Darkness Rising
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie
Disclaimer: Unfortunately SJ is not mine, but Jeffery, Roland, Susannah and Emily are. Um, wanna trade? No? Damn.
Characters: SJ, Jeffery, the voice inside of his head, Roland Rivers, and a few others.
Author's Note: To my lovely supporters and viewers, you know who you are, thank you ever so much!!!
As always, 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. This is a prequel, savvy?
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Six: Downward Spiral
To any passing person on the street, the young man with shoulder-length black hair appeared as normal as any other stranger they might meet in the course of their day. Sure, he seemed to be muttering to himself about something or other, but in truth, who didn't talk to themselves on occasion? The ladies and perhaps even a few of the men might be inspired to comment on how striking the young man looked. He seemed to carry an air of mystique and hidden charm, and perhaps even a bit of danger as well about him that made the ladies swoon and the men horribly envious.
If they were to move closer to him however, perhaps to find out more about this mystifying young man, their feelings would undoubtedly change. For this young man wasn't only talking to himself, he was arguing with himself like a madman, and that air of danger that seemed so appealing only moments before intensified into something resembling fear, as if someone had run cold water down your spine. No, it was better to leave this young man alone, as you would avoid a sharp stone underfoot. It was much safer that way.
***
Sheldon Sands was losing his mind. First of all, he couldn't go by his full name any longer and include the Jeffery, because "Jeffery" was currently having an argument with him on where to eat lunch. So, it was best to just leave that part of his name out for a while until things settled down a little...that, or until he was locked away in the mental ward of some state psychiatric hospital. Whichever came first. He was betting on the latter at this point.
'I don't care if you ate there yesterday. I didn't!' Jeffery shouted, causing Sands to wince at the loud noise. 'I want Mexican, you bastard! Now do you really want me to take over to get us there, or are you going to give in like the pathetic sap that you are?'
"Fuck you. That's where I met Yvette, remember? What if someone there recognizes me from last night and wants to know where the hell she is? Ever think of that, genius?"
'Don't be so fucking paranoid. No one's going to recognize you. And so what if they do? The 'evidence' so to speak, is being taken care of.'
"And what about that knife you so thoughtlessly left in the kitchen sink, fuckmook? What about that?" Sands yelled, sending a cold glare to an elderly woman who was staring at him as he walked down the street arguing with Jeffery. The woman gasped and quickly averted her gaze.
Jeffery simply laughed and Sands frowned. "What are you laughing about?" Sands growled out, his voice cold and hard.
'Fuckmook? I see you've taken to using my vocabulary now, Sheldon. Congratulations. You're becoming more and more like me every day. Did you realize that you've stopped caring what other people think of you? Look at how you reacted to that old hag's stare. You probably knocked a good ten years off of her life, years that I don't think she could afford to spare.' Sands found himself smirking, but he had not moved a muscle. Jeffrey continued. 'You've lost all regard for humanity. You no longer care what they think of you. You could care less about them. Their lives, their jobs, their starter homes, their dogs, their kids, their deaths, these things mean nothing to you now. You're arguing with me, with yourself, in the middle of the street in broad daylight without regard for the thoughts and feelings of those around you. Face it Sheldon, you're a sociopath; just like I've said all along. You have no regard for anyone but yourself.'
"Don't...call...me...Sheldon!" Sands screamed at the top of his lungs, causing more than a few people to stop and gape at him on the busy street. Sands saw them and his body went still and silent. His hand itched for his gun. If he had had it in his hand right now he would have blown every shocked and disgusted look off of their faces. Every last one. The sudden realization of what his hand was about to do, it had been reaching ever so slowly to the waistband of his pants where he had put the gun, dawned on him, and he shoved his way through the whispering crowd and made his way along the street before he really did kill someone. Again.
He didn't know why he was out walking in the first place. He had gotten in his Jag and driven aimlessly before parking it in an overpriced parking garage and continuing his way on foot. His walking seemed to be rather aimless as well, that was until he stopped in a rather familiar looking restaurant. "You devious bastard," Sands mumbled under his breath, not wanting to cause another scene. Hanging high above his head was a childish and fanciful rendering of a yellow chicken plastered to the front of a somewhat respectable looking building, but nothing he was normally accustomed to given his wealth and liking of the fancier restaurants in town, even if it was in only the snobbish sense. In truth, he preferred the food and atmosphere from places like this, but his ego didn't often allow him to indulge. He didn't seem to be having any problems with it at the moment. More of Jeffery's influence, no doubt. The conniving bastard just had to have his way, didn't he?
'I most certainly do. I told you, I want Mexican. I wasn't taking no for an answer," Jeffery seemed to hesitate, 'Sands,' he finally finished.
Sands' eyes widened fractionally at Jeffery's use of his name. Apparently, he had gotten the message and didn't want to create another scene either. At least, not at the moment. Something told him that his alternate personality liked to cause scenes. Perhaps he even reveled in the attention, something Sands himself had never really wanted. He had always been happier sitting at the back of a restaurant or shop merely observing others while striving himself to blend in with his surroundings as to not be observed himself. It had taken practice, but he thought he was rather good at it now.
"Fine, have your fucking Mexican. Just remember, it'll be *our* ass if someone in there remembers us...me, from last night and questions Yvette's disappearance," Sands said with a frown, pushing at the glass doors and entering the restaurant. Upon entering, he was nearly pushed to the ground by a tall platinum-blonde man in a dark suit and tie that seemed to be focussed on a sheet of paper held in front of his face. The man mumbled some sort of apology without looking up, clearly he was lost in his own thoughts about whatever was on the piece of paper and made his way out of the restaurant before Sands had time to react.
'Who the fuck was that? That was fucking rude,' Jeffery commented, and Sands rolled his eyes.
"Do you want me to go after him? Perhaps I should bash his head in with a tire iron for bumping into me? Would that make you happy?" Sands mumbled sarcastically.
Jeffery seemed to contemplate this idea just long enough to make Sands worry before saying, 'Nah, I'm hungry. But if we see him again, then definitely. With the tire iron, like you said.' Sands felt himself nodding in agreement to something he most definitely did not agree with.
"You're psychotic," Sands mumbled, appalled.
