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: Ok, know this; I've never been to Baltimore in my life. I'm making up the geography of the city as I go along. Special thanks to Halia for betaing, and also to her and Sara for their help on making Julian the arrogant bastard he is today. Thanks!! And to all of my lovely, lovely reviewers, you guys make my day, truly. :-)
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Nine: Deepened Psychosis and New 'Friends'
Sands stepped off of the train and onto the platform as he surveyed the city around him. He had never actually been to Baltimore before, so this was an entirely new experience.
'I still can't believe you wouldn't let me kill that guy,' Jeffrey grumbled. 'He deserved it.'
"Just because he nearly dropped his suitcase on our foot is not reason enough to kill him, no matter what you might think. Dear God, is that all you ever think about? Killing people?' Sands questioned under his breath.
'Pretty much. And don't forget, idiot. I'm still you, technically. It's all you ever think about too.'
Sands didn't have an answer to this. He truly had forgotten that Jeffrey wasn't another person for a moment. The realization that he was still a part of his own mind was sobering. He had killed quite a lot of people in the last few days, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care. Jeffrey had been right about that, at least. He was a sociopath, and he knew it.
'Of course I was right. I'm always right. Even when I'm wrong, I'm right,' he stated firmly.
Sands rolled his eyes at that, but it had been a good idea to get out of DC for awhile. He didn't like the shrewd look of intelligence he had seen in Agent Rivers' eyes, and from the way he had sounded on the phone, he wouldn't be giving up easily. "Where do we go from here?" he asked Jeffrey softly. "You're the one who seems to be running this show, not me."
'And as long as you keep that in mind, we'll get along fine,' Jeffrey assured him. 'Get to a phone booth. Maybe Manchester's listed.'
"What do you mean, maybe he's listed? You dragged me all the way here and you don't even know his address?"
'You don't know it either, so shut the fuck up and get your ass over to that phone booth,' Jeffrey said coldly. He didn't like being second- guessed.
"Fuck you," Sands grumbled, but did as he was told. He walked over to the phone booth and grabbed the book, flipping through the pages until he got to the M's. "He better be in here," he muttered as he scanned over the names.
'Manchester, Julian. 3476 Thunderclap Lane. Thunderclap Lane? Only the rich could get away with naming a street something so ridiculous as that,' Jeffrey muttered.
"What's your problem with rich people, anyway?" Sands asked, tearing the page out of the phone book. "We're rich. You insured that when you killed our parents," Sands said, his voice cold.
'Let's get something straight once and for all. I didn't kill our parents. You did. You burned them alive in your bedroom as they screamed at you to let them go. I don't think I could ever be that heartless, Sands. Congratulations. And I don't like the rich because they think they can have whatever they want and not have to work for it. People like that make me sick. I don't think Julian and I are going to get along. I seem to remember he was always an arrogant little bastard. I can't wait to meet him,' Jeffrey said sarcastically.
"It was your idea to come here in the first place, not mine. And you're lying about our parents. I may have hated them, but I didn't kill them. I would have remembered."
'You'd think so, wouldn't you? And yet you don't. You're in denial, admit it. I was around then, sure, I always have been, but you are the one you who tied their hands to the headboard, doused them both in gasoline, and threw the lit match on them, Sands. Not me. You didn't even bother to gag them, for Christ's sake. You stood there and listened to their screams as if you couldn't hear them at all. I may be a coldhearted bastard, but I am created from you, Sands. Don't forget that.'
Sands opened his mouth to comment, but the words wouldn't come. If what Jeffrey was saying was true, he couldn't remember it but if it was, dear God.
'Are you getting it yet, psycho-boy? Is any of this making its way into your half of our brain yet? As much as I might like to fuck with you into believing that I might be the real one and you're the voice in my head, that's not the case. I am a part of you. Every reaction, every word, every thought is something you will have thought, or have thought in the past. You always had the ability to kill, Sands, I simply brought that ability to the surface.'
"Shut the fuck up," Sands said, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples in a vain attempt to block out Jeffrey's voice. "I don't want to hear this," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Just shut the fuck up."
'No can do, you sorry son of a bitch. You need to accept a few things straight in our head or you're gonna crack open like a skull blindsided by a sledgehammer,' Sands almost winced at the image that phrase brought, but Jeffrey either didn't notice, or didn't care and went on, 'You need to accept me, first and foremost. I may not like you, you ungrateful bastard, but I'm stuck with you for better or worse, 'til death or strong medication do us part.' Jeffrey said, a bit of cynicism touching his voice. 'Second, you are both a psychopath and a sociopath at the same time due to me. I don't know if such a thing is even supposed to be possible, but it's happened. Accept it, go on a killing spree. Oh, you've already got that one well in hand, nevermind,' Jeffrey said, and Sands could feel himself smirking. 'Because you need to accept it, or you will crack. And it won't be pretty when it happens, believe me. I have no desire to see you lose it and get our ass locked away in some institution for the rest of our lives, savvy? Just keep that in mind, and we'll be fine.'
Savvy? What the hell did that mean? Sands thought to himself. He felt his eyes rolling. 'It means, 'do you com-pre-fucking-hend what I'm trying to say to you, you moronic bastard?'
