.
I lost.
And now I'm going to die.
Oh, God...
The man called Sands awoke with a start, sweating and shaking. He tried to sit up, but the movement made him so dizzy that he fell back again. He recognized distantly that he was no longer lying on plastic, but on what felt like a quilt or blanket.
He raised a trembling hand to his face. His fingers encountered more fabric of a rougher variety- there was bandage over the empty sockets of his eyes. His sunglasses were nowhere to be found.
His mouth was dry, and he swallowed painfully several times.
"I thought perhaps you would not wake," 'ella' observed. He felt the bed sink a little as she sat on the edge. "How do you feel?"
He tried to reply, but his throat was too dry. He heard a sound that lead him to suspect she had clapped her hand to her forehead in dismay. "Thirsty, of course."
She helped him sit up and drink two glasses of water. He would have stopped after one, but she insisted he drink a second, with much the air of a mother coaxing a small child to take his medicine. "It will help get the last of the cartel's drug out of your system," she explained.
Agent Sands was not a courteous man, but at least he was rarely at a loss for words. Now, however, he had very little idea of what he wanted to say to her, whoever she was. "Um," he began after a pause, "I... Thank you. I think."
She laughed a little. "So uncertain, Senor?"
"Well, let's see," he snapped, his frustration getting the better of him, "I don't know who you are, or who you're working for, or why you saved my life- I can't even see what you look like because of that b**** Ajedrez!"
She sighed. "I cannot tell you any of these things, not yet, but if you want to know what I look like, here."
She took his right hand and raised it to her face, so that his fingertips brushed the smooth skin of her cheek. He hesitated, suspicious, but she held perfectly still. Hesitantly, then with greater confidence, he traced his fingertips over her cheek, feeling her prominent cheekbones, her nose, the soft skin of her eyelids, her lips.
A phone rang, and he stiffened and jerked his hand away.
She laughed again, got up, and went to answer it. She made no effort to lower her voice as she conversed with whoever had called, so he caught every word. Her tone was businesslike as she said, "¿Qué? Sí. Sí, señor. Sí. El está aquí. No, él no murió. ¡No! Yo no tengo la menor idea. Unos pocos días por lo menos, posiblemente una semana. No, yo no lo disparé. Señor, no me insulta. Sí, señor. Una semana, entonces. Entiendo. Adiós."
She hung up and muttered something that sounded distinctly rude under her breath.
"Friend of yours?" he asked, managing to sit up at last with his back against the wall (the bed was pushed into a corner).
"A business associate," she corrected casually. "He wanted to know how you were doing."
"I'm deeply touched by his concern," Sands said irritably, "But if he's so interested, why doesn't he stop by and find out for himself?"
"To be perfectly honest, which is rare for me, he is afraid of you, I think," she answered thoughtfully.
"Of a wounded, blind CIA agent who is at the mercy of a woman he doesn't even know?" he demanded, managing to give her a good approximation of an incredulous stare even with the bandage wrapped around his head.
"Of the man who caused all this mess," she corrected. "Of the man who restored the balance to Mexico. Of the man who-" She broke off abruptly.
A moment of silence and then- the jingle of chains and the tap of footsteps outside. A knock on the door.
"Here, take this," she said shortly. She tossed something at him, and somewhat to his own surprise he managed to catch it. A handgun, with a silencer.
"You trust me at your back with this?" he demanded.
"Shut up!" she snarled. He heard her draw her own weapon and cross the room to stand near the door. "¿Quién hay?" she demanded.
The door creaked open, and someone stepped into the room. Sands heard the sound of something hard striking flesh, an agonized grunt, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. He leveled his weapon at the source of the noise, but 'ella' snapped, "Don't shoot!" then, "El!"
"Oh, ****," Sands muttered, lowering the gun. The absolute last person he wanted to see at this point was 'El Mariachi', so naturally the universe saw fit to drop him right on his doorstep. He heard the door close.
"What the hell did you kick me for?" El demanded, still on the floor.
"I didn't know it was you, Senor," 'ella' answered. "I can take no chances, especially now. I take it you came to see my guest?"
"In a manner of speaking. Where-" El began, cutting off sharply.
He got up off the floor and Sands heard him walk deliberately over to stand next to the bed, and demand roughly, "What happened to you?"