'Yeah, and you're sociopathic. What are you going to do? And technically it's also you who's psychotic since I'm not real. Fuck, you sure do have a lot of problems,' Jeffrey said mockingly, and Sands felt the smirk that wasn't his own once more.
"Just shut the fuck up, the fucking manager is coming over here and I don't want to argue anymore," Sands mumbled, putting on a wide forced smile for the manager's benefit. He had talked to the woman before, even knew her name, Mrs. Marta Sprout. He had never actually been told the information, but had overheard one of the waitresses use it and had committed it to his memory. He quickly straightened out the wrinkles his black silk shirt had acquired while sleeping on the motel room bed and looked up to greet her.
"Mr...Sands. What a surprise to see you," Martha spoke hesitantly.
Sands' eyes narrowed at this. She was nervous around him. She suspected something. Fuck, he knew it had been a mistake to come here. "A surprise, Mrs. Sprout, how so?" He asked as calmly as he could under the circumstances.
She seemed to be startled that he knew her name, which was just the reaction he had been looking for when he used it. But to her credit, she continued on without too much hesitation. "I simply meant that you are dining with us again so soon. You were in here last night, were you not?"
'She's testing you. She knows you were in here last night. She saw you, remember?' Jeffery whispered to him.
"As a matter of fact, I was. What can I say, I have a weakness for Mexican food," Sands said, putting on another wide smile. "Especially from this place."
Marta smiled rather thinly herself and held out a hand in the direction of the main dining area. "Of course, Mr. Sands. If you would be so kind as to follow me?"
"Golly, either you're short staffed for lunch, or I just became a valued customer. To be seated by the manager herself," Sands winked at her as he moved to follow.
"Oh, it was the second, I assure you, Mr. Sands," Marta said, seating him at a rather nice table near the front of the restaurant. She handed him the menu that she had picked up from the hostess' station and smiled again, a bit more full and at ease this time, "Enjoy your meal, Mr. Sands." With that, she turned on her heel without waiting for a reply and quickly headed back into the kitchen.
'What do you think that was all about?' Jeffery asked, and Sands frowned.
"I'm not sure. She seemed afraid of us somehow. There's definitely something going on here. I told you it was a fucked up idea to come. But no, you simply had to have your fucking Mexican, didn't you?" Sands grumbled under his breath. He looked down at the menu in his hands and didn't even bother opening it. He knew what he wanted; now if only the fucking waitress would get over here he could order, eat, and get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
After the waitress had finally come and taken his order, Sands sat back in his chair and surveyed his surroundings. There was a somewhat large group of people in the restaurant for lunch, their voices creating a din that while it was loud, wasn't nearly as loud as it would have been at dinner time. People seemed to be more soft spoken and polite at lunch for some unknown reason. Turning his head in the direction Marta had gone, he noticed her standing in front of the swinging kitchen doors with two men, both of whom he recognized from last night. Marta was standing in the middle of the trio speaking rather frantically into a black cellphone, and all 6 eyes were focussed on only one thing in the restaurant; his table. Once they caught his glance, each one of them seemed to gasp in stereo and turned away in unison as if choreographed.
'You see that?' Jeffery whispered, his voice sounding worried. 'Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come here, after all,' he admitted slowly.
Sands rolled his eyes, not commenting on that one any further than he already had. There was nothing he could really do about the trio at the moment if they were indeed talking about him, and he refused to be rousted from his lunch for anyone. He smirked and fought the urge to send the trio a wave. If he had thought it wouldn't have frightened the trio back into the kitchen where he could no longer observe them, he certainly would have. The three were a threat and would have to be dealt with accordingly.
***
Roland entered the main lobby of Lindvale Court, the high-priced apartment building that housed one S. J. Sands in the penthouse suite. He couldn't help his jaw drop a bit in shock. From the expensive crystal chandeliers to the marble floors and pillars, the place practically reeked of money. He merely stood and gaped before a man dressed in a black coat with tails stopped silently and politely at his shoulder.
"May I help you with something, sir?" the man asked casually, snapping Roland out of his daydreams and back into the world around him.
"Er, yes actually. I'm looking for someone that lives in this building," Roland said, giving the man his full attention and putting the ritzy scenery out of his mind.
"May I inquire whom, sir?" the man asked in that same polite and unflappable tone of voice.
"A Mr. S. J. Sands," Roland asked, affecting his own imperturbable tone of voice. Two could play at this game.
"Mr. Sands is one of our most respected residents. Is he expecting you?" Roland shook his head. "Then I must ask you to leave. We do not allow strangers up into the building without an invitation." The man turned and walked back to his place behind the desk without another word.
Roland saw red. This snooty little man needed a right cross to the face. He bet he'd get let up then. Or, taken away in handcuffs. Damn. He would have to play this cool. He took a deep breath and made his way over to the desk. "You are correct; I do not have proper invitation to go up into Mr. Sands' apartment. But will this do as a substitute?" He pulled out his badge and laid it on the table, his shield glinting beautifully in the soft overhead light. The man's eyes widened fractionally as he laid his eyes upon the badge. Roland held down a smirk in victory and then leaned over the desk, using his superior height to intimidate the man even further. "I do beg your pardon; I forgot to introduce myself when I entered," he looked down on the man's suit coat and read the name tag there, "Ashley," he paused a moment to take in this information. "Ashley?! Good Lord, I'm sorry man, your parents must have hated you," Roland couldn't help but comment confronted with such a ridiculous name.
"Anyway, I'm Agent Roland Rivers, CIA. I know, my name's not much better, I didn't mean to criticize," he said with a wave of his hand, "but I'm here to question Mr. Sands in regards to a woman he was seen with last night. Now am I to be let up, or do I have to have you arrested for interfering with a federal officer and his duty?" This was utter bullshit of course; Roland had no right to be here. He didn't have a warrant or even necessarily probable cause, but something in his gut told him that he was in the right place. And he had learned to trust that sense almost above all others. It had kept him alive when all his others failed. He was hoping that the man before him would be intimidated enough to let him up without having seen a warrant. It wasn't legal, but he wasn't one to play by the rules when lives were at stake. Actually, he didn't really play by the rules at all, but that was better left unsaid if wanted to keep his job.
"You may go up," the man stuttered frightfully, "but Mr. Sands isn't up there. He left some time early this morning," the man offered.