Sands grit his teeth. "Yes," he said after regaining some of the tight control that had been slipping over his temper. "But let's make one thing absolutely clear right now. I do not need you. In fact, I'm probably better off without you, so *you* keep that in fucking mind when you start criticizing. Do you fucking savvy?"
'Savvy,' Jeffrey said coldly before reverting back to his usual cursing, cheery, psychotic self. 'Well this is fun. We seem to be at an impasse. All we need now is a gun in each of our hands pointed at our head and we'd have a genuine Mexican stand-off. What do you say we try it? It could be amusing to stir up the locals.'
Sands actually stood there a moment and pictured it; a gun in each hand, both barrels pointed at his temples, deep in an argument with himself in front of a group of terrified people...the image did have its appeal, he had to admit, if merely for sheer shock value.
'Does that mean we're going to do it?' Jeffrey asked, sounding almost gleefully anticipatory.
"No," Sands said at last. He could feel Jeffrey almost pouting. "As interesting as it would be, I don't like causing scenes. I know you do, but I don't. And besides, we just got here. We've plenty of time to cause scenes later, I assure you." Sands didn't know why he was reassuring Jeffrey, perhaps because he was in fact, reassuring himself, but it wasn't just that. Jeffrey had been right. They had to get along, at least some of the time anyway, or he would be torn apart. And that was definitely an undesirable outcome.
'You're telling me,' Jeffrey muttered.
"I really wish you'd stop doing that, it's rather annoying," Sands grumbled under his breath.
'What? Answering the thoughts you haven't said out loud? I can hear them, why wouldn't I answer them?'
"Because it's unsettling," Sands admitted at last.
'Unsettling? Because it's unsettling?' Jeffrey repeated incredulously. 'Dear God, but you really can sound like the rich snob sometimes. You think it's unsettling that I answer your unvoiced thoughts. Has it occurred to you that it's *unsettling* that I answer them at all?'
"To tell you the truth, I think I've gotten used to it," Sands muttered, unhappy with this realization.
'By God folks, I think he likes me,' Jeffrey said in a bad game show hosts' voice. Sands just rolled his eyes.
"If we're really going to meet up with Julian, we'd better get moving. I can't wait to see the look on the arrogant prick's face when he sees me at his front door," Sands said, smiling widely.
***
Julian Manchester was a self-centered bastard and he knew it. While this self-awareness might bother some, he was actually proud of his attitudes and feelings regarding his fellow man. He reveled in his ability to piss complete strangers off with just a few well placed and demeaning words. His favorite pastimes, other than that of course, were spending money and chasing woman. He had an ample supply of each.
He absently swirled his glass of single malt scotch as he decided what he wanted to do with the rest of his day. Halloween was tomorrow evening, and he'd have to start going through party invitations sooner or later to see if any of them were worth his attendance. He had put it off until now because he didn't like to rush anything he did. He liked to take the world at his own pace.
He picked up the stack of tastefully decorated black and orange envelopes piled on the edge of his desk where his butler had placed them and started scanning the names of the senators, local businessmen; all of Baltimore and the surrounding area's elite seemed to be throwing a party. But Julian knew he would attend only one. He pulled out a heavy black piece of paper, the inscription on the front in blood-red ink. It was tied shut with a piece of ebony colored silk, and it certainly had his attention.
"Mr. Julian Manchester, you are cordially invited to attend the Halloween masquerade ball of Sir Finlay McGovern at the McGovern Estates at promptly 8pm, 31 October 2003. Please RSPV immediately," he read out loud in the echoing confines of his study. "Sir McGovern's throwing a party this year? Dear God, I didn't think the arrogant old bastard even knew what the word party meant. Still, I suppose I'll have to make an appearance. A Halloween masquerade, huh? How pathetically old-fashioned," he muttered, gathering up all the other invitations in a hand, walking over to the 7 foot tall fireplace that took up nearly an entire wall of his study, and tossed them into it, the flames eagerly consuming the expensive paper.
He turned away from the fire to hear his butler's loud footsteps coming across the wooden floor. He had made them purposefully loud so he wouldn't accidentally startle Julian out of his thoughts. It was the mark of a man who knew how to serve, and how to serve well. Julian gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for discovering and employing such a man. "Respond to this at once," he said without preamble, placing the dark envelope in the butler's immaculate white gloved hand. "And tell Rachel to find a suitable costume for tomorrow night. She knows my tastes," he said casually in reference to his personal assistant. She even knew his sizes without asking before she'd reaffirmed that information more...intimately. The thought brought a smirk to his handsome face. "That will be all," he said, dismissing the butler with a wave of his scotch-laden hand, making the amber liquid come precariously close to spilling out onto the polished hard wood floors.
"Very good, sir," the butler said, and silently made his way out, the shoes that had made such noise on the floor almost completely silent.
Julian nodded absently and too a sip of his scotch as he watched the other invitations burn. Such an action would surely offend more than one of the sender should they have found out, but he didn't care. He cared about precious little in the world, actually. His money and his image were what mattered most to him. While for some men, a life that ultimately ended up cold an alone, Julian had always been surrounded by more than willing women. True, he hadn't actually loved a single one of them, but he was happy enough without such a primitive emotion as love, thank you very much.
