Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Twenty-Three: When Pigs Fly
I don't give Agent Fusco enough credit, y'know? I really should. Remember how at the beginning of the last chapter I was going on about how I didn't have anything planned? Thanks to him, I don't have to worry about that in this chapter. See, whilst I was writing that speech of Sands' (the one about the difference between 'going at' and 'letting into' each other) I kind of worked things into Liam's POV and wound up writing about him reminiscing about a time shortly after Lynné was relieved of her left leg. But only for a bit. I wanted to save something for this chapter, y'see. But, not only did Liam fuel me with one idea, he also gave me two. Sands is gonna have a memory about he and his sister as well. :D
"How could you do that!? You left him out there, freezing – for Christ's sake, it was Alaska! He could've died! Or was that your intention? Was it? Tell me, fuckwad, so I can kill you!"
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!" her father roared, just as furious as she was.
Lynné looked up at him, taking in his features. His face contorted with rage, red with fury, fists clenched to stop the anger that shook them . . . Had she not been furious herself, Lynné felt certain she would have found the whole scenario utterly delightful. However, the thought of her father nearly killing her brother pushed itself to the front of her mind, reminding her that there was a problem to be dealt with.
"Why don't you just admit that you want rid of him?" she hissed venomously. "Of both of us!"
"I am sick of your unfounded accusations!" her father continued to rail.
"Then just admit it!" Lynné countered, madness and rabidity blazing in her normally dark eyes. "Admit . . . that you didn't want Sands . . . and you didn't want me . . . and that you only married Mom because of her money!"
"I had plenty of money before I met your mother!"
When her father slammed his fist into the salt and pepper speckled kitchen counter, Lynné did not react.
The fifteen-year-old glared back at him, storming over to where he stood. They were standing on opposite sides of the island in the kitchen now, a mere foot apart from each other.
You could strangle him, the voice informed her.
I know I could.
He's so close . . . You could do it . . . It wouldn't be hard.
I know it wouldn't. I just don't want to go to jail for the rest of my life. I'm too young for that. Besides, I'm not gonna give into that dipshit.
So instead, she used her words.
"I know you did," she whispered fiercely. "You were rich, but you wanted more. So you lured her into a false love, finishing it off with the marriage licen – "
SMACK!
The left side of her face stung as Lynné blinked in bewilderment. He'd hit her. Her father had actually hit her. She hadn't even seen his hand fly out. By the time she did, it was too late. He'd already struck her.
Lynné's breathing was soft but to her it sounded harsh and ragged. Lank hair flopped in her eyes, curtaining her face and acting as a crude hideout from her father's wrath. She stared at the floor. Her own pale face started back up at her, reflected in the polished rust-colored tiles.
Oh my Christ . . .
It was bound to happen some time.
He did it . . .
You kinda brought it on yourself.
He fucking did it . . .
He was provoked.
He hit me . . .
Wasn't that what you were aiming for?
I was . . . ? I . . . yeah . . .
You wanted an excuse, the voice reminded her.
An excuse to what
You know . . . to kill him.
What??
You can get away with it now. Say it was in self-defense, or that he was a long time child abuser and you just couldn't take it anymore. He needed to be dealt with, so you saw an opportunity . . . and you took it. Simple.
It is?
Yeah, the voice assured her with manic delight, You just need to make it look convincing. Have him rough you up a bit more, then you take that knife over there, and let him have it.
Such a tempting invitation, she mused, a poetic buzz swarming her mind. I think I'll take you up on it.
Good girl.
Yeah ,yeah . . . just be grateful I'm part masochist.
Composing herself, slightly ashamed that she had taken so long to register what had happened, Lynné raised her eyes to meet her father's. They were the only things that were remotely alike about the two. She couldn't remember how many times she had wanted her mother's icy blue orbs as her own. They would have only made her appearance seem colder, she reminded herself. At least their true color, brown, made her seem more approachable.
"You wanted more," she accused, her voice quiet with deadly calm. "You wanted more so you married her."
"You don't know when to stop, do you??" It was almost amusing to see how viciousness and confusion had combined to form the odd look her father was wearing. Almost.
"Then you went and had Sands, but he wasn't turning out the way you wanted and you knew he never would, so you conned her into having me. Or maybe she actually wanted another kid, who the hell knows? Not me since you won't tell me anything about her."
Her eyes were accusing and laced with a mixture of hurt and hatred.
"Unfortunately, I wasn't what you wanted either. I wasn't even a fucking boy."
She let out a cold, weak laugh, fed up with everything about the man who bore the same blood as her. Eyes filled with disgust and revulsion, rimmed with hate and pain, and lit with a burning excitement, she glared at him and felt a perverse hilarity at seeing her father suppress a grimace.
"Tell me, do I disgust you? Are you so sick of me that you want me gone? Kinda need some answers, here, Da –"
There it was again. The sharp stinging sensation on her face. This time it was her right cheek that hurt. Her dark orbs still burning with a deranged abhorrence, Lynné allowed a twisted grin to make its way across her face.
Yes! the voice cheered. Get him to do it again!
If you insist . . .
