Darkness Rising
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie
Disclaimer: SJ is mine, didn't you know? Wait, what do you mean he isn't mine? Robert Rodriguez? Who's he and why is he trying to take SJ away from me? He's mine, I tell you! Mine! *cackles maniacally*
Characters: Sands/Jeffrey, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright and yet another new character, Julian Manchester
Author's Note: A million and a half thanks go out to Miss B for her lovely beta work, Sara and Halia for their help on Julian, who will be mainly featured in the next chapter, and all of my reviewers. You guys are the best!!
Author's Note II: There wasn't a whole lot of SJ in this one, sorry. Roland, Susannah, and Emily tend to eat up the pages when they're together.
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Eight: Following the Trail of Corpses
"You think Roland's having any luck in finding out what happened to Yvette? We haven't heard from him all day, that's not like him," Susannah muttered to Emily as they walked away from the small café where they had had lunch.
"I don't want to hear about him. If Yvette's laid herself that man, and doesn't want *Agent Rivers* to know, I say it's about fucking time!" Emily exclaimed loudly, causing Susannah to send her a glare in reprimand. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know they're sleeping together as well as I do. Just 'cause you're too embarrassed to mention it because he's married and she's half his age-"
"I'm calling him," Susannah said, pulling out her cell phone, not bothering to acknowledge Emily's comments. "He should have called us by now. Something isn't right about this," she muttered, dialing Roland's cell.
Emily rolled her eyes, but didn't speak. She had known Susannah for a long time, and she knew better than to question her instincts. She just hoped that Sus was wrong, and that Yvette really was living it up with that sex on a stick of a man. 'Damn, I wish I had been thinking straight enough to give him my number to call if he and Yvette didn't work out. What was his name again? Ocean? Beach? Something like that,' after taking a moment to actually remember the all too brief conversation they had shared rather than his looks, the name came to her. 'Sands! That's it!'
"There's no answer," Susannah interrupted her thoughts. "I don't like this. When have you ever known Roland to be without his phone?"
Emily frowned and thought about it. "Never," she said at last. "It's as if that stupid thing is an extension of his body. He likes to be on top of things, in more than way I imagine," she muttered.
Susannah chose to ignore Emily's comment. "I think we should start looking into things for ourselves. Roland might be in danger, and we have no idea what's happened to Yvette."
Emily merely nodded after taking a moment to think about it. She trusted her friend's instincts, and though she would never admit it, was a little concerned for Roland's well-being herself. 'The man may be a prick, but that doesn't mean he deserves to die for it,' she thought before addressing the slight brunette beside of her, "Let's go."
***
Roland cursed upon discovering the mangled remnants of his cellphone against the wall. He had caused quite a scene by throwing it, but he found he did not care in the slightest. Marta Sprout was dead, and it was all his fault. If he had move a little faster, tried a little harder, then perhaps he would have caught Sands before now and Marta would still be alive. But there was no time for such thoughts now. He had to stop feeling guilty over the things he could not change, and get working at the things he could. Sands was still out there, and would no doubt kill again soon if he was not stopped.
"Excuse me sir, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave," a stern voice called out to him as he was looking through the shattered remains of his cellphone. He looked up and was greeted with the sight of a small blue- haired woman with half-lens glasses glaring at him. She was undoubtedly the librarian.
Roland cursed under his breath for losing his temper like he had and bringing attention to himself. He had come to the DC public library for a place to do his research on Sands without being noticed by anyone. His little tantrum has ruined all chances of that. "Of course, I'll leave at once. I apologize," he said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. The librarian nodded curtly and regained her place behind the reference desk, before turning to keep a shrewd eye on him as he pulled on his coat to leave. It didn't matter, though. He had learned all the information he could about Sands, and now there was nothing left than to begin his hunt.
'A man like that doesn't know how to be subtle. He'll make mistakes, and you'll get him,' he reassured himself. The man was too blatant, too rash. He seemed to like causing scenes, if the scene at the restaurant earlier had been any indication. He pulled on his coat and strode out from under the watchful eye of the librarian and out onto the busy sidewalk. He quickly made sure his coat was completely buttoned against the cold October wind that attempted to tickle his spine before pulling on a pair of dark sunglasses and making his way to the only place he had any leads on Sands; the Yellow Chicken.
***
'You need to get the hell out of DC for awhile, fuckmook,' Jeffrey casually informed him as he walked into the drug store.
"I thought you wanted me to get a gun first?" he muttered under his breath. Annoyed at Jeffrey's...his, constant mood swings. "I wish you would make up our fucking mind so we could get on with our day," he grumbled again. Having another person share your mind was fucking confusing.
'You're telling me. Hey, did you ever think that perhaps I'm the one in charge and you're a voice inside of my head? Think about that one for awhile.'
"Shut up. And don't even start that with me. You're most definitely a voice inside my head. A voice that I'm becoming more and more willing to drug into nothingness. So shut the fuck up for awhile." Sands closed his mouth with a snap as he noticed more than one customer staring at him as he argued with himself. He merely stared them all down with cold, flat eyes until every last one of them looked away.
"Can I help you, sir?" the man at the counter asked with bored repetition. Sands smirked and walked purposefully over to him.
"I don't suppose you could help me with this?" he asked, laying his bleeding hand on the countertop, leaving small puddles of blood from underneath his fingertips on the pristine counter. The man grimaced in shock.
"Good God, what happened to your hand? Get it away from me! The counter will have to be disinfected at once!" the man shouted, bringing even more unwanted attention Sands' way.
'Nice work, asshole. You've scared the poor man out of his wits. Whoever thought a germaphobe would be working in a drug store? Stupid idiot. I take it back, he deserved to be fucked with. Wave your hand around a bit more. Let's see if we can make him loose it.'
Sands rolled his eyes at his worse half's suggestions. "Listen, I'll leave you alone if you just tell me where the bandages and antiseptic are."
"Here, just take them and get out of here!" the flustered man said, grabbing handfuls of bandages and the like and throwing them in Sands' direction.
