Darkness Rising
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie
Disclaimer: Unfortunately SJ is not mine, but the voice inside his head, Roland, Susannah and Emily are. Um, wanna trade? No? Damn.
Characters: SJ, the voice inside of his head, Roland Rivers, CIA, and a few others.
Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who have given your support to this fic, you know who you are. And to my reviewers, your comments are what keeps me writing for all of you. Thanks so much!!!
Also, remember that SJ is only 27 in this fic, not yet a member of the CIA and not yet the man he ends up as in the movie. For right now he's simply an everyday seemingly normal rich kid who likes to kill people. ;-)
Rating: R for naughty language, and some graphic imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Five: Here There Be Monsters
Sands sat up on the hard mattress and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He had never felt wearier in all his life. Even the short nap he had taken didn't offer him any real rest. His sleep had been filled with horrible nightmares of blood and death. What really plagued his thoughts was the fact that he had a horrid suspicion that his nightmares had been real. There was no use lying to himself any longer. He had murdered Yvette. He had murdered Rhonda. It didn't matter that he couldn't remember the former, that didn't change the fact that he had stabbed her over and over and over again.
Thinking back on the large number of knife wounds he had seen on Yvette's bloodied body he shuddered. It was likely that he had continued to stab her even after her death. The thought of mindlessly stabbing a defenseless woman over and over again with seemingly no regret whatsoever was sobering to say the least.
'Good, at least you're finally beginning to accept it, Sheldon,' the voice inside his head whispered, stressing the last syllable of his hated name mockingly.
Sands also knew that he was more than likely insane. It was an intelligent man. He knew that normal people didn't kill strangers and then forget about it every day. And they most definitely didn't have arguments with voices inside of their heads.
'You got that right, Einstein,' the voice sneered. Sands was getting tired of this.
"Listen you, whatever you are. I don't have time to go insane! I've got two fucking dead women in the bathtub that I need to deal with! So if you could just shut the fuck up and go back to wherever you came from, that would make my day,"
'There's only one woman in the bathtub. Rhonda was many things, but definitely *not* a woman,' the voice added cheerfully.
Sands pressed his hands at the side of his skull and for a very brief minute considered taking Yvette's handgun and painting the walls with his brains. But from the sounds of this voice inside his head, that was just what it wanted. So he would persevere. He would get through this...whatever it was, and everything would go back to normal.
'You're a fool if you think everything is going to simply go back to normal after all of this is over, Sheldon. I'm a part of you, I always have been, but this is the first time you have ever been aware.'
"Aware? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And why am I arguing with you? You're not even fucking real," Sands spit, swinging his feet to the floor. He decided he had better check on the progress of the lye. He hadn't looked at the clock before falling asleep, and now had no idea how much time had passed.
'I'm not real am I, Sheldon? Do you really believe that? You are in my control. I am just as real as you are. Do you honestly think that you could have simply forgotten murdering Yvette? You are a simple son of a bitch, but you're not stupid. You don't remember it because you weren't there. Not really. I was out to play, and when that happens there is nothing you can do to stop me.'
Sands didn't want to think about this so he simply ignored the voice and got up off of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Upon opening the bathroom door, he quickly yanked his head back and brought a hand up to his face to cover his nose and mouth, trying vainly to block the smell. God the place reeked. In all his careful planning on how to get rid of Yvette's body, he had forgotten to consider just what a messy job it would be.
Finally taking a deep breath to calm his revolting stomach at such a smell, he stepped inside and cast his eyes to the bathtub. The two bodies in the tub were hardly recognizable as human any longer. The lye had done its work well, and Sands had to fight back a gag the mess of bones and dissolved flesh before him. In a few more hours there would most likely be nothing left of his two victims, nothing left to tie him to their murders.
'Except for the bloodied knife in your sink,' the voice whispered casually. 'Oh, and the fact that your Jag's been parked in plain sight out front all night. That certainly doesn't help matters either.'
"What?! What the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean there's a bloody knife in my kitchen sink! If you left it there for the housekeeper to find, by God I'll----"
'You'll what? You stupid idiot, I'm you, remember? You can't do anything to me without doing it to yourself first, you moronic bastard,' the voice sneered.
Sands grit his teeth and held back a snarl in frustration. He would deal with getting rid of his insanity, for that certainly seemed to be what it was, later. Right now he had bigger problems. For all he knew, his housekeeper had found the knife already and called the police.
'Don't be an idiot; she probably thinks you just cut yourself. Don't freak out quite yet, Sheldon. You know what I'd be more worried about? Yvette's friends at the bar. Do you really think they're just going to forget about her? Not to mention the lovely fact that she worked for the CIA. I think you're in over your head on that one, Sheldon,' if the voice had a face, other than Sands' own of course, he knew it would have been smirking.
"It was you who killed her, not me!" Sands shouted, unable to keep the defensive and somewhat petulant tone from his voice. "And how was I supposed to know she worked for the fucking CIA? It's not as if she was wearing a name tag you know," Sands grumbled, resolved to an argument with 'himself' no matter how foolish it seemed at the moment.
'She told you, you dumb bastard. Remember? She told you that she worked for the CIA. She said she was just a glorified secretary. God, do I have to do everything for you?' the voice asked irritably.
Sands didn't answer. He was too caught up in remembering his and Yvette's night together. She had told her she worked for the CIA. Why had he forgotten that? "You're fucking up my memory somehow, you bastard," he mumbled to the voice.
'Well that's not very nice, Sheldon. You and I both know that you're not a bastard. An orphan maybe after you murdered our parents but not a bastard. So it's kind of useless to be calling me one since as you very well are now aware, I am you.'
"Just shut up and let me think. What were the two girl's names?" he paused a moment to remember, the voice not offering him any help. "Emily and Susannah. Yes, that's right. Fuck, they didn't tell me their last names did they?"