"You really are pathetic, ya know that? Money, always money . . . you'll do anything for money. Disgu –"
His hand flew up, Lynné's eyes widened. Surly he was angry with her enough that now he wanted to cause some real harm?
Oh, hell, maybe I'll even get knocked out.
She raised her own arms, wanting to lure him into believing that she was terrified and that this was her feeble attempt at protecting herself. Her feet planted firmly on the floor, she waited for the blow.
It never came.
Confused, Lynné opened her eyes. What the hell . . . ?
"Arrgh, what the hell do you think you're doing!?" Her father was trying to sound forceful and demanding but his voce betrayed him, letting pain and bewilderment show. He attempted to throw a glare and the person who had pinned both of his arms behind his back, but only resulted in causing more sparks to shoot through his shoulders.
"Saving your ass," a cold voice replied. "Though I've gotta admit, I don't know why."
"Neither do I," Lynné said darkly. Her anger had yet to run out and although Sands had just saved her from another bruise, that did not calm her riled nerves.
"Lyn," her brother sighed, still restraining their father and ignoring his protests, "I know what you were thinking – it was kinda obvious – and as much as I'd like to see him get what's coming to him – "
"What??" their father cried, shocked. "What are you talking about!?"
"– I'd rather not see you go to prison," Sands finished dutifully. "'Specially over this prick."
His father opened his mouth, perhaps to warn Sands to watch his language, but thought better of it. For some reason, he got the feeling that threats would not be a good way to go considering the position he was in. Instead he snarled, "Where did you learn this?" and nodded to his bound arms.
"Turns out you were right about college, Dad," Sands replied, grinning. "You can learn some veeery interesting things there."
His father started to growl something in return but a sharp twist of the wrist quickly silenced him.
"I could've said it was self-defense," Lynné told her brother plainly.
"Don't think I didn't know that," he returned. "Even if you did use that as your excuse, you don't have anything to prove it."
"Marks," Lynné pointed out, gesturing to her face. Already bright patches of red were fading into purple and seeing this fueled Sands desire to eliminate the man in his grasp but he kept his mind clear, blocking the voice's protests as best he could.
"Still not enough, Lynnie," he countered. "You'd need more dings than that, and you're not gonna get 'em. Come on."
Now she was really confused. "What?"
"After this he –" another painful jerk of his father's arm "—might thing he can start hitting you on a regular basis. And since you need your face and body to pass geometry, you can't live here. So get your shit, don't take forever cuz I might change my mind, and get in the car; you're staying with me."
When his sister raised an eyebrow, Sands let out an aggravated sigh before providing the explanation, "In my dorm while I'm at college."
"Oh," Lyn realized with mild surprise.
"Just a minute, young man!" their father cut in angrily. "You may be an adult but she's not! You can't take her –"
"She's family and if she wants to, she can go with me," Sands interrupted coolly. "That's legal. So, Lyn, you want to?"
Again, she quirked a brow, but after a moment of silence she shrugged.
"Okay."
Sands had paused on his way to the bathroom – that last nightmare about the Day of the Dead had left him with an urge to shower – just outside of Lynné's bedroom. There was his sister, asleep in her silky black nightgown with the spaghetti straps, and lying next to her was Fucso.
He had his arm around her waist and she looked peaceful. Not happy, she wasn't smiling or anything. She didn't look happy, but she didn't appear restless either. Just . . . content. Maybe that was the word he was searching for or at least something along those lines.
It seemed strange to see her like this. And then, almost as quickly as that thought came to him, it didn't. It didn't seem strange at all. Lynné was a grown woman of twenty-eight. She wasn't shy and she knew how to get what she wanted without being a slut about it. She didn't sleep around and she didn't give hand jobs for cash. As far as Sands could tell, she was entitled to just as much as he was.
Once again he reminded himself that he'd never thought of him as his little sister, someone he needed to look out for and protect. He'd never been the stereotypical big brother and she had never asked him to be. That didn't stop him from feeling some sort of obligation, however. The need to protect her was strong but only during hard times, like when she was in danger of being hurt whether it be mentally or physically. Most of the time, though, Lynné could protect herself and that eased his worried mind for a good while.
Sighing and deciding that he really did need that shower, Sands cast one last glance at Liam and his sister.
Nah. Fusco wouldn't do anything to her.
Whatever you say, the voice yawned tiredly.
Liam pulled his foot back just in time. A second later, and the door would closed in on his foot. It was too late for his hand, however. Stifling his cry of agony as his fingers were crushed between the door and its frame, he gripped the trapped wrist with his free hand, bit down hard on his lower lip, and tugged.
"A-ahh . . ." Squeezing his eyes shut, Liam gasped, trying desperately to relieve the pain in his hand.
"I thought the CIA would've trained you better than this!" an angry voice shrieked from the other side of the door.
"You caught me off guard!" As soon as the sentence had left his mouth, Liam winced. Even to him the words sounded pathetic.
"You're CIA!" the voice insisted, slightly muffled due to the wood of the door. "You're fucking trained to be ready for anything! We all are! Well ya know what, Fusco? It's a lie. It's all a fucking lie. The entire fucking agency is one big sham!"