"Thanks," Jeffrey said, having taken over in a moment of distraction on Sands' part. "We really appreciate your help," he said, clasping his bloodied hand on the clerk's shoulder. The man had just enough time to turn deathly pale before crumpling to the ground in a faint. Jeffrey laughed uproariously, causing the few remaining people in the store after that display to gasp in collective shock. "Oh come on, don't look at us like that. That was fun!" With that, he grabbed a plastic bag off the bloodied counter, smirked at the unconscious clerk once more, and walked out the automatic doors of the drug store with his bounty, whistling softly. He would take care of Sands' hand, but then he had things to do, and people to kill. Or maybe it was the other way around...
***
"This place is a war zone! What in God's name has been going on here?" Emily shouted out loud upon coming up to the front of the Yellow Chicken. They had made their way to the only place they knew to come to look for information on Sands. They both hoped that at least someone had seen and remembered something from last night. And now, it looked as if their choice to come here had been a god one; the entrance was criss-crossed with police tape, and more than one man in uniform was nosing around the building.
Susannah didn't comment, but she was clearly as confused and frustrated with the scene before her as Emily was. 'Why hadn't Roland called to tell them about this? Something had obviously happened here, and if the hairs standing up on the back of her neck were any indication, it was something that tied in very closely to the man they were trying to find. She frowned, a tiny crease line marring her smooth features, and made her way over to one of the uniformed men standing guard near the door. "Excuse me, officer? I don't suppose you could tell us what happened here today?" she asked calmly, trying to put forth her most professional tone of voice.
The young officer looked her up and down as if to gauge her intentions by her appearance alone. She had apparently passed because he cleared his throat to speak, "There's been an incident, Ma'am," he said without going into further details.
Susannah fought down the urge to roll her eyes and snap at the man. Emily, however, had no such reservations. "The yellow police tape was a big giveaway, moron. Want to tell us something we don't already know?"
The officer's eyes narrowed into slits and he spit out coldly, "May I see some kind of identification, ladies?"
'Damn it,' Susannah thought irritably. This was what she had been trying to avoid. 'Now he'll think we're just two dumb federal agents who're trying to take over the case. I really need to teach Emily the meaning of the word 'inconspicuous.' Not that she'd ever take Susannah's warnings to heart. She was brash and knew it. She liked the feel of power flashing her badge in front of lowly police officers gave her. "Agents Cartwright and Brisbane, CIA," she said before Emily could get a word in. She flipped open her badge with a barely restrained sigh.
The officer looked over both her and Emily's badges with a shrewd eye before grunting out a brief, "Officer Paulson." He then seemed to settle in his role of information-giver to the two female federal agents with a sigh. "A woman was set on fire about an hour ago in the restaurant by another patron, one S.J. Sands. Sands fled on foot from the scene and reportedly killed another man in the vicinity," he jerked a hand over his shoulder to point vaguely in the direction the assumed murder had taken place. "We've got half of the DCPD out looking for him right now. I don't suppose you want to tell me what the CIA's interest is in this case?" he asked, clearly believing he wasn't going to get a clear answer from either of them by the resigned tone in his voice.
Susannah decided to give the young rookie a break. She cut off Emily's no doubt scathing comment; she had always disliked the DCPD, with a hand. "We're after Mr. Sands in connection with the murder of an associate of ours. That's all. We're not here to butt in on the DCPD's case in any way. We just want to make sure the man who did these horrible deeds is brought to justice. It doesn't matter by whom, just that this son of a bitch is behind bars, if you'll pardon my language."
Officer Paulson actually cracked a small smile at this. "No offense taken, Agent Cartwright," he hesitated a moment, casting a glance in Emily's direction, which she answered with a scowl, before speaking again. "I don't really care who catches him either, as long as someone does. I've never before truly wished to see another person get the death penalty, I don't mind admitting, but if you had seen what he did to that old woman..."
"So the woman died?" Susannah asked slowly.
"Yes, Ma'am," Officer Paulson said sadly. "She survived the attack but didn't make it to the hospital. She was reportedly DOA," the officer said, not needing to say anything further.
"Then that's at least two murders we can tie to him. And both in cold blood. Perhaps you'll get your chance to see him get the death penalty after all, Officer." Emily volunteered to the conversation.
"At least? You think he's going to kill again?" Officer Paulson asked with a frown.
"I'd bet my badge on it," Emily answered him with conviction.
"That's why we need to track him down and bring him into custody as soon as possible. Thank you for your help, Officer Paulson. If there's anything else you think of that might be useful to us, please give me a call," she handed him one of her business cards.
"I will, Agent Cartwright. Only if you promise to do the same for the DCPD," he said, his eyes almost narrowing again despite the candor with which he had earlier been speaking. He was loyal to his uniform; they had to give him that.
Susannah nodded. "Of course, it's the least I can do for your help." She didn't know if she'd be able to keep her word; couldn't predict what would happen should she become even more personally involved in the case and vowed to take Sands down herself of die trying. But she would try.
Officer Paulson didn't seem to entirely buy her half-promise, but didn't say a word as he led them around the corner of the restaurant to where the second, or third if she counted Yvette, and she did, murder had taken place.
The body had been removed from the scene, leaving a grisly chalked image on the pavement spattered with blood that left almost as little to the imagination as the body itself would have. Susannah stepped aside and let Emily move forward. This was where Emily's brash nature truly paid off. She was able to look at crime scenes, political manipulations, and the like and discover everything there was to know about it with seemingly only one glance. It was a talent Susannah often found herself envying. Emily had a rare gift for seeing what others did not, and the brash nature to make wild conclusions where others would falter, conclusions that more often than turned out to be right.
"Who was the victim?" Emily asked aloud, not looking up from her position crouched beside the grimy chalk outline.
"A Mr. Ryan Merced," Officer Paulson said, reading from a small notebook he produced from a pocket in his overcoat after only a moment's hesitation. "He was the bartender here. He was shot twice at point-blank range with what looked like a .22."