Taking at long look at himself in a mirror propped up in a corner of the large study, it was little wonder women found himself irresistible. His dirty blonde hair was tastefully sculpted into a popular style, drawing attention to his strong jaw, high cheek bones and denim blue eyes that women seemed to especially love. He had often been told that he had a face than an audience would love, and he certainly enjoyed playing up that fact. He was vain, bordering on narcissistic, and he knew it. But again, he couldn't be bothered to care. Another extraordinary thing he seemed to have been blessed with was a British accent. He could never fully understand how American women seemed to swoon at even the merest of words out of his mouth, colored by his still thick accent even after spending nearly ten years in the United States, but he didn't question it. He merely took advantage of its effects.
"What is it now?" he asked without turning as he heard his butler's loud walk once more.
"Forgive me for interrupting you sir, but there is a man in the hall to see you. He said he was an old friend of yours from Washington DC. Shall I send him in?"
An old friend of his from DC? That had to mean from grad school, but he didn't have any friends from there. In fact, everyone there had hated him. They had also respected him, but the hatred was the chief emotion. The thought made him smirk. "What did this friend say his name was?" he asked slowly, annoyed that his butler hadn't mentioned it right away.
"Pardon sir, a Mr. Sands," he announced.
Sands..there could be only one man of that name with the audacity to show up at his doorstep now. If it were him, that manipulative bastard, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.
The butler nodded and turned on his heel, to bring back his visitor. He returned a minute later, a darkly dressed man following closely behind him. Julian narrowed his eyes slightly as the sight of him confirmed his suspicions. Sheldon Sands, although if he caught you using his first name to his face, you'd more than likely come away from the confrontation with a few missing teeth. Julian had always looked down on the man's inability to hide his emotions better than that. Glancing over the man's cool exterior now, it looked as if he had learned how to hide his emotions very well since he had last seen him.
"Sands, what an unpleasant surprise," he muttered under his breath before giving the butler a look that told him he wanted him to leave. Once the two of them were alone, Sands made himself at home in a large leather chair in front of the fireplace as if they were the old friends he had told his butler they were. Nothing could be further from the truth.
"Hello Julian, old pal. How's life?" Sands asked cheerfully.
"Cut the bullshit, Sands. What do you want? More money, is that it? You're not going to get one more red cent out of me you bastard," Julian said coldly.
Sands tsked, "Aww, and here it was that I thought you'd be happy to see me. Oh well. You want to know what I want? I'll tell you. I'm going to be staying here for awhile, and I want you to play the gracious host without whining."
Julian spluttered. Was he mad? He wanted him to do what?! "Excuse me?" he nearly shouted.
'Look at him, his face is turning red. I think he's a little upset with us, Sands,' Jeffrey commented.
"And what makes you think I'm not going to call security on you right now, you ungrateful son of a bitch?" Julian fumed.
"You didn't even know my mother. I seemed to have killed her long before we ever met," Sands said off-handedly. "But that isn't the point. The point is that I've still got power over you, Julian old chum. What would you say if I were to tell you that I didn't give you all the evidence I had on you?" he smirked, and Julian saw red, lunging at him quicker than Sands had time to anticipate.
Julian swelled in victory as he felt Sands' face jerk back under the onslaught of his fist. That feeling abruptly faded as he felt something cold against his throat.
Sands stood in front of him, an at least 6-inch blade held unwavering against Julian's throat. When he spoke, blood trickled down his chin from his now split lip. "If you ever touch us again, I won't hesitate to slit your throat. Do you understand?" his voice sent a chill down Julian's spine. The chill emanated chiefly not from the feeling of a bloody enormous knife at his throat, but from the fact that the voice didn't sound like Sands at all.
"Did you just say us?" he couldn't stop himself from asking, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down on the edge of the knife.
"Yes I fucking said, 'us.' You didn't answer my question. Do you understand what I asked you?" Sands asked viciously, pressing the knife even harder into the tender flesh of Julian's throat, spilling a little blood that made Jeffrey cheer. He had purchased the knife at a gun shop after he had bought himself a new black silk shirt. It was a shame there was a waiting period for purchasing handguns, but the knife was rather effective at the moment.
"Yes I bloody understand!" Julian moaned, blood running down his neck.
"Good," he said, finally easing the pressure off of Julian's throat. "Otherwise, I'll kill you. Don't doubt it."
"You're bloody insane, do you realize that?" Julian near shouted, holding a hand to his bleeding neck. "You fucking cut me!"
"Oh it's just a scratch, you pathetic bastard. And yes, we do realize that, but thanks for pointing it out," Sands said sarcastically. "And keep your voice down. You don't want to be causing a scene, do you Julian? You've never been one for causing scenes. I'm not sure I blame you. I don't like creating scenes either. But Jeffrey on the other hand, he'd love to kill you right now. But I hold him back because you're going to behave yourself, aren't you?"