"Do you know where he was going? When he'll be back?" To each of these the man shook his head. Roland stifled a curse before pulling out one of his business cards. The man had been almost too helpful after the right methods of persuasion, but from his earlier stance and apparent devotion to his job there would be no way the clerk would let him up into Sands' apartment while he was out. He placed the card on the clerk's desk and looked him straight in the eye. "I want you to call me as soon as he steps into the building. If he gets up to his apartment before you call me I am going to be very disappointed in you. Do you understand?" The clerk merely nodded, apparently not trusting himself to speak, or unable to. Roland found he liked the second option better. It had been a long while since he had been able to intimidate a man as easily as this, and he wanted to make the most of it while it lasted. He turned on his heel to leave, surreptitiously casting a glance over his shoulder to see the clerk slump in relief. He chuckled lightly and made his way out of the building.
He was going through the large revolving door when his cell phone began ringing. Cursing the timing, he quickly made his way out of the door lest he be trapped in it by some impatient jackass. Once he was free of the gyrating death-trap he pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it. "Rivers," was his only salutation.
"Agent Rivers! It's Mrs. Sprout calling from the Yellow Chicken! He's here! Mr. Sands is here!" she shouted into his ear, causing Roland to wince and turn his head slightly to avoid the noise.
Once what she was saying was fully absorbed into his now throbbing ears however, he gaped in shock for a few seconds before grinning widely. Well damn, talk about luck! However, his grin then fell almost immediately afterwards as something occurred to him. "Fuck!" he yelled loudly, wanting to hit someone, something, anything in his frustration. Perhaps that clerk... He had seen the man! He had nearly knocked him over for Christ's sake! "Nice one, asshole," he muttered under his breath. "You had him in your sights and you didn't even notice. Fuck," he whispered again before realizing that still had the phone in his hand and Marta had probably heard his entire outburst.
"Agent Rivers?" came a timid voice from the other end of the line. Yup, sure enough. She was still there and now sounded a bit frightened of him.
"Just keep him there, Marta. Whatever it takes. I'll be there as soon as I can. It's not too far from here," he said, already walking in the direction of his car. He could be there in five minutes. If he missed Sands again...no, best not to think of that now. 'Just shut the fuck up and go! He's within your grasp!' his conscience was screaming at him. He didn't bother to say goodbye before hanging up the phone and all running in the direction he had parked his car, his dark tie flapping in the wind over his shoulder.
***
'What the fuck is taking so long? It doesn't take that long to make Puerco Pibil, does it? And we haven't even gotten our tequila yet. This place is busy, but it's not *that* busy. Something's wrong here.' Jeffrey said, sounding a bit worried.
"I think you're right. I think they're stalling; trying to keep us here. You think they called the cops?" Sands asked under his breath.
'Listen here, fuckmook. I'm not really another person, got it? I'm just a voice inside your head. Now granted, I'm a fuck sight more than simply that, but I don't know anything you don't. You ask for information that you don't know, so how the fuck would I?' Jeffery grumbled irritably.
Sands growled under his breath and wished Jeffery was real and sitting in front of him so he could strangle him to death. Just the thought of Jeffery's tongue hanging out of his mouth as he fought for air and his skin turning blue brought a smile to Sands' face.
'That's not very nice, Sands. And boo-hoo for you it'll never happen. Unless you want to strangle yourself that is? And I don't recommend that. And why did you imagine that I looked like you? I'm much more handsome that you could ever be," Jeffery said and Sands growled again and almost considered following Jeffery up on the suggestion to strangle himself just to get him to shut the hell up.
***
"You see that? You see how he talks to himself? He wasn't doing that last night, was he?" Ryan asked Marta, the three of them still standing near the kitchen and observing Sands. Marta had just gotten off of the phone with Agent Rivers, and all they had to do was to keep him here for just a little while longer and then he wouldn't be their problem anymore. "I think that son of a bitch's nuts. I hope Agent Rivers keeps his word about shooting him," Ryan mumbled under his breath.
"We can't stay out here for too much longer. He'll start to get suspicious. And you should probably go make his tequila with lime, Ryan. Does he really order the same thing every time he comes here, or is that just my imagination?" Chris asked the two of them.
"It's not your imagination," Marta mumbled, her eyes locked on Sands' seated form. "And you're right about getting back into the kitchen. Chris, get back to work, I'm sure you have tables waiting. Ryan, make Mr. Sands' drink. I'll be at the hostess station. And all of you, if you see him get up to leave before Agent Rivers gets here, I don't want any of you to do anything stupid. Stop him if you can, but don't get in his way. Is that clear?" her tone brooked no argument.
Chris immediately uttered a "Yes Ma'am," before heading back to his section of the restaurant to wait on tables. Ryan however held back.
"Ryan? Did you hear what I said?" Marta asked sternly. "I don't want you confronting him. Leave that for Agent Rivers. There's nothing you can do but let him handle it," she noticed the muscles in his jaw jumped and his hands were clenched into fists, but he nodded brusquely and walked back to his place behind the bar.
Marta sighed in relief. From the way he had been acting, she wouldn't be surprised if her bartender had considered taking matters into his own hands. Well, fists to be more precise. If Mr. Sands had murdered that woman, she didn't know if she would do anything to stop Ryan in his actions. That sounded horrible in her own ears, but she couldn't help feeling that way. Any woman would have had they been in her place. But if he hadn't...no, it was best to give Ryan a chance to cool down. She had to give Mr. Sands the benefit of the doubt. He could very well be innocent, and this entire situation could be a complete misunderstanding. But some small part of her doubted it. She didn't know why, but if he came to light that he had murdered Ms. St. Martin, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised. There was just something about him, something dangerous. Something that warned her to not turn her back on him for whatever reason. He was good at hiding this something behind a veil of charm and good looks, but once she had seen passed all that and learned that he was possibly capable of murder she could no longer see him in the same light. The veil had been lifted from before her eyes, and she saw him as he truly was; monstrous.