"Yvette's gun," Emily muttered. "The bastard's out killing people with Yvette's gun." She no longer saw Sands as a possible sexual interest, but as someone to be brought down and be made to pay for their crimes. In the blink of an eye, Emily had transformed from the joking and rarely serious woman everyone assumed her to be to a no-nonsense CIA agent who took her job and duty very seriously. "Were there any witnesses?"
"A lot of people heard it, but no one's claiming to have seen anything. I think the scene in the restaurant has got them all spooked. And with good reason," Officer Paulson muttered.
Emily merely nodded. "It's obvious that he doesn't care for the people he's killed. He's killed two people in broad daylight among witnesses. He had no regard for their lives; he merely killed them both without a second thought. But he doesn't want to be caught, at least not yet. He ran from the scene which suggests that while he's impulsively sociopathic or psychotic, he's not necessarily insane. Something told him to run, and he did. But where?" Emily had stopped speaking to either of them quite awhile ago, and now Susannah and Officer Paulson could only follow her leads as she worked. She turned to look at Officer Paulson again, "Did he leave in a car or on foot?"
Officer Paulson hesitated at this, "Most accounts say he left on foot, but as I said there were no real witnesses to the scene."
"On foot, yes," Emily said absently, clearly lost in whatever she was seeing again. "Where would he go?" the question was clearly not directed at either Susannah nor Officer Paulson, so they offered no answer, only following Emily as she stood up and walked away from the scene.
The three of them drew more than a few stares from the rubbernecks that had gathered at the police tape, but none of them paid any notice. They were simply following Emily's lead. They nearly bumped into each other when Emily suddenly stopped in front of one of the glitzy looking tourist traps that fed on DC's visitors like parasites. "I think he went in here. It seems the most likely place if he were on foot. It's close to the restaurant, and they sell disguises."
"Disguises?" Officer Paulson asked, not quite following Emily's line of reasoning.
"He could become the eternal tourist in no time, and blend in with any of the hundred people you see walking around us," Emily said with a wide gesture to the flow of people they had ignored on their walk over here. It certainly was conceivable for someone to be able to disappear into such a throng with ease.
"And that's exactly what he did," a new but familiar voice called out from the front of the shop.
"What are you doing here?" Emily asked through slightly clenched teeth. She still couldn't stand the sight of the man. Wincing at his near colorless hair was blinding in the October sunshine.
"The same thing as you, I imagine. Tracking after that bastard. He killed Marta Sprout," Roland said solemnly.
"Who's Marta Sprout?" Susannah asked as tactfully as she could amidst the surprise to see Roland standing before her.
"The owner of the Yellow Chicken," Officer Paulson supplied. "I'm Officer Robert Paulson of the DC Police Department. And who might you be, sir? And how did you come to know this information?" he shot at Roland.
"Agent Roland Rivers, CIA. And I came to know that information, because the bastard spoke to me on the phone right before he did it."
"Are you sure you feds don't have something going on here that's more than meets the eye? There sure are a lot of you after this one guy. Especially when his crimes were committed in our jurisdiction, not yours."
Susannah and Emily walked over and stood at either side of Roland, both of them laying a hand on one of his arms, even Emily, in order to keep him from slugging the self-righteous cop in the face. He cursed under his breath that he had allowed himself to lose control of his temper enough times to make him predictable. He shook off their hands angrily, but didn't make a move against Officer Paulson. He may have had a short fuse, but he had admirable restraint when it came to letting it burn. "I was doing research on one Sheldon Jeffrey Sands when Mrs. Sprout called me. She was worried that her life was in danger because Sands had seen her make the call to me in the restaurant. She was right. He intercepted her and killed her as I was talking to her on the phone. I traced the call to this neighborhood. We found Mrs. Sprout's body in a phone booth not two blocks from here, shot point-blank range in the head with a .22 caliber pistol. Her body's still there if you want to examine it."
Officer Paulson took the opportunity to look up the street and he did indeed see a small army of police and medical vehicles surrounding what looked like an ordinary telephone booth. "Then why are you here?" he asked finally.
"I'm tracing the bastard's movements backwards. Come with me," he said, gesturing for the three of them to follow him into the tourist shop. When the four of them had entered, he nodded to the portly man behind the counter who merely frowned at them before picking up a sports magazine from the counter.
"What's this all about, Agent Rivers?" Officer Paulson asked what they had all been thinking; only Susannah and Emily were too loyal to a fellow CIA agent, even if they disliked the fellow agent, to question him.
"Come into the public restroom. The clerk told me that Sands came in here not long after the incident at the restaurant and shooting the bartender. He purchased a dark t-shirt and sunglasses and came in here to change."
"So? What does that have to do with anything? So he came in here to change, big deal. Get to the point, Agent Rivers," Officer Paulson said, growing more impatient and tactless than he should have given the current situation.
Roland dutifully ignored him, keeping a tight rein on his temper. "Come inside. It'll be a tight fit, but we'll manage." He led the way, not bothering to flip the light switch, so soon all four of them were standing in the small one-toilet bathroom in the dark.
"I know you have a flair for the dramatic, but just get on with it, Rivers," Emily couldn't stop herself from saying, starting to get a bit claustrophobic.
Roland rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Immediately, all three of them gasped as their eyes were drawn to the bloodied fist-shaped break in the mirror in front of them.
"Is that what I think it is?" Emily broke the silence first.
"It would appear so," Roland answered her.
"Why would anyone do a thing like that?" Officer Paulson added his own comment.
"To get rid of whoever was in the mirror," Susannah supplied quietly. Roland and Emily nodded in agreement.
"Exactly. Sands came in here to change, and not a minute after the door was closed, the clerk said he heard arguing and the sound of glass breaking."
"Arguing? With who? Does he have an accomplice in this?" Officer Paulson asked.
Roland didn't answer that one. It was clear he was beginning to form an answer, by the way he was biting his lower lip in thought, but if he had come to any conclusions, he hadn't spoken them aloud.