'No they didn't, but that's ok. You didn't tell them our first,' the voice said, and Sands smiled widely and made his way back into the main area of the motel room and sat down on the bed.
"That's true. It should make us harder to find should they come looking. Although, we need to get rid of that damned car," if Sands was now aware he was referring to himself in the plural, he made no sign.
'Agreed. I never really liked that car anyway. Sure, it's nice. And black is definitely our favorite color, but it seems too...I don't know, help me out here, Sheldon,' the voice implored, and Sands didn't hesitate to answer.
"Conspicuous?" Sands supplied.
"Well yeah, dumbass, you should have thought of that earlier. But it also seems too clichéd somehow. The bad guy always drives an expensive sporty black car,'
"So I'm the bad guy now, am I?" Sands asked with a small smirk at the prospect of being notorious.
'No, that would be me,' the voice insisted.
Sands spread his hands as if to say, 'exactly.' "And just who are you? Or is it my imagination that I seem to be having a conversation with myself. Or my alter ego. Or...just what the hell are you, anyway? You're sure as fuck not my conscience."
'You don't have one. You're a sociopath," the voice informed him causally. 'You always have been, but I think you just never noticed until now. And as for me? Who the fuck knows who I am? I'd say I'm most likely an alternate personality. You're the one with the fucking masters in abnormal psychology. You tell me fuckwit.'
Sands rolled his eyes at this. He might have mockingly chided the voice for his colorful language, but he frowned at the thought that it was *his* colorful language as well. Damn, this was getting complicated. "What do I call you then? This is getting confusing. And stop calling me Sheldon you bastard!" he grumbled.
'What's the matter Shel-don,' the voice drawled the syllables of his hated name slowly. 'Don't you like your name? Our mother gave you that name. You should be ashamed,' the voice chided.
"Our mother was a fucking twit. I can't say I'm entirely sorry that I killed her; or my father either, for that matter," he added the last as an afterthought and shrugged.
'See? Told you that you were a sociopath,' the voice commented happily.
"Yeah, whatever," Sands said with a wave of his hand. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you have a name? I'm getting pretty fucking tired of referring you to the voice inside my head, which you undoubtedly are, but a name might be easier on what few shreds of sanity I have left,"
'Fine fuckmook, you want a name? I'll be Jeffery. You can be Sheldon, or fucking Sands if you want to whine about it, I don't care, and I'll be Jeffery. Satisfied you bastard?'
Sands knew that he shouldn't have been encouraging the voice inside his head by giving it a name like a real person, but he didn't feel as if he had any other choice at the moment. And being able to put a name to this previously unidentifiable presence did calm his nerves a bit. "Oh, a bastard are we now?" he stressed the plural this time. "I thought you said earlier that we weren't a bastard. But whatever, I don't want to get into another fucking debate over this. Fine, Jeffery it is then. And I'll stick to Sands, thank you very much. The day I go by Sheldon is the day I blow our brains out," he swore empathetically.
'Well I certainly as hell don't want that to be happening any time soon, so fine. Sheldon is out, Sands is in. Do we have an agreement?' Jeffrey asked, and Sands started as his left hand rose of its own volition as if to shake hands.
Sands frowned, his brow furrowing, but raised his right hand to awkwardly shake his left. Once that was done, his left hand fell away as if it had never moved. "Yes, we have a deal. As long as you never do that ever again. That was fucking creepy," Sands said with a slight shiver.
'Aww, is poor Sands afraid of me?' Jeffery mocked, and Sands sneered as the middle finger of his left hand raised in a rude gesture.
"Fuck you," Sands said, grabbing at his left hand.
'Oh no, fuck *you*, Sands. We are the same person, after all. Don't forget," Jeffery said cheerfully.
"God you're annoying. Why don't you just leave me alone and I can go back to my normal life?" Sands asked with a frown, giving up in attempting to control his rebellious left hand.
'Are you really stupid enough to believe that anything can go back to normal after this, Sands? You've killed people. We've killed people. That's not going to change even if I go away and never come back. Which I'm not going to do, by the way,' Jeffery said with a smirk evident in his voice.
Sands sighed. "No, I didn't really believe you would. But it was nice to fantasize about for a minute," he added snarkily.
'You're pathetic. You know that?' Jeffrey paused and Sands got the feeling that he was considering something. 'I'm tired of this god-awful cheap and reeking motel room. Let's have ourselves a day out, huh?'
Sands looked to the small digital clock on the bedside table. It was nearly lunchtime and he hadn't even had any breakfast yet. "Alright, I could use something to eat anyway," Sands agreed, rising to his feet and grabbing his jacket from the top of one of the chairs in the room.
Not even bothering to look in the bathroom tub again, he closed and locked the door behind him and walked down the hallway, whistling softly under his breath.
***
Roland made his way to the Yellow Chicken, the Mexican place Yvette had met the mysterious stranger in and walked through the large glass door. The place was buzzing with activity since it was lunchtime, but he had figured it would be the best opportunity to talk to someone about Mr. Sands. He sincerely hoped nothing had happened last night between him and Yvette other than a good time, but some part of him worried.
He frowned in remembrance of Susannah's reaction to the looks she swore she had seen from the man. He had never before seen her as flustered as she had been then. She was a woman of reason and logic, and yet here she was calling a man soulless? It boggled the mind. And he didn't think she had been hysterical either. He had seen hysterical women in his life and tried his best to stay away from them, his wife included, and Susannah hadn't been hysterical in the least. Well, maybe she had when she yelled at him and Emily, but other than that she was practically as calm and collected as she always was.