She slowly walked back to the hostess' station where she tried to keep an eye on Sands while paying attention to her duty as the hostess as well. It wasn't an easy task, but she managed. She had had to take her eyes off of him for a long moment however when a couple came in and wanted a table. She forced a cheerful smile and led them to one of the tables away from Sands' area as quickly as possible. When she got back to her station, she glanced once more in his direction and started to see that he was staring straight back at her, his eyes coal-black and evil-looking in the dimmed light of the restaurant. She hurriedly crossed herself with a shaking hand before she had even realized it and looked away, but not before seeing what certainly looked to be a malicious smirk cross his face. 'Where are you, Agent Rivers?' she asked herself, praying that he would enter a moment now and put her fears to rest. The door remained shut however, and she didn't see him on the street through the window either. 'What is taking so long?'
***
'Get out of here. Now. I don't like this. She's scared of us. Did you see the way she crossed herself? Something's up. Get out now. Take the back; just get out for fuck's sake.' Sands agreed. The tension in the room was almost overwhelming. Something big was happening and he didn't like it. He quickly dropped enough money on the table to pay for his meal and stood up, trying to act as casual as possible, but drawing the eyes of at least three people in the room. And now, a fourth....
Sands locked eyes with a new man standing at the entrance of the restaurant. Pale blue met dark almost black brown in a battle of wills. Sands didn't know who this new man was, but he recognized a nemesis when he saw one. Taking in the man's features, the tall stature, the white blonde hair, he recognized him as the man who had nearly knocked him over as he had entered the restaurant. He was obviously a member of some kind of law enforcement agency; he had that look about him. The look of unflappable calm in the face of adversity that only a police officer or federal agent could truly master. Sands tensed, not moving a muscle. And neither, he noticed, was the blonde-haired stranger. Save the fact that neither one had a gun pointed at the other, it looked almost unerringly like a Mexican stand-off; each man seemed to be poised to do the other in at the strike of the clock.
***
It was the officer who made the first move. Roland took a slow step towards him and Sands fidgeted so minutely that he would have missed it had he not been looking for such a reaction. Roland had to hold back a self-satisfied grin at this. Only a man who was guilty of something would be reacting in such a manner. His feeling of satisfaction quickly waned however as he remembered what he had been after Sands for in the first place. Yvette was more than likely dead now, murdered at this son of a bitch's hands. He gritted his teeth in anger and took another confident step forward, narrowing the gap between him and his quarry, but still a ways away. He only hoped Sands didn't attempt to create a scene. The restaurant was crowded with people having lunch, certainly not a place in which you wanted to draw a gun. He cursed under his breath. But if Sands had a gun on him and was stupid enough to pull it, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot him dead. And he was an expert marksman, the top of his class at Langley. It was one of the few areas he truly excelled at. That and pissing people off. He almost smirked at the thought, but now wasn't the time. Now was the time for deadly seriousness, or someone would wind up dead. And he certainly didn't want it to be him.
***
Sands was fucked. Unless he could figure a quick way out of this, that is. From the way the blond law man was looking at him, it was clear he meant business. The clenching of his jaw gave him away; Sands could just make it out from this distance. The man was moving slowly, perhaps trying not to cause a scene. But from the way his left hand seemed to twitch at the side of his jacket, Sands could tell that he had a gun there and was more than willing to use it should the situation deem necessary. Sands had no intention of giving him that option.
'I like making scenes,' Jeffery supplied cheerfully. 'This fucking pig doesn't want to create a scene, right? Well how about we give him a scene? Throw him off balance long enough for us to get the fuck out of this shit hole.'
Sands didn't really like the sound of that, but what choice did he have? He had to get away and learn more about the man in front of him. He quickly memorized the officer's features and decided to let Jeffery come out and play.
***
"One tequila with lime untouched, check. One lighter, check," Jeffery quickly scanned the room for an appropriate victim. "One skanky looking old hag in close proximity, check." Jeffery reached in his pants pocket and pulled out his lighter with his left hand. 'Hmm, now that's interesting,' he thought to himself. 'When I'm in control I seem to be left-handed. How about that?'
'This is no time to be thinking about things like that,' Sands whispered, his voice seemingly distant, almost too quiet for Jeffery to make out. "Fine," Jeffery acquiesced. He flicked open the lighter in his left hand, the blue flame dancing merrily on the end of its wick, and Sands picked up the glass of tequila in his right, mourning the loss of the untasted beverage. "It serves a purpose, deal with it you pussy," Jeffery muttered under his breath. He then looked up briefly to meet the officer's blue eyes head on and smiled malevolently before creating his scene.
***
Roland's eyes widened as his quick mind helpfully informed him of what Sands was most likely up to when he casually pulled out his lighter, and it wasn't to smoke. When he picked up the glass of tequila, his fears intensified. When he witnessed the truly cold and more than a little psychotic grin on the bastard's face, tequila in one hand, flaming lighter in the other, time stopped. The old woman's hairdo was most likely so full of hairspray that it didn't even need the tequila acting as a fuel to go into flames. But her face on the other hand...oh God, Roland prayed fervently that he would never again have to witness such a sight in his life time. Forgetting that Sands was even in the room, he ran to the woman's side, grabbing one of the napkins on the table and smothering her face and hair as quickly as he could. As it was, without a lot of intensive plastic surgery, the woman would be scarred for the rest of her life. That is, if the shock of it didn't kill her first.
The first few moments after the woman had been ignited; the patrons of the restaurant simply stared dumbfounded as she screamed. No one could believe it. It was too surreal. Things like this simply did not happen in every day life. But then they heard her screams and the situation became very real, very fast. The room erupted in a panic. Meals were uneaten on plates, purses, keys and coats lay forgotten on empty tables. Roland merely lie the now passed out woman down on the ground and pulled out his cell phone to call an ambulance.
When the woman was carted away by scurrying paramedics, only then did Roland take stock of the scene that had played out in front of his eyes. He had had Sands within his grasp. Within his sight. He had locked eyes with the man and felt some undeniable connection. As if all of this was meant to happen some how. The two of them were meant to meet and confront each other, and may the best man win. Roland didn't really believe in fate or destiny or serendipity, or whatever you wanted to call it though. He believed in what was right in front of him. And for now, that was only one thing; Sands had to die.
TBC
A/N: Dun dun dun. Cliffhanger, I know. Look for the next chapter, Rivers and Sands, up in about a week or so. I have to update Broken Wings again before this one, that's why it'll be that long. Sorry. Anyway, please send me your reviews!!