Officer Paulson didn't like being ignored, but he went on without comment, "So where do you think the bastard is now? He set the woman on fire in the restaurant, killed the bartender, had a fight with the mirror in here, and killed the restaurant owner. Why all of the focus around the restaurant? Should we warn the other waiters and waitresses who work there that their lives are in danger?"
"He's focusing on the restaurant because that seems to be where all of this began. That's where he met our associate, Officer Paulson. He picked her up last night, more than likely killed her," Susannah admitted to herself softly, "and he's now killing all the witnesses from last night, one by one. It's actually rather methodical in a psychotic kind of way. He doesn't want anyone to know where he went last night after picking up our associate."
"Does this associate have a name?" Officer Paulson asked.
"Yvette St. Martin," Roland volunteered, despite the look Susannah and Emily had sent him to keep quiet about the name. He had no reason for keeping that secret, he had plenty more that were much more interesting at the moment.
"There has to be someone last night who saw him leave. A car like that doesn't exactly blend in," Emily commented, thinking back on the information that they had on Sands. His car seemed the most likely way of tracking him now.
"His car, a late-model black Jaguar, Officer Paulson, is being tracked as we speak. I've got people questioning the waiters and waitresses of the restaurant who worked last night if they saw anything that we're not already aware of. It's a slow process, but it's all we can do, right now." Roland said with some finality.
Susannah wondered when he had time to plan all of this. He certainly seemed to be a step ahead of her and Emily. "Where to next, Agent Rivers?" she asked finally.
Roland cast a sideways glance at Officer Paulson before speaking. "You came from the restaurant, I take it, Officer Paulson?" he waited for the man's nod. "Then perhaps it would be a good idea for you to head back over there. I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble with your superiors for abandoning your post."
Officer Paulson narrowed his eyes at this, but sighed. The fed was right. He had already been away too long. With a curt nod, and strict demand for them to share all of their findings with the DCPD, he turned and left.
"Let's take a walk, shall we?" Roland asked, leaving the cramped bathroom without a further word. Emily and Susannah took one last look at the broken mirror before following him, Susannah turning off the light switch as they passed.
"You know something you're not telling us," Emily accused once Officer Paulson was out of sight. "I still don't like you, and keeping secrets from us, especially on this case, is not going to change my opinion any."
"It was about Officer Paulson's question, wasn't it? About the accomplice?" Susannah asked directly. Emily might have caught that if she hadn't been so blinded by her dislike of Roland.
"Yes. But I don't have all the answers yet. As soon as I do, you two lovely ladies will be the first to know," Roland said cheerfully, which Susannah answered with a nod and Emily a glare.
"You said Sands talked to you on the phone before killing Mrs. Sprout. What did he say?" Susannah asked.
"He treated all of this like a game. He admitted to killing Yvette, but not where her body was. And he seemed far too intuitive for his own good. He's going to be hard to catch. He's clever, and he knows we're on to him now," Roland sighed.
"What else did he say? Did he give away any reason as to why he might be doing this?" Susannah asked.
"It's a game to him, isn't that what you said? We've already hypothesized that he's at least sociopathic if not psychotic as well. I know serial killers are usually one or the other, but this case feels different somehow. He obviously feels no remorse for what he's done, which definitely implies that he's suffering from some kind of antisocial personality disorder, but then there's the mirror and the arguing with himself, which implies something else entirely. I would very much like to speak with this man, Agent Rivers. Did he say anything else?" Emily asked in the most polite tone of voice she could muster at the moment.
"He certainly didn't like the fact that I called him Sheldon," he muttered, feeling a little bit guilty over that. He had pressed Sands' buttons, and Marta was dead because of it. Not that he believed Sands wouldn't have killed her anyway, but the feeling of guilt was there to stay regardless.
"Yes, Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, you mentioned. Why is that familiar?" Emily asked out loud, her face clouding in thought.
"He's a billionaire. Isn't that right, Agent Rivers? Didn't he inherit his family's fortune a few years back? Some kind of fire? I vaguely remember reading about it. I probably only remember the story because of the name," Susannah said with a thoughtful look.
"That's right. I knew there was a reason I kept you two ladies around," Roland said with a smirk, continuing before Emily could comment. "Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, the billionaire. Both of his parents died in a fire 10 years ago, while he survived. Their entire fortune went to him on his 18th birthday. He's twenty-seven now."
"Which explains the fancy clothes and the car, but not the restaurant," Emily muttered. "Perhaps he was slumming. Man, why do all the gorgeous, filthy rich men turn out to be murdering, psychotic bastards? The world is an unjust place."
Neither Roland nor Susannah had an answer to that one.
***
When Sands regained control of his body, he noticed two things. First, his right hand was securely bandaged, and second, he was on a train. "Damn it Jeffrey, where are you taking me?" he grumbled, casting a glance out the window to see fast moving countryside roll by.
'Calm the fuck down. We're going to see an old friend of ours. Well, of yours actually, since I've never really met the bastard,' Jeffrey commented offhand.
"Who? Where are we going?" Sands asked, not caring that there were other passengers in the car to hear him talking to himself this time.
'We're on our merry way to Baltimore to see Mr. Julian Manchester. You do remember, Julian, don't you?' Jeffrey asked, and Sands could feel himself smirking.
"You mean that self-righteous prick I blackmailed in grad school?" Sands asked with a frown. "Why the hell are we going to see him?"
'We need a place to lay low for awhile, and I think a brand new city to kill in will be fun, don't you?'
"No. But that still doesn't answer my question. Why Julian?"
'Because you didn't give him all your blackmail evidence when he paid you off, did you?'
It was Sands who smirked this time. "As a matter of fact, I didn't. I doubt he's going to be pleased to see me," he said with a small chuckle.
Jeffrey laughed himself. 'Oh you're damn right about that.'
TBC
A/N: Well that was fun. Roland, Susannah and Emily back together again, and nipping at SJ's heels. And SJ's off to meet yet another new OFC. Things are about to get...interesting. I can't wait, how about you?