'Dear God, he's completely lost it. Who in God's name was Jeffrey?' Julian asked himself, his hand still tightly pressed against his still-bleeding throat. "Who's Jeffrey?" he hadn't wanted to ask, hadn't wanted to risk Sands' wrath again, but he couldn't help it. He had always been too inquisitive for his own good. One of his few faults.
"Who's Jeffrey? Well that's easy, Julian. I'm Jeffrey," Sands said in that voice that clearly wasn't his again. "And I'm Sands," he said, sounding exactly as he had in school. The two voices were similar, obviously they would be if they were from the same person, but they were not the same. The first was deeper, more rough sounding than Sands' usual calmly toned voice. "And neither of us are Sheldon. We agreed that no one in their right mind, which we perhaps may not be, would choose that godforsaken name."
"Dear God. You mean to say, you're what, schizophrenic?" Julian whispered, unbelieving what he saw right in front of him.
"And he gets it on the first try, how about that? He doesn't seem so dumb after all, Sands," Jeffrey commented. "But look at him now; I think we've frightened dear Julian. Too bad," he snickered.
"There really are two of you, impossible. You weren't like this at school. Someone would have caught it. What in God's name has happened to you?" Julian asked quietly. He truly hated Sands for blackmailing him at school with pictures of he and one of the married professors in bed together, but he found he couldn't deny the horrified pity that filled him at such a sight.
"To tell you the truth? Neither of us knows. Or at least, if Jeffrey knows, he's not telling. This day has been fucked up from the beginning. Ever wake up in bed with a dead woman, Julian? Well, I have. Let's just say, it was a unique experience. Then Jeffrey made his presence known, and things kinda went full tilt after that," Sands said with a small smile.
"My God," Julian whispered, sinking in the seat next to the one Sands had reclaimed after removing the knife from his neck. "You need help," he muttered.
"Oh, we need more than that at this point, Julian buddy. Sands and I need a place to lie low for awhile, so to speak. I figure, since he's still got those pictures of you and the lady professor doing the nasty, and what a fine piece of ass she was by the way, you'll be more than willing to give us that help," Jeffrey said with a chuckle.
The entire situation was making Julian's head spin. Here he was, talking to two men sharing the same body. It was enough to drive him insane. "Why do you need to lie low? You have your own home, several of them in fact. Why here?" A horrid thought occurred to him, "What have you done?"
"He's a smart cookie, Sands. You'd better watch out for him," Jeffrey advised.
"I needed to get out of DC for awhile. As for what I've done? I'm sure it'll be on the evening news even here in Baltimore. Jeffrey created quite the little scene in a restaurant today, surrounded by witnesses. Not his most shining moment, but it worked in a pinch," Sands said with a smirk.
"Watch it, fuckmook. I got our asses out of there, remember? Rivers would have had you for sure had it not been for me," Jeffrey reminded him.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Sands said, waving a hand to dismiss his other half.
Julian didn't know if he'd be able to put up with Sands arguing with himself, no his other personality, much longer. Especially when that other personality answered back. "Tell me what you've done, or I'll call security and damn the consequences," it was an empty threat, and Sands caught it.
"You wouldn't do that, Julian. You value your own life too much. So, you don't want to wait for the evening news? Fine, I'll tell you what we've done. Mostly because I know you won't go to the cops, and second of all, the cops already know what I've done. The CIA some fucking how, too. Anyway, as I said before, I woke up in bed next to a dead woman this morning. A beautiful girl by the name of Yvette. Well, she had been beautiful before Jeffrey went to work on her, anyway. Do you think you might have gone a little far on that one, you psychotic bastard?" he asked aloud.
"No, not really. And what are you complaining about? It's not as if you care. And don't call me a psychotic bastard you sociopathic fuck," Jeffrey sneered.
Sands sighed, "This can go on for quite awhile, forgive us. We don't exactly get along yet. Anyway, dead girl in the bed, name of Yvette. She also unfortunately worked for the CIA which is why I've got them on my ass too."
"What, what did you do with her body?" Julian asked softy, horrified at the scene before him.
"Oh, it's dissolved into nothingness along with a transvestite I killed in a bathtub in a particularly seedy hotel room in the middle of downtown DC. So no worries there," he said with a smirk.
"And how many other people have you," Julian took a breath to calm himself, "have you killed today?"
"Let's see," Sands said, looking thoughtful. "There was the old woman Jeffrey set on fire in the restaurant, that's the story you're likely to see on the evening news, Mrs. Marta Sprout, the owner of said restaurant and the one who tried to turn me into the cops and the CIA, and some nameless guy on the street that tried to beat me up," he looked thoughtful for a moment, "You know what? I think he was the bartender of the restaurant as well. Huh, that explains a few things. So only," he counted off fingers, "four today."
"And what makes you think I won't turn you into the cops?" Julian asked, cursing the wavering of his voice.
"Because Julian, if you did that, the number would be five," Jeffrey said with a menacing smile. "And you don't want that, do you?"
"Oh don't listen to him," Sands reassured. "As long as you play nice, we'll have no reason to kill you, savvy?" Sands paused a moment to consider what he had just said. "Damnit, Jeffrey. Now you've got me saying that ridiculous word too," he grumbled.
