Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Twenty-Five: Wishful Thinking
Oh my God I can't believe I thought this story would be shorter than the last one! o.o' Already I've written just as many chapters but I'm only a little more than halfway done. I'm gonna try and refrain myself from predicting how many chapters are left. Unlike last time. 9.9 Very annoying, wasn't it?
VVV"She saw something," Édouard Poisson muttered to his sons as he quickly strode through the maze-like hallways of his home, stroking his bristly moustache all the while.
"Are you sure of that, father?" Vincent inquired. "She looked as though she was having a seizure to me."
"That was no seizure, my son, and you know it," his father snapped threateningly. "Zebbidy's second sight brings many similar symptoms, but they are not the same. She was having a vision."
"What do you suppose it was, father?" Alphonse wondered, matching his father's side as well as he could.
"Je ne sais pas," he murmured distractedly, turning a corner so sharply that Alphonse nearly collided with the wall. Vincent laughed quietly.
"It appeared to have been triggered by the presence of Mademoiselle Hernandez." Vincent slid into the conversation with ease.
"So it seems . . ." his father responded still just barely staying with them. It was clear that his own thoughts were keeping him preoccupied.
"Will she talk?" Alphonse asked curiously.
"Je ne sais pas," Édouard said again. "However, you know that if she will not, I can always make her."
With a leer that was a complete replica of his father's, Alphonse nodded. "Oui. I do."
Vincent merely stared.
VVV"Fuck," Sands swore, charging through the front door, anger swirling around him.
"What?" His sister's voice came from the top of the stairs, curiosity ringing through her single question.
"We lost contact with Zebbidy." Sands' answer was simple, but annoyance laced his voice and Lynné could hear it as sudden outrage filled her small body.
"What!?"
"Camera's dead. She tore it off –"
"WHAT!?"
"And you're usually such an eloquent speaker, Lynnie," Sands murmured thoughtfully as his sister nearly flew down the steps.
"As I was saying," he continued once Lynné had reached the bottom step, "Mademoiselle Hernandez showed up, Zeb started fingering her necklace – y'know that habit of hers – and then . . ." He shook his head and held up his hands trying to find the right word to use ". . . it was a fucking convulsion from the sound of it."
"So the mics are still working," Lynné concluded, thinking everything through. "And you said convulsion . . . like what happened at la pique."
Her brother shrugged, dropping onto couch and hearing the leather creak beneath him as he did. He was well aware that Lynné was still standing there, possible waiting for a response or merely contemplating. Deciding that the last option seemed much more appealing, Sands leaned against the back of the couch and let out a long breath. Shit. This wasn't his day.
"The necklace fell to the floor and then . . ." He waved his hands around carelessly. "Snow."
"I take it we don't have anything new on the allusive Rosa Hernandez, then," Lynné assumed as she took a seat on the red recliner. Raising a hand, she rubbed her temple tiredly.
"Nope," Sands replied, his voice just as worn out.
"What's wrong?" someone suddenly asked, tearing the two agents out of their brood.
Heads twisting towards the sound in one synchronized motion, Sands and Lynné were met with the sight of a worried, slightly befuddled Liam Fusco standing in the doorway of the kitchen wearing an expression of utmost concernment. Joséphine stood at his side just as interested. Having heard the outbursts in the living room, the child had followed Liam, wanting to investigate.
"You're timing is so of, Fusco," Sands remarked. "But if you must know, Zebbidy's camera is out."
Liam gasped, "Poisson knows –"
"No, Poisson doesn't know as far as we can tell," Lynné consoled him unenthusiastically. "According to Sands, the only thing that happened was that she took off the camera, it fell to the floor, and broke."
"Why did she take off the camera?" Liam wondered, confused.
"Couldn't tell ya, Liam," his partner replied.
"My guess is she had another episode, fit, whatever the hell you wanna call it," Sands explained as he closed his eyes and reclined his head against the back of the couch.
"Like what happened at la pique?" Liam asked.
"Seems to be everyone else's vote."
Liam's brow furrowed in deep concentration before he finally voicing his thoughts.
"Did we get anything before we lost the connection?"
"Just Poisson's lecture about everyone needing to behave themselves at his big blow out," Lynné reported. "And some thug announcing Hernandez."
As both Sands and Lynné expected, the tentative agent's blue orbs bugged in surprise, but before he could ask the predictable question, Sands cut him off with the answer.
"Don't get excited, Fusco, she didn't say a word. Before or after the transmission cut out."