A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie
Disclaimer: SJ is mine, didn't you know? Wait, what do you mean he isn't mine? Robert Rodriguez? Who's he and why is he trying to take SJ away from me? He's mine, I tell you! Mine! *cackles maniacally*
Characters: Sands/Jeffrey, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright and yet another new character, Julian Manchester
Author's Note: A million and a half thanks go out to Miss B for her lovely beta work, Sara and Halia for their help on Julian, who will be mainly featured in the next chapter, and all of my reviewers. You guys are the best!!
Author's Note II: There wasn't a whole lot of SJ in this one, sorry. Roland, Susannah, and Emily tend to eat up the pages when they're together.
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Eight: Following the Trail of Corpses
"You think Roland's having any luck in finding out what happened to Yvette? We haven't heard from him all day, that's not like him," Susannah muttered to Emily as they walked away from the small café where they had had lunch.
"I don't want to hear about him. If Yvette's laid herself that man, and doesn't want *Agent Rivers* to know, I say it's about fucking time!" Emily exclaimed loudly, causing Susannah to send her a glare in reprimand. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know they're sleeping together as well as I do. Just 'cause you're too embarrassed to mention it because he's married and she's half his age-"
"I'm calling him," Susannah said, pulling out her cell phone, not bothering to acknowledge Emily's comments. "He should have called us by now. Something isn't right about this," she muttered, dialing Roland's cell.
Emily rolled her eyes, but didn't speak. She had known Susannah for a long time, and she knew better than to question her instincts. She just hoped that Sus was wrong, and that Yvette really was living it up with that sex on a stick of a man. 'Damn, I wish I had been thinking straight enough to give him my number to call if he and Yvette didn't work out. What was his name again? Ocean? Beach? Something like that,' after taking a moment to actually remember the all too brief conversation they had shared rather than his looks, the name came to her. 'Sands! That's it!'
"There's no answer," Susannah interrupted her thoughts. "I don't like this. When have you ever known Roland to be without his phone?"
Emily frowned and thought about it. "Never," she said at last. "It's as if that stupid thing is an extension of his body. He likes to be on top of things, in more than way I imagine," she muttered.
Susannah chose to ignore Emily's comment. "I think we should start looking into things for ourselves. Roland might be in danger, and we have no idea what's happened to Yvette."
Emily merely nodded after taking a moment to think about it. She trusted her friend's instincts, and though she would never admit it, was a little concerned for Roland's well-being herself. 'The man may be a prick, but that doesn't mean he deserves to die for it,' she thought before addressing the slight brunette beside of her, "Let's go."
***
Roland cursed upon discovering the mangled remnants of his cellphone against the wall. He had caused quite a scene by throwing it, but he found he did not care in the slightest. Marta Sprout was dead, and it was all his fault. If he had move a little faster, tried a little harder, then perhaps he would have caught Sands before now and Marta would still be alive. But there was no time for such thoughts now. He had to stop feeling guilty over the things he could not change, and get working at the things he could. Sands was still out there, and would no doubt kill again soon if he was not stopped.
"Excuse me sir, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave," a stern voice called out to him as he was looking through the shattered remains of his cellphone. He looked up and was greeted with the sight of a small blue- haired woman with half-lens glasses glaring at him. She was undoubtedly the librarian.
Roland cursed under his breath for losing his temper like he had and bringing attention to himself. He had come to the DC public library for a place to do his research on Sands without being noticed by anyone. His little tantrum has ruined all chances of that. "Of course, I'll leave at once. I apologize," he said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. The librarian nodded curtly and regained her place behind the reference desk, before turning to keep a shrewd eye on him as he pulled on his coat to leave. It didn't matter, though. He had learned all the information he could about Sands, and now there was nothing left than to begin his hunt.
'A man like that doesn't know how to be subtle. He'll make mistakes, and you'll get him,' he reassured himself. The man was too blatant, too rash. He seemed to like causing scenes, if the scene at the restaurant earlier had been any indication. He pulled on his coat and strode out from under the watchful eye of the librarian and out onto the busy sidewalk. He quickly made sure his coat was completely buttoned against the cold October wind that attempted to tickle his spine before pulling on a pair of dark sunglasses and making his way to the only place he had any leads on Sands; the Yellow Chicken.
***
'You need to get the hell out of DC for awhile, fuckmook,' Jeffrey casually informed him as he walked into the drug store.
"I thought you wanted me to get a gun first?" he muttered under his breath. Annoyed at Jeffrey's...his, constant mood swings. "I wish you would make up our fucking mind so we could get on with our day," he grumbled again. Having another person share your mind was fucking confusing.
'You're telling me. Hey, did you ever think that perhaps I'm the one in charge and you're a voice inside of my head? Think about that one for awhile.'
"Shut up. And don't even start that with me. You're most definitely a voice inside my head. A voice that I'm becoming more and more willing to drug into nothingness. So shut the fuck up for awhile." Sands closed his mouth with a snap as he noticed more than one customer staring at him as he argued with himself. He merely stared them all down with cold, flat eyes until every last one of them looked away.
"Can I help you, sir?" the man at the counter asked with bored repetition. Sands smirked and walked purposefully over to him.
"I don't suppose you could help me with this?" he asked, laying his bleeding hand on the countertop, leaving small puddles of blood from underneath his fingertips on the pristine counter. The man grimaced in shock.
"Good God, what happened to your hand? Get it away from me! The counter will have to be disinfected at once!" the man shouted, bringing even more unwanted attention Sands' way.
'Nice work, asshole. You've scared the poor man out of his wits. Whoever thought a germaphobe would be working in a drug store? Stupid idiot. I take it back, he deserved to be fucked with. Wave your hand around a bit more. Let's see if we can make him loose it.'
Sands rolled his eyes at his worse half's suggestions. "Listen, I'll leave you alone if you just tell me where the bandages and antiseptic are."
"Here, just take them and get out of here!" the flustered man said, grabbing handfuls of bandages and the like and throwing them in Sands' direction.