"You could really do that? Just kill me?" as soon as he had asked the question; Julian had known it was foolish. The man or men rather, in front of him would not hesitate to end his life should he displease them. It was not a comforting thought.
"As I mentioned before, I seem to have killed my own parents, Julian. The man and woman who brought me into this life, such as it is, and raised me. I killed them both without hesitation. Now what makes you think I wouldn't do the same to you in a heartbeat? I don't even like you," Sands said with a sardonic grin.
"Fine, I'll help you. But for God's sake, could you lay off the conversations with yourself, with Jeffrey, with whomever the fuck he is for awhile? Or else I'm going to go bloody insane."
"Sure thing, Julian old pal. We'll be good, promise," Jeffrey said in a tone of voice that implied he planned to do nothing of the sort. Julian just sighed in resignation.
"Would you like me to show you to your room?" he said, and Sands smirked.
***
"And there's still no sign of him?" Roland asked brusquely, pissed off beyond all believe.
"No, none. If he's still in DC then we can't find him. He has to be somewhere else," Susannah gently informed him.
"Fuck!" Roland shouted. Sands had been within his grasp. What had happened? Where the fuck had he gone? Hadn't the DC police plastered his picture up on the side of a billboard by now after all that he had done? Good God, this was not happening.
"Don't you fucking yell at her, Rivers! It's not her fault that the bastard's slipped away. So he's a slippery one, I'll give him that, but that doesn't mean that we've lost him. He can't have gotten very far. Now use that brain you're so inexplicably proud of and think about this for one second. He couldn't have taken any of his cars; we've got surveillance on all of them. And you're required to pass through security at the airport, so what does that leave?"
"A train, the bastard's left on a train," Roland muttered, even more pissed off that he hadn't thought of such an idea before. "He had to have left on a train. Everything else would have been too risky."
"And give the genius a cookie," Emily muttered. Roland ignored her, the wheels of his mind now moving faster than he had time to express.
"It would have to be somewhere close, somewhere for him to lie low outside of DC for awhile. He knows we're after him. Susannah, check all the outgoing train-"
"I'm already on it," Susannah said, speaking over her cellphone as she called up DC information for a number of the train station.
Roland nodded and waited for her to finish, the energy he had felt upon seeing Sands in the restaurant flowing through his veins once more. 'The bastard may think he's gotten away, but he underestimates my persistence. I'll see him burn if it's the last thing I do.'
After a few long minutes of impatience, Susannah finally spoke again. "There was no record of a S. J. Sands or even a Sheldon Sands listed as a passenger for any of the trains that have left within the hour. But, there was a J. Sands on a train for Baltimore. Do you suppose it could be a coincidence?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," Roland muttered, his ice blue eyes going cold. "Pack your bags, kiddies. We're going to Baltimore," he snickered, and the chase had begun once more.
TBC
A/N: Well that was fun. How did all of you like Julian? Am I getting away with the addition of all these new characters? I sure hope so. Let me know what you think. Thanks!
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: Ok, know this; I've never been to Baltimore in my life. I'm making up the geography of the city as I go along. Special thanks to Halia for betaing, and also to her and Sara for their help on making Julian the arrogant bastard he is today. Thanks!! And to all of my lovely, lovely reviewers, you guys make my day, truly. :-)
Rating: R for naughty language, and graphic violent imagery. Enjoy! ;-)
Chapter Nine: Deepened Psychosis and New 'Friends'
Sands stepped off of the train and onto the platform as he surveyed the city around him. He had never actually been to Baltimore before, so this was an entirely new experience.
'I still can't believe you wouldn't let me kill that guy,' Jeffrey grumbled. 'He deserved it.'
"Just because he nearly dropped his suitcase on our foot is not reason enough to kill him, no matter what you might think. Dear God, is that all you ever think about? Killing people?' Sands questioned under his breath.
'Pretty much. And don't forget, idiot. I'm still you, technically. It's all you ever think about too.'
Sands didn't have an answer to this. He truly had forgotten that Jeffrey wasn't another person for a moment. The realization that he was still a part of his own mind was sobering. He had killed quite a lot of people in the last few days, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care. Jeffrey had been right about that, at least. He was a sociopath, and he knew it.
'Of course I was right. I'm always right. Even when I'm wrong, I'm right,' he stated firmly.
Sands rolled his eyes at that, but it had been a good idea to get out of DC for awhile. He didn't like the shrewd look of intelligence he had seen in Agent Rivers' eyes, and from the way he had sounded on the phone, he wouldn't be giving up easily. "Where do we go from here?" he asked Jeffrey softly. "You're the one who seems to be running this show, not me."
'And as long as you keep that in mind, we'll get along fine,' Jeffrey assured him. 'Get to a phone booth. Maybe Manchester's listed.'
"What do you mean, maybe he's listed? You dragged me all the way here and you don't even know his address?"
'You don't know it either, so shut the fuck up and get your ass over to that phone booth,' Jeffrey said coldly. He didn't like being second- guessed.
"Fuck you," Sands grumbled, but did as he was told. He walked over to the phone booth and grabbed the book, flipping through the pages until he got to the M's. "He better be in here," he muttered as he scanned over the names.