Pushing such disturbing thoughts away for now, he made his way to the back of the restaurant and stopped one of the waitresses there. "Excuse me, Miss? My name is Agent Rivers of the CIA. I have a few questions I need to ask of you and the rest of the staff," the girl's eyes widened at the sight of his opened CIA badge.
"Uh, sure," the girl stammered. "Let me just get my manager, ok? I'll be right back," she said with a nervous smile.
"Of course," he looked at her nametag, "Julie. Take your time. But do ask anyone who was working late last night and is here now that I would like to speak to them as well. I will be sitting in that booth over there," Roland said, gesturing to a vacant booth against one of the walls in the dining room.
Julie merely nodded and ran off into the kitchen as if he had waved a gun in her face and threatened to blow her kneecaps off. Roland shook his head wryly and chuckled briefly at the imagery. Not that he would ever do anything like that, of course. He merely liked the thought of being feared; even if the one who feared him was just a timid waitress in a Mexican restaurant. You had to start somewhere right? He chucked again and nearly chastened himself for being cruel. But it wasn't as if he had done anything to actually scare the girl after all. It was unlikely she had even seen his gun, let alone had it waved in her face. She had just gotten spooked by the badge, which was understandable, and Roland had let his overactive imagination run wild.
Before he could dig himself into moral dilemma either further, beautiful looking Mexican woman walked over to his table and he rose instinctively from his chair. His mother had taught him something about manners concerning women after all.
The woman smiled at his civility and held out a hand which he shook firmly, but not harshly. "I'm Mrs. Sprout. I'm the manager here. Now what seems to be the problem, Agent Rivers, was it?" she asked, taking a seat across from him in the booth.
"Please, call me Roland, Mrs. Sprout," he said, trying to hold back a snort of laughter at the name. He was mostly successful. This was no time for jokes, after all. And it certainly wouldn't do his credibility any good to burst out laughing whenever he heard something funny. Especially when he was trying his damndest to remain serious and focussed on the task at hand.
"Only if you call me Marta, Roland," she said with a smile. "I can see you have the same reaction to my married name that most people do. I'm not insulted or anything. My husband and I joke about it all the time," she finished with a musical laugh.
Roland found himself transfixed by her voice, a rich alto with a subtle Spanish accent that made it seem even more breathtaking. And that was only her voice. She had long rich black hair that kissed the table top as she leaned slightly towards him to talk. And her body, dear God, he felt his pants growing tight just from the sight of her. She had the natural grace and beauty that a model would sell her soul for. He wasn't deterred from the modest looking engagement ring and wedding band glinting in the candlelight on the table. He was a married man himself. That certainly hadn't stopped him from sleeping with Yvette, and if Marta had been interested, he would have bedded her in a heartbeat. "Marta it is, then. I only have a few questions for you and perhaps some members of your staff, and then I'll let you get on with your day," he cleared his throat and she nodded in agreement. "First of all, were you working late last night? Say around 10 or so?"
"Yes, I was working then. Why? What is this all about?" she asked, a concerned look on her face. "And why is the CIA involved?"
Roland raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Don't worry, it's nothing to do with you or any of your employees. I'm looking for a woman who was in here last night. Her name was Yvette St. Martin. I have a picture of her," he trailed off as he reached a hand to pull out his wallet from his back pants pocket and fished out a picture of the two of them together on a long weekend while his wife had been on a business trip. He handed the picture to Marta who fingered it thoughtfully before going on. "She was in here last night with two of her friends. They sat at the bar and ordered a few drinks. Yvette met a man while she was here and went home with him. The reason I'm questioning you about her, is that she never came back,"
"Is this woman your wife? Is that why you're so concerned about this?" Marta asked, frowning at him.
Roland sighed. "No, she's not my wife, and that isn't why I'm looking for her. I'm looking for her because she missed a very important meeting today, and that's completely unlike her. I have a feeling that something happened to her. I've talked to her two friends, they're associates of mine, and they're convinced that there was something wrong as well. I'm not going to run off and kill him in a fit of jealous rage, if that's why you're hesitant to give me information. I simply want to know Yvette's safe. That's all, I swear," Roland laid a hand across his heart to emphasize this fact.
She seemed somewhat satisfied by this and stood from the booth, causing Roland to stand as well. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'd like to take this picture back to the kitchen and ask my staff if they know anything."
Roland glanced briefly over in the direction she would be going and smirked. She wouldn't have to go as far as the kitchen to ask questions. It looked as if the entire staff of the restaurant was gathered in a tight group, each person focussed on his table. He smirked as more than a few of the people had turned away in embarrassment or fear when they caught him looking back at them.
"Of course you can. Take your time. I shall remain here," Roland said, nodding his head to her slightly.
"Thank you. I won't be long," Marta said, and then turned to embrace the group. Roland sat back down and pretended to examine his silverware while in fact he was straining his ears to hear Marta's entire conversation. He couldn't hear much over the din of the restaurant however, so he slumped back in his seat and resigned himself to wait.
Not five minutes later, true to her word, Marta returned with a few friends this time. He once again rose as she approached the table. "This is Ryan, our bartender, and Christopher, one of our waiters," Marta said, gesturing to each man in turn.
Roland shook hands with each of them and pulled up a chair from a nearby table, and gestured for each of them to sit down. Marta took one side of the booth, and the two gentlemen took the other. Roland sat in the chair at the head of the table.
Marta leaned over and handing him back the picture which Roland laid on the table in front of them. "So both of you saw Miss St. Martin last night?" he asked of the two gentlemen.
"She and two other women, a sultry looking redhead and a kind brunette were sitting at the bar ordering drinks. I didn't pay much attention to their conversation until they came up with an idea for a bet," the bartender started.
"A bet?" Roland questioned, Emily and Susannah had neglected to mention this. "What kind of a bet?"
"They bet Ms. St. Martin to go over to take a seat at a table of a man they had been eyeing all evening long."