"Thanks," Jeffrey said, having taken over in a moment of distraction on Sands' part. "We really appreciate your help," he said, clasping his bloodied hand on the clerk's shoulder. The man had just enough time to turn deathly pale before crumpling to the ground in a faint. Jeffrey laughed uproariously, causing the few remaining people in the store after that display to gasp in collective shock. "Oh come on, don't look at us like that. That was fun!" With that, he grabbed a plastic bag off the bloodied counter, smirked at the unconscious clerk once more, and walked out the automatic doors of the drug store with his bounty, whistling softly. He would take care of Sands' hand, but then he had things to do, and people to kill. Or maybe it was the other way around...
***
"This place is a war zone! What in God's name has been going on here?" Emily shouted out loud upon coming up to the front of the Yellow Chicken. They had made their way to the only place they knew to come to look for information on Sands. They both hoped that at least someone had seen and remembered something from last night. And now, it looked as if their choice to come here had been a god one; the entrance was criss-crossed with police tape, and more than one man in uniform was nosing around the building.
Susannah didn't comment, but she was clearly as confused and frustrated with the scene before her as Emily was. 'Why hadn't Roland called to tell them about this? Something had obviously happened here, and if the hairs standing up on the back of her neck were any indication, it was something that tied in very closely to the man they were trying to find. She frowned, a tiny crease line marring her smooth features, and made her way over to one of the uniformed men standing guard near the door. "Excuse me, officer? I don't suppose you could tell us what happened here today?" she asked calmly, trying to put forth her most professional tone of voice.
The young officer looked her up and down as if to gauge her intentions by her appearance alone. She had apparently passed because he cleared his throat to speak, "There's been an incident, Ma'am," he said without going into further details.
Susannah fought down the urge to roll her eyes and snap at the man. Emily, however, had no such reservations. "The yellow police tape was a big giveaway, moron. Want to tell us something we don't already know?"
The officer's eyes narrowed into slits and he spit out coldly, "May I see some kind of identification, ladies?"
'Damn it,' Susannah thought irritably. This was what she had been trying to avoid. 'Now he'll think we're just two dumb federal agents who're trying to take over the case. I really need to teach Emily the meaning of the word 'inconspicuous.' Not that she'd ever take Susannah's warnings to heart. She was brash and knew it. She liked the feel of power flashing her badge in front of lowly police officers gave her. "Agents Cartwright and Brisbane, CIA," she said before Emily could get a word in. She flipped open her badge with a barely restrained sigh.
The officer looked over both her and Emily's badges with a shrewd eye before grunting out a brief, "Officer Paulson." He then seemed to settle in his role of information-giver to the two female federal agents with a sigh. "A woman was set on fire about an hour ago in the restaurant by another patron, one S.J. Sands. Sands fled on foot from the scene and reportedly killed another man in the vicinity," he jerked a hand over his shoulder to point vaguely in the direction the assumed murder had taken place. "We've got half of the DCPD out looking for him right now. I don't suppose you want to tell me what the CIA's interest is in this case?" he asked, clearly believing he wasn't going to get a clear answer from either of them by the resigned tone in his voice.
Susannah decided to give the young rookie a break. She cut off Emily's no doubt scathing comment; she had always disliked the DCPD, with a hand. "We're after Mr. Sands in connection with the murder of an associate of ours. That's all. We're not here to butt in on the DCPD's case in any way. We just want to make sure the man who did these horrible deeds is brought to justice. It doesn't matter by whom, just that this son of a bitch is behind bars, if you'll pardon my language."
Officer Paulson actually cracked a small smile at this. "No offense taken, Agent Cartwright," he hesitated a moment, casting a glance in Emily's direction, which she answered with a scowl, before speaking again. "I don't really care who catches him either, as long as someone does. I've never before truly wished to see another person get the death penalty, I don't mind admitting, but if you had seen what he did to that old woman..."
"So the woman died?" Susannah asked slowly.
"Yes, Ma'am," Officer Paulson said sadly. "She survived the attack but didn't make it to the hospital. She was reportedly DOA," the officer said, not needing to say anything further.
"Then that's at least two murders we can tie to him. And both in cold blood. Perhaps you'll get your chance to see him get the death penalty after all, Officer." Emily volunteered to the conversation.
"At least? You think he's going to kill again?" Officer Paulson asked with a frown.
"I'd bet my badge on it," Emily answered him with conviction.
"That's why we need to track him down and bring him into custody as soon as possible. Thank you for your help, Officer Paulson. If there's anything else you think of that might be useful to us, please give me a call," she handed him one of her business cards.
"I will, Agent Cartwright. Only if you promise to do the same for the DCPD," he said, his eyes almost narrowing again despite the candor with which he had earlier been speaking. He was loyal to his uniform; they had to give him that.
Susannah nodded. "Of course, it's the least I can do for your help." She didn't know if she'd be able to keep her word; couldn't predict what would happen should she become even more personally involved in the case and vowed to take Sands down herself of die trying. But she would try.
Officer Paulson didn't seem to entirely buy her half-promise, but didn't say a word as he led them around the corner of the restaurant to where the second, or third if she counted Yvette, and she did, murder had taken place.
The body had been removed from the scene, leaving a grisly chalked image on the pavement spattered with blood that left almost as little to the imagination as the body itself would have. Susannah stepped aside and let Emily move forward. This was where Emily's brash nature truly paid off. She was able to look at crime scenes, political manipulations, and the like and discover everything there was to know about it with seemingly only one glance. It was a talent Susannah often found herself envying. Emily had a rare gift for seeing what others did not, and the brash nature to make wild conclusions where others would falter, conclusions that more often than turned out to be right.
"Who was the victim?" Emily asked aloud, not looking up from her position crouched beside the grimy chalk outline.
"A Mr. Ryan Merced," Officer Paulson said, reading from a small notebook he produced from a pocket in his overcoat after only a moment's hesitation. "He was the bartender here. He was shot twice at point-blank range with what looked like a .22."