'Manchester, Julian. 3476 Thunderclap Lane. Thunderclap Lane? Only the rich could get away with naming a street something so ridiculous as that,' Jeffrey muttered.
"What's your problem with rich people, anyway?" Sands asked, tearing the page out of the phone book. "We're rich. You insured that when you killed our parents," Sands said, his voice cold.
'Let's get something straight once and for all. I didn't kill our parents. You did. You burned them alive in your bedroom as they screamed at you to let them go. I don't think I could ever be that heartless, Sands. Congratulations. And I don't like the rich because they think they can have whatever they want and not have to work for it. People like that make me sick. I don't think Julian and I are going to get along. I seem to remember he was always an arrogant little bastard. I can't wait to meet him,' Jeffrey said sarcastically.
"It was your idea to come here in the first place, not mine. And you're lying about our parents. I may have hated them, but I didn't kill them. I would have remembered."
'You'd think so, wouldn't you? And yet you don't. You're in denial, admit it. I was around then, sure, I always have been, but you are the one you who tied their hands to the headboard, doused them both in gasoline, and threw the lit match on them, Sands. Not me. You didn't even bother to gag them, for Christ's sake. You stood there and listened to their screams as if you couldn't hear them at all. I may be a coldhearted bastard, but I am created from you, Sands. Don't forget that.'
Sands opened his mouth to comment, but the words wouldn't come. If what Jeffrey was saying was true, he couldn't remember it but if it was, dear God.
'Are you getting it yet, psycho-boy? Is any of this making its way into your half of our brain yet? As much as I might like to fuck with you into believing that I might be the real one and you're the voice in my head, that's not the case. I am a part of you. Every reaction, every word, every thought is something you will have thought, or have thought in the past. You always had the ability to kill, Sands, I simply brought that ability to the surface.'
"Shut the fuck up," Sands said, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples in a vain attempt to block out Jeffrey's voice. "I don't want to hear this," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Just shut the fuck up."
'No can do, you sorry son of a bitch. You need to accept a few things straight in our head or you're gonna crack open like a skull blindsided by a sledgehammer,' Sands almost winced at the image that phrase brought, but Jeffrey either didn't notice, or didn't care and went on, 'You need to accept me, first and foremost. I may not like you, you ungrateful bastard, but I'm stuck with you for better or worse, 'til death or strong medication do us part.' Jeffrey said, a bit of cynicism touching his voice. 'Second, you are both a psychopath and a sociopath at the same time due to me. I don't know if such a thing is even supposed to be possible, but it's happened. Accept it, go on a killing spree. Oh, you've already got that one well in hand, nevermind,' Jeffrey said, and Sands could feel himself smirking. 'Because you need to accept it, or you will crack. And it won't be pretty when it happens, believe me. I have no desire to see you lose it and get our ass locked away in some institution for the rest of our lives, savvy? Just keep that in mind, and we'll be fine.'
Savvy? What the hell did that mean? Sands thought to himself. He felt his eyes rolling. 'It means, 'do you com-pre-fucking-hend what I'm trying to say to you, you moronic bastard?'
Sands grit his teeth. "Yes," he said after regaining some of the tight control that had been slipping over his temper. "But let's make one thing absolutely clear right now. I do not need you. In fact, I'm probably better off without you, so *you* keep that in fucking mind when you start criticizing. Do you fucking savvy?"
'Savvy,' Jeffrey said coldly before reverting back to his usual cursing, cheery, psychotic self. 'Well this is fun. We seem to be at an impasse. All we need now is a gun in each of our hands pointed at our head and we'd have a genuine Mexican stand-off. What do you say we try it? It could be amusing to stir up the locals.'
Sands actually stood there a moment and pictured it; a gun in each hand, both barrels pointed at his temples, deep in an argument with himself in front of a group of terrified people...the image did have its appeal, he had to admit, if merely for sheer shock value.
'Does that mean we're going to do it?' Jeffrey asked, sounding almost gleefully anticipatory.
"No," Sands said at last. He could feel Jeffrey almost pouting. "As interesting as it would be, I don't like causing scenes. I know you do, but I don't. And besides, we just got here. We've plenty of time to cause scenes later, I assure you." Sands didn't know why he was reassuring Jeffrey, perhaps because he was in fact, reassuring himself, but it wasn't just that. Jeffrey had been right. They had to get along, at least some of the time anyway, or he would be torn apart. And that was definitely an undesirable outcome.
'You're telling me,' Jeffrey muttered.
"I really wish you'd stop doing that, it's rather annoying," Sands grumbled under his breath.
'What? Answering the thoughts you haven't said out loud? I can hear them, why wouldn't I answer them?'
"Because it's unsettling," Sands admitted at last.
'Unsettling? Because it's unsettling?' Jeffrey repeated incredulously. 'Dear God, but you really can sound like the rich snob sometimes. You think it's unsettling that I answer your unvoiced thoughts. Has it occurred to you that it's *unsettling* that I answer them at all?'
"To tell you the truth, I think I've gotten used to it," Sands muttered, unhappy with this realization.
'By God folks, I think he likes me,' Jeffrey said in a bad game show hosts' voice. Sands just rolled his eyes.