"A man? Do you know what this man's name was?" Roland hated to interrupt, but he had to know if he was on the right track and that this was the guy Yvette had gone home with.
"I do. I was his waiter last night, Agent Rivers," the waiter said and Roland didn't bother to ask him to call him by his first name. This was business, and he had to act professionally. That meant titles. "His name was Sands, S.J. Sands on his credit card, and he's a regular. He always orders the same thing too," Christopher said with a bit of a bemused smile.
"Oh really? What's that?" Roland asked, trying to get a little bit more information about the man he was looking for. If he ordered the exact same thing every single time, that meant he was predictable and Roland could use that to his advantage.
"Puerco Pubil and a tequila with lime," the waiter said. "And he orders it just like that too," the man added with a small smile. "The girl came over to the table and they chatted for a while, ordered some more drinks, and left. I didn't hear much of their conversation, I was busy with other tables, sorry," the man looked down at the table, genuinely ashamed that he couldn't be more help.
"That's quite alright. I'm more interested in a good description of him. I don't suppose either of you can draw?" Roland asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.
"Actually, I can," Marta spoke up. "You want an accurate drawing of him, correct? While I didn't talk to Mr. Sands in person last night, he is a regular here like Ryan said and I think I could draw him well enough to meet your needs," she rose from her chair again, and this time all thee men rose with her. "I'll go get some paper, I'm sure we have some in the back. If you would excuse me gentlemen," all three nodded and waited until she was headed back to the kitchen before taking their seats again. There was just something about her that inspired a man to be on his best behavior. Roland didn't know what it was, but he found it quite intriguing.
"Can either of you tell me anything more about Mr. Sands?" he asked of the two men in front of him. "Any other habits or traits that you might have noticed?"
"He was a real smooth-talker with the other ladies. He kissed both of them on the hand and I thought I was gonna puke at their giggling," Ryan supplied thoughtlessly, his eyes widening when he realized what he had said, and more important, who he had said it in front of. "I mean," he began, but Roland cut himself off with a hand.
"I completely understand. I always hated men like that too," Roland said with a short chuckle and a small smile, the mood a little lighter now because of it.
"Yeah," Ryan agreed with a laugh. "But there was something else about him too. The brunette, Susannah, I think her name was, seemed to notice as well. For all the charm he seemed to be laying on the three of them, and believe me it was thick, there was something cold about him that Ms. St. Martin didn't seem to notice. Or didn't care to. Susannah made a point to remind her to remember her purse and I'd bet a month's salary that it had a weapon of some type in it. She saw what I did. There was something dangerous about him, and that she should be careful," he said with a small shiver.
"What do you mean, 'something dangerous about him?' What was it?" Roland questioned, more confused now than ever. Susannah had said something along the same lines. What was it about this man that made people afraid of him? Especially when he was obviously trying to be charming?
"I don't know man, it's kind of hard to explain," Ryan said, running a hand through his short black hair in frustration. "It seemed like he was trying too hard, you know? Like he was putting on an act and forcing a smile."
"What do you mean by that?" Roland asked, and he could see that Christopher was in rapt attention as well.
"Well, you should have seen the look on his face when neither as he turned to grab Ms. St. Martin's coat and no one could see him except me. It freaked the shit out of me man, I'm not ashamed to say it. The smile dropped off of his face as if it had been painted on, and his eyes turned to stone. That was the thing that creeped me out the most. His eyes. They were really dark, almost black, and no matter how wide his smile, those black eyes stayed cold. But then when he turned back to the three, his smile came back looking just as natural as if he had been smiling the whole time," Ryan finished with a shake of his head. "If this guy did something to that nice looking lady, shoot him for me, Agent Rivers," the man said solemnly, looking Roland directly in the eye.
"I promise," Roland said quietly. The man nodded and the three of them rose once more as Marta approached the table, a piece of paper fluttering in her hand.
"This is your man, Agent Rivers," she whispered, laying the piece of paper in front of him. "It didn't take me nearly as long as I thought it would. I guess I paid him more attention than I thought I did. His eyes especially," she added as an afterthought, taking a seat in the booth once more.
The three men took their seats and Roland looked down at the drawing before him, amazed at its detail. The face of his quarry seemed to leap out at him from the page just has he had imagined it. And his eyes did indeed look cold. Marta had drawn him with a bit of a smirk on his face, but the smirk was mocking and if you looked at it just right, it looked more like a sneer.
So this was the supposed 'sex on a stick,' man that Emily had gone on about. Roland didn't really see the fascination. Ok, yeah, he was masculine enough to admit that the man was handsome, and he even managed to pull off the shoulder-length hairstyle without looking feminine, but beyond that he didn't see anything too appealing about him.
"This is most helpful, Mrs. Spout. You have a true gift," he said, taking his eyes off of the picture. Marta simply inclined her head in thanks and he went on. "I don't suppose any of you saw in which direction his car, supposedly a late model black Jaguar went?" he asked of the three.
"I think I can do better than that," Marta said quietly, and he turned his attention back to her. "I can give you this man's address," she looked at him directly and he couldn't hold back a grin of triumph. If this man Sands had done something to Yvette, he would find out about it, and just action would be taken. It was only a matter of time now.
TBC
A/N: Goodness, this chapter got a bit long, didn't it? First Sands and Jeffrey just kind of went off into their own conversation, but then Roland had to do the same. I tried to tell them that the chapter was getting too long, but they never listen to me. Oh well, please send me your reviews!!
And, if any of you fine talented people out there can draw Marta's drawing well, or even not so well, or know someone who can, please do so! I would very much like to see this on paper rather than in my head. I'd try myself, but I'm afraid I'd screw it up. Anyway, if you can draw this, I'll personally dedicate the next chapter to you and be your bestest friend!! :- D
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie
Disclaimer: Unfortunately SJ is not mine, but the voice inside his head, Roland, Susannah and Emily are. Um, wanna trade? No? Damn.