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie
Disclaimer: Unfortunately SJ is not mine, but Jeffery, Roland, Susannah and Emily are. Um, wanna trade? No? Damn.
Characters: SJ, Jeffery, the voice inside of his head, Roland Rivers, and a few others.
Author's Note: To my lovely supporters and viewers, you know who you are, thank you ever so much!!!
As always, 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. This is a prequel, savvy?
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Six: Downward Spiral
To any passing person on the street, the young man with shoulder-length black hair appeared as normal as any other stranger they might meet in the course of their day. Sure, he seemed to be muttering to himself about something or other, but in truth, who didn't talk to themselves on occasion? The ladies and perhaps even a few of the men might be inspired to comment on how striking the young man looked. He seemed to carry an air of mystique and hidden charm, and perhaps even a bit of danger as well about him that made the ladies swoon and the men horribly envious.
If they were to move closer to him however, perhaps to find out more about this mystifying young man, their feelings would undoubtedly change. For this young man wasn't only talking to himself, he was arguing with himself like a madman, and that air of danger that seemed so appealing only moments before intensified into something resembling fear, as if someone had run cold water down your spine. No, it was better to leave this young man alone, as you would avoid a sharp stone underfoot. It was much safer that way.
***
Sheldon Sands was losing his mind. First of all, he couldn't go by his full name any longer and include the Jeffery, because "Jeffery" was currently having an argument with him on where to eat lunch. So, it was best to just leave that part of his name out for a while until things settled down a little...that, or until he was locked away in the mental ward of some state psychiatric hospital. Whichever came first. He was betting on the latter at this point.
'I don't care if you ate there yesterday. I didn't!' Jeffery shouted, causing Sands to wince at the loud noise. 'I want Mexican, you bastard! Now do you really want me to take over to get us there, or are you going to give in like the pathetic sap that you are?'
"Fuck you. That's where I met Yvette, remember? What if someone there recognizes me from last night and wants to know where the hell she is? Ever think of that, genius?"
'Don't be so fucking paranoid. No one's going to recognize you. And so what if they do? The 'evidence' so to speak, is being taken care of.'
"And what about that knife you so thoughtlessly left in the kitchen sink, fuckmook? What about that?" Sands yelled, sending a cold glare to an elderly woman who was staring at him as he walked down the street arguing with Jeffery. The woman gasped and quickly averted her gaze.
Jeffery simply laughed and Sands frowned. "What are you laughing about?" Sands growled out, his voice cold and hard.
'Fuckmook? I see you've taken to using my vocabulary now, Sheldon. Congratulations. You're becoming more and more like me every day. Did you realize that you've stopped caring what other people think of you? Look at how you reacted to that old hag's stare. You probably knocked a good ten years off of her life, years that I don't think she could afford to spare.' Sands found himself smirking, but he had not moved a muscle. Jeffrey continued. 'You've lost all regard for humanity. You no longer care what they think of you. You could care less about them. Their lives, their jobs, their starter homes, their dogs, their kids, their deaths, these things mean nothing to you now. You're arguing with me, with yourself, in the middle of the street in broad daylight without regard for the thoughts and feelings of those around you. Face it Sheldon, you're a sociopath; just like I've said all along. You have no regard for anyone but yourself.'
"Don't...call...me...Sheldon!" Sands screamed at the top of his lungs, causing more than a few people to stop and gape at him on the busy street. Sands saw them and his body went still and silent. His hand itched for his gun. If he had had it in his hand right now he would have blown every shocked and disgusted look off of their faces. Every last one. The sudden realization of what his hand was about to do, it had been reaching ever so slowly to the waistband of his pants where he had put the gun, dawned on him, and he shoved his way through the whispering crowd and made his way along the street before he really did kill someone. Again.
He didn't know why he was out walking in the first place. He had gotten in his Jag and driven aimlessly before parking it in an overpriced parking garage and continuing his way on foot. His walking seemed to be rather aimless as well, that was until he stopped in a rather familiar looking restaurant. "You devious bastard," Sands mumbled under his breath, not wanting to cause another scene. Hanging high above his head was a childish and fanciful rendering of a yellow chicken plastered to the front of a somewhat respectable looking building, but nothing he was normally accustomed to given his wealth and liking of the fancier restaurants in town, even if it was in only the snobbish sense. In truth, he preferred the food and atmosphere from places like this, but his ego didn't often allow him to indulge. He didn't seem to be having any problems with it at the moment. More of Jeffery's influence, no doubt. The conniving bastard just had to have his way, didn't he?
'I most certainly do. I told you, I want Mexican. I wasn't taking no for an answer," Jeffery seemed to hesitate, 'Sands,' he finally finished.
Sands' eyes widened fractionally at Jeffery's use of his name. Apparently, he had gotten the message and didn't want to create another scene either. At least, not at the moment. Something told him that his alternate personality liked to cause scenes. Perhaps he even reveled in the attention, something Sands himself had never really wanted. He had always been happier sitting at the back of a restaurant or shop merely observing others while striving himself to blend in with his surroundings as to not be observed himself. It had taken practice, but he thought he was rather good at it now.
"Fine, have your fucking Mexican. Just remember, it'll be *our* ass if someone in there remembers us...me, from last night and questions Yvette's disappearance," Sands said with a frown, pushing at the glass doors and entering the restaurant. Upon entering, he was nearly pushed to the ground by a tall platinum-blonde man in a dark suit and tie that seemed to be focussed on a sheet of paper held in front of his face. The man mumbled some sort of apology without looking up, clearly he was lost in his own thoughts about whatever was on the piece of paper and made his way out of the restaurant before Sands had time to react.
'Who the fuck was that? That was fucking rude,' Jeffery commented, and Sands rolled his eyes.
"Do you want me to go after him? Perhaps I should bash his head in with a tire iron for bumping into me? Would that make you happy?" Sands mumbled sarcastically.
Jeffery seemed to contemplate this idea just long enough to make Sands worry before saying, 'Nah, I'm hungry. But if we see him again, then definitely. With the tire iron, like you said.' Sands felt himself nodding in agreement to something he most definitely did not agree with.
"You're psychotic," Sands mumbled, appalled.