"If we're really going to meet up with Julian, we'd better get moving. I can't wait to see the look on the arrogant prick's face when he sees me at his front door," Sands said, smiling widely.
***
Julian Manchester was a self-centered bastard and he knew it. While this self-awareness might bother some, he was actually proud of his attitudes and feelings regarding his fellow man. He reveled in his ability to piss complete strangers off with just a few well placed and demeaning words. His favorite pastimes, other than that of course, were spending money and chasing woman. He had an ample supply of each.
He absently swirled his glass of single malt scotch as he decided what he wanted to do with the rest of his day. Halloween was tomorrow evening, and he'd have to start going through party invitations sooner or later to see if any of them were worth his attendance. He had put it off until now because he didn't like to rush anything he did. He liked to take the world at his own pace.
He picked up the stack of tastefully decorated black and orange envelopes piled on the edge of his desk where his butler had placed them and started scanning the names of the senators, local businessmen; all of Baltimore and the surrounding area's elite seemed to be throwing a party. But Julian knew he would attend only one. He pulled out a heavy black piece of paper, the inscription on the front in blood-red ink. It was tied shut with a piece of ebony colored silk, and it certainly had his attention.
"Mr. Julian Manchester, you are cordially invited to attend the Halloween masquerade ball of Sir Finlay McGovern at the McGovern Estates at promptly 8pm, 31 October 2003. Please RSPV immediately," he read out loud in the echoing confines of his study. "Sir McGovern's throwing a party this year? Dear God, I didn't think the arrogant old bastard even knew what the word party meant. Still, I suppose I'll have to make an appearance. A Halloween masquerade, huh? How pathetically old-fashioned," he muttered, gathering up all the other invitations in a hand, walking over to the 7 foot tall fireplace that took up nearly an entire wall of his study, and tossed them into it, the flames eagerly consuming the expensive paper.
He turned away from the fire to hear his butler's loud footsteps coming across the wooden floor. He had made them purposefully loud so he wouldn't accidentally startle Julian out of his thoughts. It was the mark of a man who knew how to serve, and how to serve well. Julian gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for discovering and employing such a man. "Respond to this at once," he said without preamble, placing the dark envelope in the butler's immaculate white gloved hand. "And tell Rachel to find a suitable costume for tomorrow night. She knows my tastes," he said casually in reference to his personal assistant. She even knew his sizes without asking before she'd reaffirmed that information more...intimately. The thought brought a smirk to his handsome face. "That will be all," he said, dismissing the butler with a wave of his scotch-laden hand, making the amber liquid come precariously close to spilling out onto the polished hard wood floors.
"Very good, sir," the butler said, and silently made his way out, the shoes that had made such noise on the floor almost completely silent.
Julian nodded absently and too a sip of his scotch as he watched the other invitations burn. Such an action would surely offend more than one of the sender should they have found out, but he didn't care. He cared about precious little in the world, actually. His money and his image were what mattered most to him. While for some men, a life that ultimately ended up cold an alone, Julian had always been surrounded by more than willing women. True, he hadn't actually loved a single one of them, but he was happy enough without such a primitive emotion as love, thank you very much.
Taking at long look at himself in a mirror propped up in a corner of the large study, it was little wonder women found himself irresistible. His dirty blonde hair was tastefully sculpted into a popular style, drawing attention to his strong jaw, high cheek bones and denim blue eyes that women seemed to especially love. He had often been told that he had a face than an audience would love, and he certainly enjoyed playing up that fact. He was vain, bordering on narcissistic, and he knew it. But again, he couldn't be bothered to care. Another extraordinary thing he seemed to have been blessed with was a British accent. He could never fully understand how American women seemed to swoon at even the merest of words out of his mouth, colored by his still thick accent even after spending nearly ten years in the United States, but he didn't question it. He merely took advantage of its effects.
"What is it now?" he asked without turning as he heard his butler's loud walk once more.
"Forgive me for interrupting you sir, but there is a man in the hall to see you. He said he was an old friend of yours from Washington DC. Shall I send him in?"
An old friend of his from DC? That had to mean from grad school, but he didn't have any friends from there. In fact, everyone there had hated him. They had also respected him, but the hatred was the chief emotion. The thought made him smirk. "What did this friend say his name was?" he asked slowly, annoyed that his butler hadn't mentioned it right away.
"Pardon sir, a Mr. Sands," he announced.
Sands..there could be only one man of that name with the audacity to show up at his doorstep now. If it were him, that manipulative bastard, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.
The butler nodded and turned on his heel, to bring back his visitor. He returned a minute later, a darkly dressed man following closely behind him. Julian narrowed his eyes slightly as the sight of him confirmed his suspicions. Sheldon Sands, although if he caught you using his first name to his face, you'd more than likely come away from the confrontation with a few missing teeth. Julian had always looked down on the man's inability to hide his emotions better than that. Glancing over the man's cool exterior now, it looked as if he had learned how to hide his emotions very well since he had last seen him.