Characters: SJ, the voice inside of his head, Roland Rivers, CIA, and a few others.
Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who have given your support to this fic, you know who you are. And to my reviewers, your comments are what keeps me writing for all of you. Thanks so much!!!
Also, remember that SJ is only 27 in this fic, not yet a member of the CIA and not yet the man he ends up as in the movie. For right now he's simply an everyday seemingly normal rich kid who likes to kill people. ;-)
Rating: R for naughty language, and some graphic imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Five: Here There Be Monsters
Sands sat up on the hard mattress and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He had never felt wearier in all his life. Even the short nap he had taken didn't offer him any real rest. His sleep had been filled with horrible nightmares of blood and death. What really plagued his thoughts was the fact that he had a horrid suspicion that his nightmares had been real. There was no use lying to himself any longer. He had murdered Yvette. He had murdered Rhonda. It didn't matter that he couldn't remember the former, that didn't change the fact that he had stabbed her over and over and over again.
Thinking back on the large number of knife wounds he had seen on Yvette's bloodied body he shuddered. It was likely that he had continued to stab her even after her death. The thought of mindlessly stabbing a defenseless woman over and over again with seemingly no regret whatsoever was sobering to say the least.
'Good, at least you're finally beginning to accept it, Sheldon,' the voice inside his head whispered, stressing the last syllable of his hated name mockingly.
Sands also knew that he was more than likely insane. It was an intelligent man. He knew that normal people didn't kill strangers and then forget about it every day. And they most definitely didn't have arguments with voices inside of their heads.
'You got that right, Einstein,' the voice sneered. Sands was getting tired of this.
"Listen you, whatever you are. I don't have time to go insane! I've got two fucking dead women in the bathtub that I need to deal with! So if you could just shut the fuck up and go back to wherever you came from, that would make my day,"
'There's only one woman in the bathtub. Rhonda was many things, but definitely *not* a woman,' the voice added cheerfully.
Sands pressed his hands at the side of his skull and for a very brief minute considered taking Yvette's handgun and painting the walls with his brains. But from the sounds of this voice inside his head, that was just what it wanted. So he would persevere. He would get through this...whatever it was, and everything would go back to normal.
'You're a fool if you think everything is going to simply go back to normal after all of this is over, Sheldon. I'm a part of you, I always have been, but this is the first time you have ever been aware.'
"Aware? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And why am I arguing with you? You're not even fucking real," Sands spit, swinging his feet to the floor. He decided he had better check on the progress of the lye. He hadn't looked at the clock before falling asleep, and now had no idea how much time had passed.
'I'm not real am I, Sheldon? Do you really believe that? You are in my control. I am just as real as you are. Do you honestly think that you could have simply forgotten murdering Yvette? You are a simple son of a bitch, but you're not stupid. You don't remember it because you weren't there. Not really. I was out to play, and when that happens there is nothing you can do to stop me.'
Sands didn't want to think about this so he simply ignored the voice and got up off of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Upon opening the bathroom door, he quickly yanked his head back and brought a hand up to his face to cover his nose and mouth, trying vainly to block the smell. God the place reeked. In all his careful planning on how to get rid of Yvette's body, he had forgotten to consider just what a messy job it would be.
Finally taking a deep breath to calm his revolting stomach at such a smell, he stepped inside and cast his eyes to the bathtub. The two bodies in the tub were hardly recognizable as human any longer. The lye had done its work well, and Sands had to fight back a gag the mess of bones and dissolved flesh before him. In a few more hours there would most likely be nothing left of his two victims, nothing left to tie him to their murders.
'Except for the bloodied knife in your sink,' the voice whispered casually. 'Oh, and the fact that your Jag's been parked in plain sight out front all night. That certainly doesn't help matters either.'
"What?! What the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean there's a bloody knife in my kitchen sink! If you left it there for the housekeeper to find, by God I'll----"
'You'll what? You stupid idiot, I'm you, remember? You can't do anything to me without doing it to yourself first, you moronic bastard,' the voice sneered.
Sands grit his teeth and held back a snarl in frustration. He would deal with getting rid of his insanity, for that certainly seemed to be what it was, later. Right now he had bigger problems. For all he knew, his housekeeper had found the knife already and called the police.
'Don't be an idiot; she probably thinks you just cut yourself. Don't freak out quite yet, Sheldon. You know what I'd be more worried about? Yvette's friends at the bar. Do you really think they're just going to forget about her? Not to mention the lovely fact that she worked for the CIA. I think you're in over your head on that one, Sheldon,' if the voice had a face, other than Sands' own of course, he knew it would have been smirking.
"It was you who killed her, not me!" Sands shouted, unable to keep the defensive and somewhat petulant tone from his voice. "And how was I supposed to know she worked for the fucking CIA? It's not as if she was wearing a name tag you know," Sands grumbled, resolved to an argument with 'himself' no matter how foolish it seemed at the moment.
'She told you, you dumb bastard. Remember? She told you that she worked for the CIA. She said she was just a glorified secretary. God, do I have to do everything for you?' the voice asked irritably.
Sands didn't answer. He was too caught up in remembering his and Yvette's night together. She had told her she worked for the CIA. Why had he forgotten that? "You're fucking up my memory somehow, you bastard," he mumbled to the voice.
'Well that's not very nice, Sheldon. You and I both know that you're not a bastard. An orphan maybe after you murdered our parents but not a bastard. So it's kind of useless to be calling me one since as you very well are now aware, I am you.'
"Just shut up and let me think. What were the two girl's names?" he paused a moment to remember, the voice not offering him any help. "Emily and Susannah. Yes, that's right. Fuck, they didn't tell me their last names did they?"