"Yvette's gun," Emily muttered. "The bastard's out killing people with Yvette's gun." She no longer saw Sands as a possible sexual interest, but as someone to be brought down and be made to pay for their crimes. In the blink of an eye, Emily had transformed from the joking and rarely serious woman everyone assumed her to be to a no-nonsense CIA agent who took her job and duty very seriously. "Were there any witnesses?"
"A lot of people heard it, but no one's claiming to have seen anything. I think the scene in the restaurant has got them all spooked. And with good reason," Officer Paulson muttered.
Emily merely nodded. "It's obvious that he doesn't care for the people he's killed. He's killed two people in broad daylight among witnesses. He had no regard for their lives; he merely killed them both without a second thought. But he doesn't want to be caught, at least not yet. He ran from the scene which suggests that while he's impulsively sociopathic or psychotic, he's not necessarily insane. Something told him to run, and he did. But where?" Emily had stopped speaking to either of them quite awhile ago, and now Susannah and Officer Paulson could only follow her leads as she worked. She turned to look at Officer Paulson again, "Did he leave in a car or on foot?"
Officer Paulson hesitated at this, "Most accounts say he left on foot, but as I said there were no real witnesses to the scene."
"On foot, yes," Emily said absently, clearly lost in whatever she was seeing again. "Where would he go?" the question was clearly not directed at either Susannah nor Officer Paulson, so they offered no answer, only following Emily as she stood up and walked away from the scene.
The three of them drew more than a few stares from the rubbernecks that had gathered at the police tape, but none of them paid any notice. They were simply following Emily's lead. They nearly bumped into each other when Emily suddenly stopped in front of one of the glitzy looking tourist traps that fed on DC's visitors like parasites. "I think he went in here. It seems the most likely place if he were on foot. It's close to the restaurant, and they sell disguises."
"Disguises?" Officer Paulson asked, not quite following Emily's line of reasoning.
"He could become the eternal tourist in no time, and blend in with any of the hundred people you see walking around us," Emily said with a wide gesture to the flow of people they had ignored on their walk over here. It certainly was conceivable for someone to be able to disappear into such a throng with ease.
"And that's exactly what he did," a new but familiar voice called out from the front of the shop.
"What are you doing here?" Emily asked through slightly clenched teeth. She still couldn't stand the sight of the man. Wincing at his near colorless hair was blinding in the October sunshine.
"The same thing as you, I imagine. Tracking after that bastard. He killed Marta Sprout," Roland said solemnly.
"Who's Marta Sprout?" Susannah asked as tactfully as she could amidst the surprise to see Roland standing before her.
"The owner of the Yellow Chicken," Officer Paulson supplied. "I'm Officer Robert Paulson of the DC Police Department. And who might you be, sir? And how did you come to know this information?" he shot at Roland.
"Agent Roland Rivers, CIA. And I came to know that information, because the bastard spoke to me on the phone right before he did it."
"Are you sure you feds don't have something going on here that's more than meets the eye? There sure are a lot of you after this one guy. Especially when his crimes were committed in our jurisdiction, not yours."
Susannah and Emily walked over and stood at either side of Roland, both of them laying a hand on one of his arms, even Emily, in order to keep him from slugging the self-righteous cop in the face. He cursed under his breath that he had allowed himself to lose control of his temper enough times to make him predictable. He shook off their hands angrily, but didn't make a move against Officer Paulson. He may have had a short fuse, but he had admirable restraint when it came to letting it burn. "I was doing research on one Sheldon Jeffrey Sands when Mrs. Sprout called me. She was worried that her life was in danger because Sands had seen her make the call to me in the restaurant. She was right. He intercepted her and killed her as I was talking to her on the phone. I traced the call to this neighborhood. We found Mrs. Sprout's body in a phone booth not two blocks from here, shot point-blank range in the head with a .22 caliber pistol. Her body's still there if you want to examine it."
Officer Paulson took the opportunity to look up the street and he did indeed see a small army of police and medical vehicles surrounding what looked like an ordinary telephone booth. "Then why are you here?" he asked finally.
"I'm tracing the bastard's movements backwards. Come with me," he said, gesturing for the three of them to follow him into the tourist shop. When the four of them had entered, he nodded to the portly man behind the counter who merely frowned at them before picking up a sports magazine from the counter.
"What's this all about, Agent Rivers?" Officer Paulson asked what they had all been thinking; only Susannah and Emily were too loyal to a fellow CIA agent, even if they disliked the fellow agent, to question him.
"Come into the public restroom. The clerk told me that Sands came in here not long after the incident at the restaurant and shooting the bartender. He purchased a dark t-shirt and sunglasses and came in here to change."
"So? What does that have to do with anything? So he came in here to change, big deal. Get to the point, Agent Rivers," Officer Paulson said, growing more impatient and tactless than he should have given the current situation.
Roland dutifully ignored him, keeping a tight rein on his temper. "Come inside. It'll be a tight fit, but we'll manage." He led the way, not bothering to flip the light switch, so soon all four of them were standing in the small one-toilet bathroom in the dark.
"I know you have a flair for the dramatic, but just get on with it, Rivers," Emily couldn't stop herself from saying, starting to get a bit claustrophobic.
Roland rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Immediately, all three of them gasped as their eyes were drawn to the bloodied fist-shaped break in the mirror in front of them.
"Is that what I think it is?" Emily broke the silence first.
"It would appear so," Roland answered her.
"Why would anyone do a thing like that?" Officer Paulson added his own comment.
"To get rid of whoever was in the mirror," Susannah supplied quietly. Roland and Emily nodded in agreement.
"Exactly. Sands came in here to change, and not a minute after the door was closed, the clerk said he heard arguing and the sound of glass breaking."
"Arguing? With who? Does he have an accomplice in this?" Officer Paulson asked.
Roland didn't answer that one. It was clear he was beginning to form an answer, by the way he was biting his lower lip in thought, but if he had come to any conclusions, he hadn't spoken them aloud.