"Miss Sands," he began desperately but a feral growl from behind the door quickly brought him to his sense.
"Lynné," he amended at once, fearful of his fellow agent's wrath. "Look, I know you're hurting, but –"
"Hurting?" she asked hollowly, a small, icy, slightly hysterical laugh in her voice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Fusco, cuz I'm havin' a ball."
"Lynné, please," he tried again more desperately than before. "I . . . sometimes it, y'know . . . when there's something wrong . . . it helps to talk about it."
"Never worked before," she snapped irritably.
"Ever tried it before?" he retorted, surprised at how quick-witted he had become all of a sudden.
"I never had any reason to," she lied coldly.
"Do you now?"
"No."
Before he even voiced the question, Liam knew what answer he would receive. He didn't know why he asked, nor did he know why he kept asking. Lynné wouldn't talk, not about what was on her mind. Pigs would fly before that happened. With a sad breath, Liam turned his gaze from the rough wooden door to the small window – the only one in the entire hallway -- behind him.
Nope. Don't see any.
"What happened anyway?" he asked wearily, wondering if he would live through the night.
"What do you think happened, Fusoc? They cut off my leg. The cartel . . . cut off . . my goddamn leg!!"
Nervously, Liam backed away from the door.
"I-I know that," he began testily, "I just . . . well, the details might be important when the Company shows up –"
"Company?" Lynné echoed in a dead voice. "Did you call them?"
"No."
"Did you page them?"
"N . . . no."
"E-mail them, fax them, make contact of any kind – did you contact the Company?"
"No," Liam insisted forcefully. "Sh-should I?"
"Christ, no!" his partner cried. "Don't you get it? The abandoned me, Fusco. Fucking left me to die out there. I called the second before Barillo nabbed me and they hung up."
"No," Liam breathed, refusing to believe her. "They . . . they wouldn't do that."
"Wakey, wakey, Liam dear. They would and they did. If you're a danger to the agency or can afford being lost, they won't ax you, but they'll send you to fucking Mexico where someone will ax you for them. So get with the program, honey, the good ol' Central Intelligence Agency won't come through for their agents. If you can be thrown away, then you bet your ass they'll burn you."
"I . . ." Liam faltered, stunned. "I just ca –"
"Can't believe it?" Lynné mocked with sad hysteria. "Best start believin' it, Fusco. You might be next."
But he hadn't been burned. The CIA had come searching for Lynné, but, as she had said many times afterwards, they didn't look very hard or very long. They hadn't even showed up at his house as far as Liam knew. He and his partner had taken up residence in the small, three-story place Lynné had been staying at. She had rented it while in charge of the operation in Mexico and then, after the escapade with the Barillo cartel, and had used the last of her money to buy it. And Liam had stayed with her.
But why? he now argued with himself. Cautiously, he cast a nervous glance at the back of the slender woman beside him. Lynné was such a difficult woman to live with, three years – even three hours proved that. She had threatened to kill him on numerous occasions before and after her . . . surgery. She was cocky, callous, devious, potentially sociopathic, unwilling to open up to anyone . . . so why, why had he stayed with her?
Maybe I love her, he thought dully.
It seemed plausible, now that he thought of it and maybe it was true. After all, when she didn't have a gun pointed at his head, Lynné was all right.
And I'm probably the only person who's ever thought that about her.
So, what about the new scene change thing? Everybody okay with it? Hopefully it'll stay and I won't have to up and change everything in the middle of the story. Unlike the last two times (glare). And I hope that was enough Liam for everybody, too. God knows that guy hasn't made any appearances lately.
Author's Thanks and Review Responses:
morph: Geh, I'm not saying a word. u.u;;; Hope this chapter was eventful, though. I know that if not the next chapter then the one after that will have some action-y stuff in it.
Dawnie-7: Believe me, I've wanted to have somebody deck Cat a good one on more than one occasion. However, that one scene wasn't it. Too many agents around and, while Lyn doesn't really care whether or not she breaks the rules, she knows that if she wants any cooperation she can't go doing things like knocking her stepsister's teeth out. Too bad, though. Rest assured, though, Catherine will get what's coming to her. (evil grin)
Lynx Ryder: lol, yes, he agreed, although it was, like you said, grudgingly and in his head, but he agreed all the same. Now he's just gotta admit that he won't save her because of his job, but that could take a while. Yeah, Lynné is definitely not the yelling type save for a few rare occasions as seen in this chapter. And, yes, go check out 'Collateral'! Like I said, I don't care for Tom Cruise all that much, but his character was great in that movie. I really liked him. Of course, I've always had a strange affection for arrogant guys with the bad attitudes. 9.9'
fanfiction fanatic: Still haven't seen 'The Forgotten' although now I really want to. Hopefully it won't have a lame twist at the end like 'The Village,' which I probably would've liked had they not made it out to be a horror movie. I mean, if I go to the movies to get the shit scared out of me, it's kinda disappointing when I don't. But, yeah, I'm betting on either government conspiracy or crazy lady. I really don't care as long as it isn't too predictable. u.u
o