'No they didn't, but that's ok. You didn't tell them our first,' the voice said, and Sands smiled widely and made his way back into the main area of the motel room and sat down on the bed.
"That's true. It should make us harder to find should they come looking. Although, we need to get rid of that damned car," if Sands was now aware he was referring to himself in the plural, he made no sign.
'Agreed. I never really liked that car anyway. Sure, it's nice. And black is definitely our favorite color, but it seems too...I don't know, help me out here, Sheldon,' the voice implored, and Sands didn't hesitate to answer.
"Conspicuous?" Sands supplied.
"Well yeah, dumbass, you should have thought of that earlier. But it also seems too clichéd somehow. The bad guy always drives an expensive sporty black car,'
"So I'm the bad guy now, am I?" Sands asked with a small smirk at the prospect of being notorious.
'No, that would be me,' the voice insisted.
Sands spread his hands as if to say, 'exactly.' "And just who are you? Or is it my imagination that I seem to be having a conversation with myself. Or my alter ego. Or...just what the hell are you, anyway? You're sure as fuck not my conscience."
'You don't have one. You're a sociopath," the voice informed him causally. 'You always have been, but I think you just never noticed until now. And as for me? Who the fuck knows who I am? I'd say I'm most likely an alternate personality. You're the one with the fucking masters in abnormal psychology. You tell me fuckwit.'
Sands rolled his eyes at this. He might have mockingly chided the voice for his colorful language, but he frowned at the thought that it was *his* colorful language as well. Damn, this was getting complicated. "What do I call you then? This is getting confusing. And stop calling me Sheldon you bastard!" he grumbled.
'What's the matter Shel-don,' the voice drawled the syllables of his hated name slowly. 'Don't you like your name? Our mother gave you that name. You should be ashamed,' the voice chided.
"Our mother was a fucking twit. I can't say I'm entirely sorry that I killed her; or my father either, for that matter," he added the last as an afterthought and shrugged.
'See? Told you that you were a sociopath,' the voice commented happily.
"Yeah, whatever," Sands said with a wave of his hand. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you have a name? I'm getting pretty fucking tired of referring you to the voice inside my head, which you undoubtedly are, but a name might be easier on what few shreds of sanity I have left,"
'Fine fuckmook, you want a name? I'll be Jeffery. You can be Sheldon, or fucking Sands if you want to whine about it, I don't care, and I'll be Jeffery. Satisfied you bastard?'
Sands knew that he shouldn't have been encouraging the voice inside his head by giving it a name like a real person, but he didn't feel as if he had any other choice at the moment. And being able to put a name to this previously unidentifiable presence did calm his nerves a bit. "Oh, a bastard are we now?" he stressed the plural this time. "I thought you said earlier that we weren't a bastard. But whatever, I don't want to get into another fucking debate over this. Fine, Jeffery it is then. And I'll stick to Sands, thank you very much. The day I go by Sheldon is the day I blow our brains out," he swore empathetically.
'Well I certainly as hell don't want that to be happening any time soon, so fine. Sheldon is out, Sands is in. Do we have an agreement?' Jeffrey asked, and Sands started as his left hand rose of its own volition as if to shake hands.
Sands frowned, his brow furrowing, but raised his right hand to awkwardly shake his left. Once that was done, his left hand fell away as if it had never moved. "Yes, we have a deal. As long as you never do that ever again. That was fucking creepy," Sands said with a slight shiver.
'Aww, is poor Sands afraid of me?' Jeffery mocked, and Sands sneered as the middle finger of his left hand raised in a rude gesture.
"Fuck you," Sands said, grabbing at his left hand.
'Oh no, fuck *you*, Sands. We are the same person, after all. Don't forget," Jeffery said cheerfully.
"God you're annoying. Why don't you just leave me alone and I can go back to my normal life?" Sands asked with a frown, giving up in attempting to control his rebellious left hand.
'Are you really stupid enough to believe that anything can go back to normal after this, Sands? You've killed people. We've killed people. That's not going to change even if I go away and never come back. Which I'm not going to do, by the way,' Jeffery said with a smirk evident in his voice.
Sands sighed. "No, I didn't really believe you would. But it was nice to fantasize about for a minute," he added snarkily.
'You're pathetic. You know that?' Jeffrey paused and Sands got the feeling that he was considering something. 'I'm tired of this god-awful cheap and reeking motel room. Let's have ourselves a day out, huh?'
Sands looked to the small digital clock on the bedside table. It was nearly lunchtime and he hadn't even had any breakfast yet. "Alright, I could use something to eat anyway," Sands agreed, rising to his feet and grabbing his jacket from the top of one of the chairs in the room.
Not even bothering to look in the bathroom tub again, he closed and locked the door behind him and walked down the hallway, whistling softly under his breath.
***
Roland made his way to the Yellow Chicken, the Mexican place Yvette had met the mysterious stranger in and walked through the large glass door. The place was buzzing with activity since it was lunchtime, but he had figured it would be the best opportunity to talk to someone about Mr. Sands. He sincerely hoped nothing had happened last night between him and Yvette other than a good time, but some part of him worried.
He frowned in remembrance of Susannah's reaction to the looks she swore she had seen from the man. He had never before seen her as flustered as she had been then. She was a woman of reason and logic, and yet here she was calling a man soulless? It boggled the mind. And he didn't think she had been hysterical either. He had seen hysterical women in his life and tried his best to stay away from them, his wife included, and Susannah hadn't been hysterical in the least. Well, maybe she had when she yelled at him and Emily, but other than that she was practically as calm and collected as she always was.
Pushing such disturbing thoughts away for now, he made his way to the back of the restaurant and stopped one of the waitresses there. "Excuse me, Miss? My name is Agent Rivers of the CIA. I have a few questions I need to ask of you and the rest of the staff," the girl's eyes widened at the sight of his opened CIA badge.