"Wait a minute," Lynné said suddenly, turning towards their young houseguest. "Josey . . . when you found me that day in the Louvre . . . as I recall, you said that your grandfather and your uncle were after me. And then you added – albeit, quietly – that a woman was involved in the plan too, d'you remember?"
The little girl nodded, "Oui."
"Mind telling me who she was?" the agent prodded.
"Pas quelqu'un a appelé Hernandez," (Not anyone named Hernandez,) the child answered abruptly.
All three agents started, taken aback. Not terribly affected by Joséphine's sudden revelation, Sands and his sister took less time to recover than Liam did. That did not mean that when he spoke Sands response would be incredibly brilliant, however.
"You're sure?"
"Oui," the child answered sincerely.
"Then who was the woman if she wasn't Hernandez?" Lynné pressed.
Joséphine shrugged her tiny shoulders sadly. "Je ne sais pas . . . Je suis désolé." (I don't know . . . I'm sorry.)
"Do you know what she sounded like?"
Her dark eyes downcast, the child shook her head sending her pale curls swinging around her face lightly.
"Non. Chaque fois que le Grand-père lui a parlé, c'était toujours sur le téléphone." (No. Whenever Grandfather spoke to her, it was always over the telephone.)
Listening to his sister curse under her breath, Sands let out a rough sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Fuck. They had nothing when it came right down to it. Sure, they knew a few tiny details but were any of them worth anything?
No. He didn't think they were.
What were they anyway? Poisson wanted Zebbidy, but no one knew what for. Alphonse was a sleazy, brown nosing, ass kissing little schmuck who would fetch, roll over, die, and bury himself if his daddy commanded it. Rosa Hernandez . . . what the fuck did they have on her except the bare facts? Nice ass, black hair, blue eyes, and a wealthy orphan. And she sent Zebbidy into seizures, but was there anything else? Vincent Poisson wanted out of the game, out of the mob business, but so far all he'd done was keep his word not to rat them out. That could change. People could change. And that was a fact Sands knew all too well.
Speaking of people changing, the voice piped up knowingly, let's talk about you.
What now? he groaned silently.
I wasn't finished, it snapped stiffly.
Hope you excuse me if I don't give a flying fu –
I was going to say 'let's talk about you and Zebbidy.
What about us?
Ha! That!
What 'thathe asked incredulously. There isn't a 'that.'
Yes there is, the voice insisted defiantly. You said 'us' that implies that there is something.
Something?
Something between you two! the voice hollered, clearly unpleased by Sands' deliberate stupidity.
Wha – where did that come from? There is nothing between us; there isn't even anything amongst us. For Christ's sake, do you really think I'd go after someone after That Bitch?
Well, the voice considered reasonably, if the right person came along.
You're forgetting that one hasn't come along. So if it isn't too much trouble, stop picking at me. The subject is closed, I'm done, piss off.
Denial, denial, denialthe voice chanted in an obnoxiously whiny tone.
Even though he knew it would not stay put for long, Sands shoved the voice back to it's proper place: The back of his head. He could still hear it's faint protests, but he blocked them out by averting his attention to a more important matter. Zebbidy needed to be contacted.
VVVWithout opening her eyes, Zebbidy explored the world around her. She simply laid still, absorbing all of the sounds, smells, and textures around her. It was a handy trick she had been taught at a young age, and she used it to her advantage.
If I don't move, then they won't know I'm awake.
Judging by the lack of sunlight on her face, she went with her instinct, figuring that the sun must have died some time ago. There was a tug in her chest and she knew it was ache. She missed it. She missed the sun, the trees, the flowers, the air . . .
I see trees that are green, red roses too.
I watch them bloom for me and you .
And I think to myself . . . what a wonderful world.
But Poisson would never be so lenient as to allow her to venture outdoors. She was his captive, his prize. Something as valuable as she would not be permitted such a ludicrous request.
She was warm, cushioned by a soft downy mattress and silk pillows. Comfortable did not begin to describe how she felt when she was surrounded by wonderful, balmy air that lulled her, dampening her senses with solace.
Which is probably what Poisson's specifications read when he had this room made, Zebbidy mused heartlessly.
Curling her thin fingers around the edge of the thick blanket that covered her, she let out a sad breath in her mind, careful not to let herself be heard by anyone other than herself.
She knew Poisson's comfort was farce. It was as much of a lie as the act he put on whenever she entered his presence. But for as long as she had known him, Zebbidy had always strived not to be thwarted by his manipulation. He was a sham to her and he always had been.