"You remember Ajedrez?" Sands asked bitterly. "Or should I say, Miss Barillo?"
"His daughter?"
Sands grimaced. "Something like that. She and I had a little disagreement."
"Uh huh," said El emphatically. "So did you kill her favorite cook or what?"
"Oh, you're funny as hell, aren't you?" Sands snarled, now aiming the gun he held at El's head. "Shouldn't you be out having dinner with the president or something, oh great son of Mexico? That's what they're calling you, you know." Sands' lips were curled in a snarl of rage as he added viciously, "So you killed Marquez, huh. Got your precious revenge, didn't you? Did Carolina come back from the dead, then? Did your brat of a daughter?"
El made no reply. He reached down and twisted the barrel of the gun away from himself so that it pointed at the wall, and struck Sands viciously across the face with the back of his free hand. The agent's head snapped back and smacked against the wall, making him swear filthily.
"Do not EVER speak of them again," El said in a soft and deadly voice, "Or I will kill you myself."
"Then leave me the **** alone and you won't have to worry about it!" Sands panted, gritting his teeth.
El wrenched the gun out of his hand completely, and for a moment Sands thought his life was about to end, but then El turned, his costume jingling, and walked away.
"You shouldn't have given him this," Sands heard El inform 'ella'.
"He's a dead shot, even blind," she replied, sounding vaguely amused by the whole affair. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
"Yes," El said. "I wanted to tell you that the cartel is still intact, mas o menos, and they are looking for your injured friend. They may come for him as soon as tonight, if they find out where he is."
"Muchas gracias, senor," she replied. "I thought they might be. I'll be ready for them."
"I would expect no less of you," El answered. "I would say, stay here only as long as you have to. When he is well enough to travel, leave."
"I had planned on it," she said, and added, "You are welcome to stay, of course, Senor, if you wish."
El's voice was noticeably softer as he said, "I must go. El presidente may still be in danger. You will be all right?"
"Oh, I'll manage, one way or another," she said dryly. "Just like always."
"It is not like always," El argued. "He is with you." The mariachi put a world of contempt in just those few simple words.
"I'll be alright," she answered firmly.
El did not reply, but slammed the door behind himself as he left.
"What was THAT about?" Sands demanded after a moment.
"He doesn't like you much," she drawled, walking over and sitting back down on the bed.
"No shit," Sands snarled, rubbing his face where El had struck him. "I meant his ever so sweet concern for you."
'Ella' snorted. "Oh, I think he is reminded of his Carolina when he sees me."
"I reminded him of his precious Carolina too," Sands pointed out, "I notice he didn't backhand you."
"If you are trying to ask me if there was ever anything beyond friendship between El and myself, the answer is no," she said bluntly.
"So you're friends?" Sands pressed, leaning forward and trying very hard to ignore the headache he was getting from being struck across the face.
"Yes, oddly enough," she said, and chuckled quietly to herself.
"Why is that funny?" he asked.
"To explain, you would have to know my name- my real name," she said. "I suppose our friendship could be called ironic, in light of recent events."
"And what is your real name?"
"Estrella Graciela Barillo Sanchez."
************************************************************************
A/N: In most spanish speaking countries, a person's proper full name is written as follows:
(first name) (middle name) (father's last name) (mother's last name)
Savvy?
Phone conversation translation: What? Yes. Yes, sir. Yes. He is here. No, he isn't dead. No! I have no idea. A few more days at least, possibly a week. No, I didn't shoot him. Sir, do not insult me. Yes, sir. A week, then. I understand. Goodbye.
Miss Becky: Yeah, it is kinda tough to write from a blind guy's point of view. In fact, this was a challenge for me, because I usually like to write from the POV of a girl- but then, we wouldn't have half the suspense if I did, would we? I usually hate writing guys, but... I admit, this is fun.
Merrie: You poor soul. I like to include the spanish to keep things authentic, but you may have a point, so how about this- if I use a lot that you can't figure out by context clues, I'll include a translation at the end, how's that?
ThePinkPanther: Thanks for reading, and hang around- this is gonna be one heck of a story.
Raquedan: One shot only? Me? Never! ;-)
Erinya: Yeah, that's why she kissed him. That, and authorly indulgence, LOL. Congratulations, BTW, you were the only one who mentioned the Sleepy Hollow reference.