'Yeah, and you're sociopathic. What are you going to do? And technically it's also you who's psychotic since I'm not real. Fuck, you sure do have a lot of problems,' Jeffrey said mockingly, and Sands felt the smirk that wasn't his own once more.
"Just shut the fuck up, the fucking manager is coming over here and I don't want to argue anymore," Sands mumbled, putting on a wide forced smile for the manager's benefit. He had talked to the woman before, even knew her name, Mrs. Marta Sprout. He had never actually been told the information, but had overheard one of the waitresses use it and had committed it to his memory. He quickly straightened out the wrinkles his black silk shirt had acquired while sleeping on the motel room bed and looked up to greet her.
"Mr...Sands. What a surprise to see you," Martha spoke hesitantly.
Sands' eyes narrowed at this. She was nervous around him. She suspected something. Fuck, he knew it had been a mistake to come here. "A surprise, Mrs. Sprout, how so?" He asked as calmly as he could under the circumstances.
She seemed to be startled that he knew her name, which was just the reaction he had been looking for when he used it. But to her credit, she continued on without too much hesitation. "I simply meant that you are dining with us again so soon. You were in here last night, were you not?"
'She's testing you. She knows you were in here last night. She saw you, remember?' Jeffery whispered to him.
"As a matter of fact, I was. What can I say, I have a weakness for Mexican food," Sands said, putting on another wide smile. "Especially from this place."
Marta smiled rather thinly herself and held out a hand in the direction of the main dining area. "Of course, Mr. Sands. If you would be so kind as to follow me?"
"Golly, either you're short staffed for lunch, or I just became a valued customer. To be seated by the manager herself," Sands winked at her as he moved to follow.
"Oh, it was the second, I assure you, Mr. Sands," Marta said, seating him at a rather nice table near the front of the restaurant. She handed him the menu that she had picked up from the hostess' station and smiled again, a bit more full and at ease this time, "Enjoy your meal, Mr. Sands." With that, she turned on her heel without waiting for a reply and quickly headed back into the kitchen.
'What do you think that was all about?' Jeffery asked, and Sands frowned.
"I'm not sure. She seemed afraid of us somehow. There's definitely something going on here. I told you it was a fucked up idea to come. But no, you simply had to have your fucking Mexican, didn't you?" Sands grumbled under his breath. He looked down at the menu in his hands and didn't even bother opening it. He knew what he wanted; now if only the fucking waitress would get over here he could order, eat, and get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
After the waitress had finally come and taken his order, Sands sat back in his chair and surveyed his surroundings. There was a somewhat large group of people in the restaurant for lunch, their voices creating a din that while it was loud, wasn't nearly as loud as it would have been at dinner time. People seemed to be more soft spoken and polite at lunch for some unknown reason. Turning his head in the direction Marta had gone, he noticed her standing in front of the swinging kitchen doors with two men, both of whom he recognized from last night. Marta was standing in the middle of the trio speaking rather frantically into a black cellphone, and all 6 eyes were focussed on only one thing in the restaurant; his table. Once they caught his glance, each one of them seemed to gasp in stereo and turned away in unison as if choreographed.
'You see that?' Jeffery whispered, his voice sounding worried. 'Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come here, after all,' he admitted slowly.
Sands rolled his eyes, not commenting on that one any further than he already had. There was nothing he could really do about the trio at the moment if they were indeed talking about him, and he refused to be rousted from his lunch for anyone. He smirked and fought the urge to send the trio a wave. If he had thought it wouldn't have frightened the trio back into the kitchen where he could no longer observe them, he certainly would have. The three were a threat and would have to be dealt with accordingly.
***
Roland entered the main lobby of Lindvale Court, the high-priced apartment building that housed one S. J. Sands in the penthouse suite. He couldn't help his jaw drop a bit in shock. From the expensive crystal chandeliers to the marble floors and pillars, the place practically reeked of money. He merely stood and gaped before a man dressed in a black coat with tails stopped silently and politely at his shoulder.
"May I help you with something, sir?" the man asked casually, snapping Roland out of his daydreams and back into the world around him.
"Er, yes actually. I'm looking for someone that lives in this building," Roland said, giving the man his full attention and putting the ritzy scenery out of his mind.
"May I inquire whom, sir?" the man asked in that same polite and unflappable tone of voice.
"A Mr. S. J. Sands," Roland asked, affecting his own imperturbable tone of voice. Two could play at this game.
"Mr. Sands is one of our most respected residents. Is he expecting you?" Roland shook his head. "Then I must ask you to leave. We do not allow strangers up into the building without an invitation." The man turned and walked back to his place behind the desk without another word.
Roland saw red. This snooty little man needed a right cross to the face. He bet he'd get let up then. Or, taken away in handcuffs. Damn. He would have to play this cool. He took a deep breath and made his way over to the desk. "You are correct; I do not have proper invitation to go up into Mr. Sands' apartment. But will this do as a substitute?" He pulled out his badge and laid it on the table, his shield glinting beautifully in the soft overhead light. The man's eyes widened fractionally as he laid his eyes upon the badge. Roland held down a smirk in victory and then leaned over the desk, using his superior height to intimidate the man even further. "I do beg your pardon; I forgot to introduce myself when I entered," he looked down on the man's suit coat and read the name tag there, "Ashley," he paused a moment to take in this information. "Ashley?! Good Lord, I'm sorry man, your parents must have hated you," Roland couldn't help but comment confronted with such a ridiculous name.
"Anyway, I'm Agent Roland Rivers, CIA. I know, my name's not much better, I didn't mean to criticize," he said with a wave of his hand, "but I'm here to question Mr. Sands in regards to a woman he was seen with last night. Now am I to be let up, or do I have to have you arrested for interfering with a federal officer and his duty?" This was utter bullshit of course; Roland had no right to be here. He didn't have a warrant or even necessarily probable cause, but something in his gut told him that he was in the right place. And he had learned to trust that sense almost above all others. It had kept him alive when all his others failed. He was hoping that the man before him would be intimidated enough to let him up without having seen a warrant. It wasn't legal, but he wasn't one to play by the rules when lives were at stake. Actually, he didn't really play by the rules at all, but that was better left unsaid if wanted to keep his job.
"You may go up," the man stuttered frightfully, "but Mr. Sands isn't up there. He left some time early this morning," the man offered.