"Uh, sure," the girl stammered. "Let me just get my manager, ok? I'll be right back," she said with a nervous smile.
"Of course," he looked at her nametag, "Julie. Take your time. But do ask anyone who was working late last night and is here now that I would like to speak to them as well. I will be sitting in that booth over there," Roland said, gesturing to a vacant booth against one of the walls in the dining room.
Julie merely nodded and ran off into the kitchen as if he had waved a gun in her face and threatened to blow her kneecaps off. Roland shook his head wryly and chuckled briefly at the imagery. Not that he would ever do anything like that, of course. He merely liked the thought of being feared; even if the one who feared him was just a timid waitress in a Mexican restaurant. You had to start somewhere right? He chucked again and nearly chastened himself for being cruel. But it wasn't as if he had done anything to actually scare the girl after all. It was unlikely she had even seen his gun, let alone had it waved in her face. She had just gotten spooked by the badge, which was understandable, and Roland had let his overactive imagination run wild.
Before he could dig himself into moral dilemma either further, beautiful looking Mexican woman walked over to his table and he rose instinctively from his chair. His mother had taught him something about manners concerning women after all.
The woman smiled at his civility and held out a hand which he shook firmly, but not harshly. "I'm Mrs. Sprout. I'm the manager here. Now what seems to be the problem, Agent Rivers, was it?" she asked, taking a seat across from him in the booth.
"Please, call me Roland, Mrs. Sprout," he said, trying to hold back a snort of laughter at the name. He was mostly successful. This was no time for jokes, after all. And it certainly wouldn't do his credibility any good to burst out laughing whenever he heard something funny. Especially when he was trying his damndest to remain serious and focussed on the task at hand.
"Only if you call me Marta, Roland," she said with a smile. "I can see you have the same reaction to my married name that most people do. I'm not insulted or anything. My husband and I joke about it all the time," she finished with a musical laugh.
Roland found himself transfixed by her voice, a rich alto with a subtle Spanish accent that made it seem even more breathtaking. And that was only her voice. She had long rich black hair that kissed the table top as she leaned slightly towards him to talk. And her body, dear God, he felt his pants growing tight just from the sight of her. She had the natural grace and beauty that a model would sell her soul for. He wasn't deterred from the modest looking engagement ring and wedding band glinting in the candlelight on the table. He was a married man himself. That certainly hadn't stopped him from sleeping with Yvette, and if Marta had been interested, he would have bedded her in a heartbeat. "Marta it is, then. I only have a few questions for you and perhaps some members of your staff, and then I'll let you get on with your day," he cleared his throat and she nodded in agreement. "First of all, were you working late last night? Say around 10 or so?"
"Yes, I was working then. Why? What is this all about?" she asked, a concerned look on her face. "And why is the CIA involved?"
Roland raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Don't worry, it's nothing to do with you or any of your employees. I'm looking for a woman who was in here last night. Her name was Yvette St. Martin. I have a picture of her," he trailed off as he reached a hand to pull out his wallet from his back pants pocket and fished out a picture of the two of them together on a long weekend while his wife had been on a business trip. He handed the picture to Marta who fingered it thoughtfully before going on. "She was in here last night with two of her friends. They sat at the bar and ordered a few drinks. Yvette met a man while she was here and went home with him. The reason I'm questioning you about her, is that she never came back,"
"Is this woman your wife? Is that why you're so concerned about this?" Marta asked, frowning at him.
Roland sighed. "No, she's not my wife, and that isn't why I'm looking for her. I'm looking for her because she missed a very important meeting today, and that's completely unlike her. I have a feeling that something happened to her. I've talked to her two friends, they're associates of mine, and they're convinced that there was something wrong as well. I'm not going to run off and kill him in a fit of jealous rage, if that's why you're hesitant to give me information. I simply want to know Yvette's safe. That's all, I swear," Roland laid a hand across his heart to emphasize this fact.
She seemed somewhat satisfied by this and stood from the booth, causing Roland to stand as well. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'd like to take this picture back to the kitchen and ask my staff if they know anything."
Roland glanced briefly over in the direction she would be going and smirked. She wouldn't have to go as far as the kitchen to ask questions. It looked as if the entire staff of the restaurant was gathered in a tight group, each person focussed on his table. He smirked as more than a few of the people had turned away in embarrassment or fear when they caught him looking back at them.
"Of course you can. Take your time. I shall remain here," Roland said, nodding his head to her slightly.
"Thank you. I won't be long," Marta said, and then turned to embrace the group. Roland sat back down and pretended to examine his silverware while in fact he was straining his ears to hear Marta's entire conversation. He couldn't hear much over the din of the restaurant however, so he slumped back in his seat and resigned himself to wait.
Not five minutes later, true to her word, Marta returned with a few friends this time. He once again rose as she approached the table. "This is Ryan, our bartender, and Christopher, one of our waiters," Marta said, gesturing to each man in turn.
Roland shook hands with each of them and pulled up a chair from a nearby table, and gestured for each of them to sit down. Marta took one side of the booth, and the two gentlemen took the other. Roland sat in the chair at the head of the table.
Marta leaned over and handing him back the picture which Roland laid on the table in front of them. "So both of you saw Miss St. Martin last night?" he asked of the two gentlemen.
"She and two other women, a sultry looking redhead and a kind brunette were sitting at the bar ordering drinks. I didn't pay much attention to their conversation until they came up with an idea for a bet," the bartender started.
"A bet?" Roland questioned, Emily and Susannah had neglected to mention this. "What kind of a bet?"
"They bet Ms. St. Martin to go over to take a seat at a table of a man they had been eyeing all evening long."