Nature had always had some hold on her. It was her solace, not some velvet bedding that provided a false sense of security. Not the counterfeit compassion of Édouard Poisson. Not his cameras or his guards, nor his money or his three feet high, titanium gates could put her at ease. None of those things meant anything to her. They did not soothe her grated nerves. Only one thing could do that, and that was being outside. But that did not mean being allowed to take a nice stroll through Poisson's man-made gardens with their concrete flower boxes and ornamental trees.
Fuck, I want to go back. I hate this place, he knows it, and yet he lured me here anyway. Damnit, I am sick of this! I miss the island, and the woods, and I am fucking tired of hiding my goddamned visio –
A sudden stab to the forehead brought Zebbidy's rant to an abrupt end, lingering as a sharp reminder of what she had just seen.
It must have been big for me to black out afterward, she considered thoughtfully. That hasn't happened in . . . gods, how long now? Twenty-some years?
Or maybe it was just the stress, she tried to reason. Stress could bring on so many things. Believing that it affected everyone differently was her theory. And though I hate to go all cloak-and-dagger, but it seems to affect me stranger than most.
A dull quivering movement near her hip jarred Zebbidy from whatever sleep still had a hold of her mind, albeit, gradually. With a wince, she closed her eyes, groaning:
Shit. Time to deal with the warden. Hopefully Sands won't be completely impossible this time.
She paused, considering the thought that just passed through her head. Ten seconds later, she nearly burst out laughing.
Oh dear gods, I must be going insane . . .
VVVI wanna apologize for how short this chapter is. :( There was so much going on this weekend. Plus I have an English report due on Tuesday that has to be eight to ten pages long. Normally this would not be a problem – I've written longer in shorter periods of time – but the thing is, I'm only allowed to work on it in class, which is only thirty-five minutes long. -.9;; So lately I've been staying after school to work on it. Once again, I apologize. I really did want this chapter to be longer, but, thinking about it, I don't think there's anything else I wanted to get ouD t in this chapter. Next one will be better, though, I promise! It takes place during Poisson's party! :D
Author's Thanks and Review Responses:
Dawnie-7: Oy, I am running late on my monthly good deed. (checks calendar) O.O! Eep, it's almost October. Ehhh, anyway, no she's not back. Hernandez just set Zeb off for some reason. But! (low, spooky voice) It will alllll be explaaaained soooon . . .
morph: Oh, cool :D I've had that déjà vu scene planned since the end of TLWH actually. At first I wanted it to take place right after Zebbidy's attack in the elevator. I had originally wanted her to run to her hotel room instead of the bar. Then have Sands come charging in, have Zeb swing around with a gun trained on him, and have Sands think 'Déjà vu?' But I liked the bar scene so I put it off 'til now. :) I keep trying to filter her abilities throughout the story. Y'know, not letting too much out at once or making things too obviously. That's one thing that always annoys me: If the story is predictable. Unless it's meant to be that way – in a cliché, parody sorta sense – then it drives me up a wall.
Lynx Ryder: Eventually, Zeb will tell Sands about her visions, but he's not gonna believe her so she'll have to do a few things to prove it. I've got a few ideas in the works, so hopefully it'll be a good scene. Won't be 'til a little while, though. And I'm so glad you could picture the Sands/Ajedrez scene! I know it was in the movie, but the thing was I had forgotten the order of the dialogue in it. o.o;; I would've watched the movie again – wouldn't've bothered me in the least ;) – but my mom was busy watching 'The Last Samurai.' -.e (and people wonder why I don't like Tom Cruise) Nah, I can't see Lyn ever admitting to love either. Not even to herself – damn that voice in her head . . .
fanfiction fanatic: No, no, no . . . like I said to Dawnie-7, Hernandez just triggered the vision of Sands and Ajedrez. There is a reason for that, but it will be a while before it is explained. Oh, and I finally saw 'The Forgotten' on Sunday. It was good; better than 'The Village' by a long shot. I'd give spoilers but I won't just in case you don't want them. ;) I do recommend seeing it, though.
DragonHunter200: S'okay. My computer's been rather slow lately so I'm guessing it's another virus – damn thing, I just got it fixed! XO! But, anyway, I do have one more flashback planned. Then again, that last one with Sands, Lyn, and their father came out nowhere, so ya never know :) And I love your description of Liam! :D 'An island of innocence in a sea of CIA corruption.' I've always described him as sort of the black sheep of the group because Sands and Lynné (along with the government in general -.9) are both so diabolical and fiendish and negative, then there's Liam who is, both in attitude and appearance, the opposite of them. I can usually put up with whining from my family by playing the 'I'm Ignoring You' card, but, I gotta tell ya, sometimes it gets to be too much. 9.6; Thank you for sparing me! :D
o