"Do you know where he was going? When he'll be back?" To each of these the man shook his head. Roland stifled a curse before pulling out one of his business cards. The man had been almost too helpful after the right methods of persuasion, but from his earlier stance and apparent devotion to his job there would be no way the clerk would let him up into Sands' apartment while he was out. He placed the card on the clerk's desk and looked him straight in the eye. "I want you to call me as soon as he steps into the building. If he gets up to his apartment before you call me I am going to be very disappointed in you. Do you understand?" The clerk merely nodded, apparently not trusting himself to speak, or unable to. Roland found he liked the second option better. It had been a long while since he had been able to intimidate a man as easily as this, and he wanted to make the most of it while it lasted. He turned on his heel to leave, surreptitiously casting a glance over his shoulder to see the clerk slump in relief. He chuckled lightly and made his way out of the building.
He was going through the large revolving door when his cell phone began ringing. Cursing the timing, he quickly made his way out of the door lest he be trapped in it by some impatient jackass. Once he was free of the gyrating death-trap he pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it. "Rivers," was his only salutation.
"Agent Rivers! It's Mrs. Sprout calling from the Yellow Chicken! He's here! Mr. Sands is here!" she shouted into his ear, causing Roland to wince and turn his head slightly to avoid the noise.
Once what she was saying was fully absorbed into his now throbbing ears however, he gaped in shock for a few seconds before grinning widely. Well damn, talk about luck! However, his grin then fell almost immediately afterwards as something occurred to him. "Fuck!" he yelled loudly, wanting to hit someone, something, anything in his frustration. Perhaps that clerk... He had seen the man! He had nearly knocked him over for Christ's sake! "Nice one, asshole," he muttered under his breath. "You had him in your sights and you didn't even notice. Fuck," he whispered again before realizing that still had the phone in his hand and Marta had probably heard his entire outburst.
"Agent Rivers?" came a timid voice from the other end of the line. Yup, sure enough. She was still there and now sounded a bit frightened of him.
"Just keep him there, Marta. Whatever it takes. I'll be there as soon as I can. It's not too far from here," he said, already walking in the direction of his car. He could be there in five minutes. If he missed Sands again...no, best not to think of that now. 'Just shut the fuck up and go! He's within your grasp!' his conscience was screaming at him. He didn't bother to say goodbye before hanging up the phone and all running in the direction he had parked his car, his dark tie flapping in the wind over his shoulder.
***
'What the fuck is taking so long? It doesn't take that long to make Puerco Pibil, does it? And we haven't even gotten our tequila yet. This place is busy, but it's not *that* busy. Something's wrong here.' Jeffrey said, sounding a bit worried.
"I think you're right. I think they're stalling; trying to keep us here. You think they called the cops?" Sands asked under his breath.
'Listen here, fuckmook. I'm not really another person, got it? I'm just a voice inside your head. Now granted, I'm a fuck sight more than simply that, but I don't know anything you don't. You ask for information that you don't know, so how the fuck would I?' Jeffery grumbled irritably.
Sands growled under his breath and wished Jeffery was real and sitting in front of him so he could strangle him to death. Just the thought of Jeffery's tongue hanging out of his mouth as he fought for air and his skin turning blue brought a smile to Sands' face.
'That's not very nice, Sands. And boo-hoo for you it'll never happen. Unless you want to strangle yourself that is? And I don't recommend that. And why did you imagine that I looked like you? I'm much more handsome that you could ever be," Jeffery said and Sands growled again and almost considered following Jeffery up on the suggestion to strangle himself just to get him to shut the hell up.
***
"You see that? You see how he talks to himself? He wasn't doing that last night, was he?" Ryan asked Marta, the three of them still standing near the kitchen and observing Sands. Marta had just gotten off of the phone with Agent Rivers, and all they had to do was to keep him here for just a little while longer and then he wouldn't be their problem anymore. "I think that son of a bitch's nuts. I hope Agent Rivers keeps his word about shooting him," Ryan mumbled under his breath.
"We can't stay out here for too much longer. He'll start to get suspicious. And you should probably go make his tequila with lime, Ryan. Does he really order the same thing every time he comes here, or is that just my imagination?" Chris asked the two of them.
"It's not your imagination," Marta mumbled, her eyes locked on Sands' seated form. "And you're right about getting back into the kitchen. Chris, get back to work, I'm sure you have tables waiting. Ryan, make Mr. Sands' drink. I'll be at the hostess station. And all of you, if you see him get up to leave before Agent Rivers gets here, I don't want any of you to do anything stupid. Stop him if you can, but don't get in his way. Is that clear?" her tone brooked no argument.
Chris immediately uttered a "Yes Ma'am," before heading back to his section of the restaurant to wait on tables. Ryan however held back.
"Ryan? Did you hear what I said?" Marta asked sternly. "I don't want you confronting him. Leave that for Agent Rivers. There's nothing you can do but let him handle it," she noticed the muscles in his jaw jumped and his hands were clenched into fists, but he nodded brusquely and walked back to his place behind the bar.
Marta sighed in relief. From the way he had been acting, she wouldn't be surprised if her bartender had considered taking matters into his own hands. Well, fists to be more precise. If Mr. Sands had murdered that woman, she didn't know if she would do anything to stop Ryan in his actions. That sounded horrible in her own ears, but she couldn't help feeling that way. Any woman would have had they been in her place. But if he hadn't...no, it was best to give Ryan a chance to cool down. She had to give Mr. Sands the benefit of the doubt. He could very well be innocent, and this entire situation could be a complete misunderstanding. But some small part of her doubted it. She didn't know why, but if he came to light that he had murdered Ms. St. Martin, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised. There was just something about him, something dangerous. Something that warned her to not turn her back on him for whatever reason. He was good at hiding this something behind a veil of charm and good looks, but once she had seen passed all that and learned that he was possibly capable of murder she could no longer see him in the same light. The veil had been lifted from before her eyes, and she saw him as he truly was; monstrous.