AgentSands-CIA: Thanks for reading and reviewing. If, as I suspect, you're new to fanfiction.net, welcome to the club.
Beguile- Perfect? Me? No... well, maybe a little... *big smile* Thanks!
DemonicLittleGirl- Consider this your dose of Sands. Try not to drool too much. ;-)
froda-baggins: ulterior motives? my sweet, simple, completely up front and honest main character? *tries and fails to look innocent*
************************************************************************
-You've simply... seen too much...-
-A needle pricks the skin of his arm...-
-A rush, like fire in his veins.-
-The whir of a small motor.-
-Pain... blood... blackness...-
Oh God, I'm blind. I can't see my hand in front of my face. My face- slick with my own blood. I can hear her laughing- Ajedrez.
Distantly, I recall the meaning of the name- chess.
I played her game, tried to use her like a pawn.
I lost.
And now I'm going to die.
Oh, God...
The man called Sands awoke with a start, sweating and shaking. He tried to sit up, but the movement made him so dizzy that he fell back again. He recognized distantly that he was no longer lying on plastic, but on what felt like a quilt or blanket.
He raised a trembling hand to his face. His fingers encountered more fabric of a rougher variety- there was bandage over the empty sockets of his eyes. His sunglasses were nowhere to be found.
His mouth was dry, and he swallowed painfully several times.
"I thought perhaps you would not wake," 'ella' observed. He felt the bed sink a little as she sat on the edge. "How do you feel?"
He tried to reply, but his throat was too dry. He heard a sound that lead him to suspect she had clapped her hand to her forehead in dismay. "Thirsty, of course."
She helped him sit up and drink two glasses of water. He would have stopped after one, but she insisted he drink a second, with much the air of a mother coaxing a small child to take his medicine. "It will help get the last of the cartel's drug out of your system," she explained.
Agent Sands was not a courteous man, but at least he was rarely at a loss for words. Now, however, he had very little idea of what he wanted to say to her, whoever she was. "Um," he began after a pause, "I... Thank you. I think."
She laughed a little. "So uncertain, Senor?"
"Well, let's see," he snapped, his frustration getting the better of him, "I don't know who you are, or who you're working for, or why you saved my life- I can't even see what you look like because of that b**** Ajedrez!"
She sighed. "I cannot tell you any of these things, not yet, but if you want to know what I look like, here."
She took his right hand and raised it to her face, so that his fingertips brushed the smooth skin of her cheek. He hesitated, suspicious, but she held perfectly still. Hesitantly, then with greater confidence, he traced his fingertips over her cheek, feeling her prominent cheekbones, her nose, the soft skin of her eyelids, her lips.
A phone rang, and he stiffened and jerked his hand away.
She laughed again, got up, and went to answer it. She made no effort to lower her voice as she conversed with whoever had called, so he caught every word. Her tone was businesslike as she said, "¿Qué? Sí. Sí, señor. Sí. El está aquí. No, él no murió. ¡No! Yo no tengo la menor idea. Unos pocos días por lo menos, posiblemente una semana. No, yo no lo disparé. Señor, no me insulta. Sí, señor. Una semana, entonces. Entiendo. Adiós."
She hung up and muttered something that sounded distinctly rude under her breath.
"Friend of yours?" he asked, managing to sit up at last with his back against the wall (the bed was pushed into a corner).
"A business associate," she corrected casually. "He wanted to know how you were doing."
"I'm deeply touched by his concern," Sands said irritably, "But if he's so interested, why doesn't he stop by and find out for himself?"
"To be perfectly honest, which is rare for me, he is afraid of you, I think," she answered thoughtfully.
"Of a wounded, blind CIA agent who is at the mercy of a woman he doesn't even know?" he demanded, managing to give her a good approximation of an incredulous stare even with the bandage wrapped around his head.
"Of the man who caused all this mess," she corrected. "Of the man who restored the balance to Mexico. Of the man who-" She broke off abruptly.
A moment of silence and then- the jingle of chains and the tap of footsteps outside. A knock on the door.
"Here, take this," she said shortly. She tossed something at him, and somewhat to his own surprise he managed to catch it. A handgun, with a silencer.
"You trust me at your back with this?" he demanded.
"Shut up!" she snarled. He heard her draw her own weapon and cross the room to stand near the door. "¿Quién hay?" she demanded.