"A man? Do you know what this man's name was?" Roland hated to interrupt, but he had to know if he was on the right track and that this was the guy Yvette had gone home with.
"I do. I was his waiter last night, Agent Rivers," the waiter said and Roland didn't bother to ask him to call him by his first name. This was business, and he had to act professionally. That meant titles. "His name was Sands, S.J. Sands on his credit card, and he's a regular. He always orders the same thing too," Christopher said with a bit of a bemused smile.
"Oh really? What's that?" Roland asked, trying to get a little bit more information about the man he was looking for. If he ordered the exact same thing every single time, that meant he was predictable and Roland could use that to his advantage.
"Puerco Pubil and a tequila with lime," the waiter said. "And he orders it just like that too," the man added with a small smile. "The girl came over to the table and they chatted for a while, ordered some more drinks, and left. I didn't hear much of their conversation, I was busy with other tables, sorry," the man looked down at the table, genuinely ashamed that he couldn't be more help.
"That's quite alright. I'm more interested in a good description of him. I don't suppose either of you can draw?" Roland asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.
"Actually, I can," Marta spoke up. "You want an accurate drawing of him, correct? While I didn't talk to Mr. Sands in person last night, he is a regular here like Ryan said and I think I could draw him well enough to meet your needs," she rose from her chair again, and this time all thee men rose with her. "I'll go get some paper, I'm sure we have some in the back. If you would excuse me gentlemen," all three nodded and waited until she was headed back to the kitchen before taking their seats again. There was just something about her that inspired a man to be on his best behavior. Roland didn't know what it was, but he found it quite intriguing.
"Can either of you tell me anything more about Mr. Sands?" he asked of the two men in front of him. "Any other habits or traits that you might have noticed?"
"He was a real smooth-talker with the other ladies. He kissed both of them on the hand and I thought I was gonna puke at their giggling," Ryan supplied thoughtlessly, his eyes widening when he realized what he had said, and more important, who he had said it in front of. "I mean," he began, but Roland cut himself off with a hand.
"I completely understand. I always hated men like that too," Roland said with a short chuckle and a small smile, the mood a little lighter now because of it.
"Yeah," Ryan agreed with a laugh. "But there was something else about him too. The brunette, Susannah, I think her name was, seemed to notice as well. For all the charm he seemed to be laying on the three of them, and believe me it was thick, there was something cold about him that Ms. St. Martin didn't seem to notice. Or didn't care to. Susannah made a point to remind her to remember her purse and I'd bet a month's salary that it had a weapon of some type in it. She saw what I did. There was something dangerous about him, and that she should be careful," he said with a small shiver.
"What do you mean, 'something dangerous about him?' What was it?" Roland questioned, more confused now than ever. Susannah had said something along the same lines. What was it about this man that made people afraid of him? Especially when he was obviously trying to be charming?
"I don't know man, it's kind of hard to explain," Ryan said, running a hand through his short black hair in frustration. "It seemed like he was trying too hard, you know? Like he was putting on an act and forcing a smile."
"What do you mean by that?" Roland asked, and he could see that Christopher was in rapt attention as well.
"Well, you should have seen the look on his face when neither as he turned to grab Ms. St. Martin's coat and no one could see him except me. It freaked the shit out of me man, I'm not ashamed to say it. The smile dropped off of his face as if it had been painted on, and his eyes turned to stone. That was the thing that creeped me out the most. His eyes. They were really dark, almost black, and no matter how wide his smile, those black eyes stayed cold. But then when he turned back to the three, his smile came back looking just as natural as if he had been smiling the whole time," Ryan finished with a shake of his head. "If this guy did something to that nice looking lady, shoot him for me, Agent Rivers," the man said solemnly, looking Roland directly in the eye.
"I promise," Roland said quietly. The man nodded and the three of them rose once more as Marta approached the table, a piece of paper fluttering in her hand.
"This is your man, Agent Rivers," she whispered, laying the piece of paper in front of him. "It didn't take me nearly as long as I thought it would. I guess I paid him more attention than I thought I did. His eyes especially," she added as an afterthought, taking a seat in the booth once more.
The three men took their seats and Roland looked down at the drawing before him, amazed at its detail. The face of his quarry seemed to leap out at him from the page just has he had imagined it. And his eyes did indeed look cold. Marta had drawn him with a bit of a smirk on his face, but the smirk was mocking and if you looked at it just right, it looked more like a sneer.
So this was the supposed 'sex on a stick,' man that Emily had gone on about. Roland didn't really see the fascination. Ok, yeah, he was masculine enough to admit that the man was handsome, and he even managed to pull off the shoulder-length hairstyle without looking feminine, but beyond that he didn't see anything too appealing about him.
"This is most helpful, Mrs. Spout. You have a true gift," he said, taking his eyes off of the picture. Marta simply inclined her head in thanks and he went on. "I don't suppose any of you saw in which direction his car, supposedly a late model black Jaguar went?" he asked of the three.
"I think I can do better than that," Marta said quietly, and he turned his attention back to her. "I can give you this man's address," she looked at him directly and he couldn't hold back a grin of triumph. If this man Sands had done something to Yvette, he would find out about it, and just action would be taken. It was only a matter of time now.
TBC
A/N: Goodness, this chapter got a bit long, didn't it? First Sands and Jeffrey just kind of went off into their own conversation, but then Roland had to do the same. I tried to tell them that the chapter was getting too long, but they never listen to me. Oh well, please send me your reviews!!
And, if any of you fine talented people out there can draw Marta's drawing well, or even not so well, or know someone who can, please do so! I would very much like to see this on paper rather than in my head. I'd try myself, but I'm afraid I'd screw it up. Anyway, if you can draw this, I'll personally dedicate the next chapter to you and be your bestest friend!! :- D