Officer Paulson didn't like being ignored, but he went on without comment, "So where do you think the bastard is now? He set the woman on fire in the restaurant, killed the bartender, had a fight with the mirror in here, and killed the restaurant owner. Why all of the focus around the restaurant? Should we warn the other waiters and waitresses who work there that their lives are in danger?"
"He's focusing on the restaurant because that seems to be where all of this began. That's where he met our associate, Officer Paulson. He picked her up last night, more than likely killed her," Susannah admitted to herself softly, "and he's now killing all the witnesses from last night, one by one. It's actually rather methodical in a psychotic kind of way. He doesn't want anyone to know where he went last night after picking up our associate."
"Does this associate have a name?" Officer Paulson asked.
"Yvette St. Martin," Roland volunteered, despite the look Susannah and Emily had sent him to keep quiet about the name. He had no reason for keeping that secret, he had plenty more that were much more interesting at the moment.
"There has to be someone last night who saw him leave. A car like that doesn't exactly blend in," Emily commented, thinking back on the information that they had on Sands. His car seemed the most likely way of tracking him now.
"His car, a late-model black Jaguar, Officer Paulson, is being tracked as we speak. I've got people questioning the waiters and waitresses of the restaurant who worked last night if they saw anything that we're not already aware of. It's a slow process, but it's all we can do, right now." Roland said with some finality.
Susannah wondered when he had time to plan all of this. He certainly seemed to be a step ahead of her and Emily. "Where to next, Agent Rivers?" she asked finally.
Roland cast a sideways glance at Officer Paulson before speaking. "You came from the restaurant, I take it, Officer Paulson?" he waited for the man's nod. "Then perhaps it would be a good idea for you to head back over there. I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble with your superiors for abandoning your post."
Officer Paulson narrowed his eyes at this, but sighed. The fed was right. He had already been away too long. With a curt nod, and strict demand for them to share all of their findings with the DCPD, he turned and left.
"Let's take a walk, shall we?" Roland asked, leaving the cramped bathroom without a further word. Emily and Susannah took one last look at the broken mirror before following him, Susannah turning off the light switch as they passed.
"You know something you're not telling us," Emily accused once Officer Paulson was out of sight. "I still don't like you, and keeping secrets from us, especially on this case, is not going to change my opinion any."
"It was about Officer Paulson's question, wasn't it? About the accomplice?" Susannah asked directly. Emily might have caught that if she hadn't been so blinded by her dislike of Roland.
"Yes. But I don't have all the answers yet. As soon as I do, you two lovely ladies will be the first to know," Roland said cheerfully, which Susannah answered with a nod and Emily a glare.
"You said Sands talked to you on the phone before killing Mrs. Sprout. What did he say?" Susannah asked.
"He treated all of this like a game. He admitted to killing Yvette, but not where her body was. And he seemed far too intuitive for his own good. He's going to be hard to catch. He's clever, and he knows we're on to him now," Roland sighed.
"What else did he say? Did he give away any reason as to why he might be doing this?" Susannah asked.
"It's a game to him, isn't that what you said? We've already hypothesized that he's at least sociopathic if not psychotic as well. I know serial killers are usually one or the other, but this case feels different somehow. He obviously feels no remorse for what he's done, which definitely implies that he's suffering from some kind of antisocial personality disorder, but then there's the mirror and the arguing with himself, which implies something else entirely. I would very much like to speak with this man, Agent Rivers. Did he say anything else?" Emily asked in the most polite tone of voice she could muster at the moment.
"He certainly didn't like the fact that I called him Sheldon," he muttered, feeling a little bit guilty over that. He had pressed Sands' buttons, and Marta was dead because of it. Not that he believed Sands wouldn't have killed her anyway, but the feeling of guilt was there to stay regardless.
"Yes, Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, you mentioned. Why is that familiar?" Emily asked out loud, her face clouding in thought.
"He's a billionaire. Isn't that right, Agent Rivers? Didn't he inherit his family's fortune a few years back? Some kind of fire? I vaguely remember reading about it. I probably only remember the story because of the name," Susannah said with a thoughtful look.
"That's right. I knew there was a reason I kept you two ladies around," Roland said with a smirk, continuing before Emily could comment. "Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, the billionaire. Both of his parents died in a fire 10 years ago, while he survived. Their entire fortune went to him on his 18th birthday. He's twenty-seven now."
"Which explains the fancy clothes and the car, but not the restaurant," Emily muttered. "Perhaps he was slumming. Man, why do all the gorgeous, filthy rich men turn out to be murdering, psychotic bastards? The world is an unjust place."
Neither Roland nor Susannah had an answer to that one.
***
When Sands regained control of his body, he noticed two things. First, his right hand was securely bandaged, and second, he was on a train. "Damn it Jeffrey, where are you taking me?" he grumbled, casting a glance out the window to see fast moving countryside roll by.
'Calm the fuck down. We're going to see an old friend of ours. Well, of yours actually, since I've never really met the bastard,' Jeffrey commented offhand.
"Who? Where are we going?" Sands asked, not caring that there were other passengers in the car to hear him talking to himself this time.
'We're on our merry way to Baltimore to see Mr. Julian Manchester. You do remember, Julian, don't you?' Jeffrey asked, and Sands could feel himself smirking.
"You mean that self-righteous prick I blackmailed in grad school?" Sands asked with a frown. "Why the hell are we going to see him?"
'We need a place to lay low for awhile, and I think a brand new city to kill in will be fun, don't you?'
"No. But that still doesn't answer my question. Why Julian?"
'Because you didn't give him all your blackmail evidence when he paid you off, did you?'
It was Sands who smirked this time. "As a matter of fact, I didn't. I doubt he's going to be pleased to see me," he said with a small chuckle.
Jeffrey laughed himself. 'Oh you're damn right about that.'
TBC
A/N: Well that was fun. Roland, Susannah and Emily back together again, and nipping at SJ's heels. And SJ's off to meet yet another new OFC. Things are about to get...interesting. I can't wait, how about you?