The door creaked open, and someone stepped into the room. Sands heard the sound of something hard striking flesh, an agonized grunt, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. He leveled his weapon at the source of the noise, but 'ella' snapped, "Don't shoot!" then, "El!"
"Oh, ****," Sands muttered, lowering the gun. The absolute last person he wanted to see at this point was 'El Mariachi', so naturally the universe saw fit to drop him right on his doorstep. He heard the door close.
"What the hell did you kick me for?" El demanded, still on the floor.
"I didn't know it was you, Senor," 'ella' answered. "I can take no chances, especially now. I take it you came to see my guest?"
"In a manner of speaking. Where-" El began, cutting off sharply.
He got up off the floor and Sands heard him walk deliberately over to stand next to the bed, and demand roughly, "What happened to you?"
"You remember Ajedrez?" Sands asked bitterly. "Or should I say, Miss Barillo?"
"His daughter?"
Sands grimaced. "Something like that. She and I had a little disagreement."
"Uh huh," said El emphatically. "So did you kill her favorite cook or what?"
"Oh, you're funny as hell, aren't you?" Sands snarled, now aiming the gun he held at El's head. "Shouldn't you be out having dinner with the president or something, oh great son of Mexico? That's what they're calling you, you know." Sands' lips were curled in a snarl of rage as he added viciously, "So you killed Marquez, huh. Got your precious revenge, didn't you? Did Carolina come back from the dead, then? Did your brat of a daughter?"
El made no reply. He reached down and twisted the barrel of the gun away from himself so that it pointed at the wall, and struck Sands viciously across the face with the back of his free hand. The agent's head snapped back and smacked against the wall, making him swear filthily.
"Do not EVER speak of them again," El said in a soft and deadly voice, "Or I will kill you myself."
"Then leave me the **** alone and you won't have to worry about it!" Sands panted, gritting his teeth.
El wrenched the gun out of his hand completely, and for a moment Sands thought his life was about to end, but then El turned, his costume jingling, and walked away.
"You shouldn't have given him this," Sands heard El inform 'ella'.
"He's a dead shot, even blind," she replied, sounding vaguely amused by the whole affair. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
"Yes," El said. "I wanted to tell you that the cartel is still intact, mas o menos, and they are looking for your injured friend. They may come for him as soon as tonight, if they find out where he is."
"Muchas gracias, senor," she replied. "I thought they might be. I'll be ready for them."
"I would expect no less of you," El answered. "I would say, stay here only as long as you have to. When he is well enough to travel, leave."
"I had planned on it," she said, and added, "You are welcome to stay, of course, Senor, if you wish."
El's voice was noticeably softer as he said, "I must go. El presidente may still be in danger. You will be all right?"
"Oh, I'll manage, one way or another," she said dryly. "Just like always."
"It is not like always," El argued. "He is with you." The mariachi put a world of contempt in just those few simple words.
"I'll be alright," she answered firmly.
El did not reply, but slammed the door behind himself as he left.
"What was THAT about?" Sands demanded after a moment.
"He doesn't like you much," she drawled, walking over and sitting back down on the bed.
"No shit," Sands snarled, rubbing his face where El had struck him. "I meant his ever so sweet concern for you."
'Ella' snorted. "Oh, I think he is reminded of his Carolina when he sees me."
"I reminded him of his precious Carolina too," Sands pointed out, "I notice he didn't backhand you."
"If you are trying to ask me if there was ever anything beyond friendship between El and myself, the answer is no," she said bluntly.
"So you're friends?" Sands pressed, leaning forward and trying very hard to ignore the headache he was getting from being struck across the face.
"Yes, oddly enough," she said, and chuckled quietly to herself.
"Why is that funny?" he asked.
"To explain, you would have to know my name- my real name," she said. "I suppose our friendship could be called ironic, in light of recent events."
"And what is your real name?"
"Estrella Graciela Barillo Sanchez."
************************************************************************
A/N: In most spanish speaking countries, a person's proper full name is written as follows:
(first name) (middle name) (father's last name) (mother's last name)
Savvy?
Phone conversation translation: What? Yes. Yes, sir. Yes. He is here. No, he isn't dead. No! I have no idea. A few more days at least, possibly a week. No, I didn't shoot him. Sir, do not insult me. Yes, sir. A week, then. I understand. Goodbye.