She slowly walked back to the hostess' station where she tried to keep an eye on Sands while paying attention to her duty as the hostess as well. It wasn't an easy task, but she managed. She had had to take her eyes off of him for a long moment however when a couple came in and wanted a table. She forced a cheerful smile and led them to one of the tables away from Sands' area as quickly as possible. When she got back to her station, she glanced once more in his direction and started to see that he was staring straight back at her, his eyes coal-black and evil-looking in the dimmed light of the restaurant. She hurriedly crossed herself with a shaking hand before she had even realized it and looked away, but not before seeing what certainly looked to be a malicious smirk cross his face. 'Where are you, Agent Rivers?' she asked herself, praying that he would enter a moment now and put her fears to rest. The door remained shut however, and she didn't see him on the street through the window either. 'What is taking so long?'
***
'Get out of here. Now. I don't like this. She's scared of us. Did you see the way she crossed herself? Something's up. Get out now. Take the back; just get out for fuck's sake.' Sands agreed. The tension in the room was almost overwhelming. Something big was happening and he didn't like it. He quickly dropped enough money on the table to pay for his meal and stood up, trying to act as casual as possible, but drawing the eyes of at least three people in the room. And now, a fourth....
Sands locked eyes with a new man standing at the entrance of the restaurant. Pale blue met dark almost black brown in a battle of wills. Sands didn't know who this new man was, but he recognized a nemesis when he saw one. Taking in the man's features, the tall stature, the white blonde hair, he recognized him as the man who had nearly knocked him over as he had entered the restaurant. He was obviously a member of some kind of law enforcement agency; he had that look about him. The look of unflappable calm in the face of adversity that only a police officer or federal agent could truly master. Sands tensed, not moving a muscle. And neither, he noticed, was the blonde-haired stranger. Save the fact that neither one had a gun pointed at the other, it looked almost unerringly like a Mexican stand-off; each man seemed to be poised to do the other in at the strike of the clock.
***
It was the officer who made the first move. Roland took a slow step towards him and Sands fidgeted so minutely that he would have missed it had he not been looking for such a reaction. Roland had to hold back a self-satisfied grin at this. Only a man who was guilty of something would be reacting in such a manner. His feeling of satisfaction quickly waned however as he remembered what he had been after Sands for in the first place. Yvette was more than likely dead now, murdered at this son of a bitch's hands. He gritted his teeth in anger and took another confident step forward, narrowing the gap between him and his quarry, but still a ways away. He only hoped Sands didn't attempt to create a scene. The restaurant was crowded with people having lunch, certainly not a place in which you wanted to draw a gun. He cursed under his breath. But if Sands had a gun on him and was stupid enough to pull it, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot him dead. And he was an expert marksman, the top of his class at Langley. It was one of the few areas he truly excelled at. That and pissing people off. He almost smirked at the thought, but now wasn't the time. Now was the time for deadly seriousness, or someone would wind up dead. And he certainly didn't want it to be him.
***
Sands was fucked. Unless he could figure a quick way out of this, that is. From the way the blond law man was looking at him, it was clear he meant business. The clenching of his jaw gave him away; Sands could just make it out from this distance. The man was moving slowly, perhaps trying not to cause a scene. But from the way his left hand seemed to twitch at the side of his jacket, Sands could tell that he had a gun there and was more than willing to use it should the situation deem necessary. Sands had no intention of giving him that option.
'I like making scenes,' Jeffery supplied cheerfully. 'This fucking pig doesn't want to create a scene, right? Well how about we give him a scene? Throw him off balance long enough for us to get the fuck out of this shit hole.'
Sands didn't really like the sound of that, but what choice did he have? He had to get away and learn more about the man in front of him. He quickly memorized the officer's features and decided to let Jeffery come out and play.
***
"One tequila with lime untouched, check. One lighter, check," Jeffery quickly scanned the room for an appropriate victim. "One skanky looking old hag in close proximity, check." Jeffery reached in his pants pocket and pulled out his lighter with his left hand. 'Hmm, now that's interesting,' he thought to himself. 'When I'm in control I seem to be left-handed. How about that?'
'This is no time to be thinking about things like that,' Sands whispered, his voice seemingly distant, almost too quiet for Jeffery to make out. "Fine," Jeffery acquiesced. He flicked open the lighter in his left hand, the blue flame dancing merrily on the end of its wick, and Sands picked up the glass of tequila in his right, mourning the loss of the untasted beverage. "It serves a purpose, deal with it you pussy," Jeffery muttered under his breath. He then looked up briefly to meet the officer's blue eyes head on and smiled malevolently before creating his scene.
***
Roland's eyes widened as his quick mind helpfully informed him of what Sands was most likely up to when he casually pulled out his lighter, and it wasn't to smoke. When he picked up the glass of tequila, his fears intensified. When he witnessed the truly cold and more than a little psychotic grin on the bastard's face, tequila in one hand, flaming lighter in the other, time stopped. The old woman's hairdo was most likely so full of hairspray that it didn't even need the tequila acting as a fuel to go into flames. But her face on the other hand...oh God, Roland prayed fervently that he would never again have to witness such a sight in his life time. Forgetting that Sands was even in the room, he ran to the woman's side, grabbing one of the napkins on the table and smothering her face and hair as quickly as he could. As it was, without a lot of intensive plastic surgery, the woman would be scarred for the rest of her life. That is, if the shock of it didn't kill her first.
The first few moments after the woman had been ignited; the patrons of the restaurant simply stared dumbfounded as she screamed. No one could believe it. It was too surreal. Things like this simply did not happen in every day life. But then they heard her screams and the situation became very real, very fast. The room erupted in a panic. Meals were uneaten on plates, purses, keys and coats lay forgotten on empty tables. Roland merely lie the now passed out woman down on the ground and pulled out his cell phone to call an ambulance.
When the woman was carted away by scurrying paramedics, only then did Roland take stock of the scene that had played out in front of his eyes. He had had Sands within his grasp. Within his sight. He had locked eyes with the man and felt some undeniable connection. As if all of this was meant to happen some how. The two of them were meant to meet and confront each other, and may the best man win. Roland didn't really believe in fate or destiny or serendipity, or whatever you wanted to call it though. He believed in what was right in front of him. And for now, that was only one thing; Sands had to die.
TBC
A/N: Dun dun dun. Cliffhanger, I know. Look for the next chapter, Rivers and Sands, up in about a week or so. I have to update Broken Wings again before this one, that's why it'll be that long. Sorry. Anyway, please send me your reviews!!