"Sands, what an unpleasant surprise," he muttered under his breath before giving the butler a look that told him he wanted him to leave. Once the two of them were alone, Sands made himself at home in a large leather chair in front of the fireplace as if they were the old friends he had told his butler they were. Nothing could be further from the truth.
"Hello Julian, old pal. How's life?" Sands asked cheerfully.
"Cut the bullshit, Sands. What do you want? More money, is that it? You're not going to get one more red cent out of me you bastard," Julian said coldly.
Sands tsked, "Aww, and here it was that I thought you'd be happy to see me. Oh well. You want to know what I want? I'll tell you. I'm going to be staying here for awhile, and I want you to play the gracious host without whining."
Julian spluttered. Was he mad? He wanted him to do what?! "Excuse me?" he nearly shouted.
'Look at him, his face is turning red. I think he's a little upset with us, Sands,' Jeffrey commented.
"And what makes you think I'm not going to call security on you right now, you ungrateful son of a bitch?" Julian fumed.
"You didn't even know my mother. I seemed to have killed her long before we ever met," Sands said off-handedly. "But that isn't the point. The point is that I've still got power over you, Julian old chum. What would you say if I were to tell you that I didn't give you all the evidence I had on you?" he smirked, and Julian saw red, lunging at him quicker than Sands had time to anticipate.
Julian swelled in victory as he felt Sands' face jerk back under the onslaught of his fist. That feeling abruptly faded as he felt something cold against his throat.
Sands stood in front of him, an at least 6-inch blade held unwavering against Julian's throat. When he spoke, blood trickled down his chin from his now split lip. "If you ever touch us again, I won't hesitate to slit your throat. Do you understand?" his voice sent a chill down Julian's spine. The chill emanated chiefly not from the feeling of a bloody enormous knife at his throat, but from the fact that the voice didn't sound like Sands at all.
"Did you just say us?" he couldn't stop himself from asking, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down on the edge of the knife.
"Yes I fucking said, 'us.' You didn't answer my question. Do you understand what I asked you?" Sands asked viciously, pressing the knife even harder into the tender flesh of Julian's throat, spilling a little blood that made Jeffrey cheer. He had purchased the knife at a gun shop after he had bought himself a new black silk shirt. It was a shame there was a waiting period for purchasing handguns, but the knife was rather effective at the moment.
"Yes I bloody understand!" Julian moaned, blood running down his neck.
"Good," he said, finally easing the pressure off of Julian's throat. "Otherwise, I'll kill you. Don't doubt it."
"You're bloody insane, do you realize that?" Julian near shouted, holding a hand to his bleeding neck. "You fucking cut me!"
"Oh it's just a scratch, you pathetic bastard. And yes, we do realize that, but thanks for pointing it out," Sands said sarcastically. "And keep your voice down. You don't want to be causing a scene, do you Julian? You've never been one for causing scenes. I'm not sure I blame you. I don't like creating scenes either. But Jeffrey on the other hand, he'd love to kill you right now. But I hold him back because you're going to behave yourself, aren't you?"
'Dear God, he's completely lost it. Who in God's name was Jeffrey?' Julian asked himself, his hand still tightly pressed against his still-bleeding throat. "Who's Jeffrey?" he hadn't wanted to ask, hadn't wanted to risk Sands' wrath again, but he couldn't help it. He had always been too inquisitive for his own good. One of his few faults.
"Who's Jeffrey? Well that's easy, Julian. I'm Jeffrey," Sands said in that voice that clearly wasn't his again. "And I'm Sands," he said, sounding exactly as he had in school. The two voices were similar, obviously they would be if they were from the same person, but they were not the same. The first was deeper, more rough sounding than Sands' usual calmly toned voice. "And neither of us are Sheldon. We agreed that no one in their right mind, which we perhaps may not be, would choose that godforsaken name."
"Dear God. You mean to say, you're what, schizophrenic?" Julian whispered, unbelieving what he saw right in front of him.
"And he gets it on the first try, how about that? He doesn't seem so dumb after all, Sands," Jeffrey commented. "But look at him now; I think we've frightened dear Julian. Too bad," he snickered.
"There really are two of you, impossible. You weren't like this at school. Someone would have caught it. What in God's name has happened to you?" Julian asked quietly. He truly hated Sands for blackmailing him at school with pictures of he and one of the married professors in bed together, but he found he couldn't deny the horrified pity that filled him at such a sight.
"To tell you the truth? Neither of us knows. Or at least, if Jeffrey knows, he's not telling. This day has been fucked up from the beginning. Ever wake up in bed with a dead woman, Julian? Well, I have. Let's just say, it was a unique experience. Then Jeffrey made his presence known, and things kinda went full tilt after that," Sands said with a small smile.
"My God," Julian whispered, sinking in the seat next to the one Sands had reclaimed after removing the knife from his neck. "You need help," he muttered.
"Oh, we need more than that at this point, Julian buddy. Sands and I need a place to lie low for awhile, so to speak. I figure, since he's still got those pictures of you and the lady professor doing the nasty, and what a fine piece of ass she was by the way, you'll be more than willing to give us that help," Jeffrey said with a chuckle.
The entire situation was making Julian's head spin. Here he was, talking to two men sharing the same body. It was enough to drive him insane. "Why do you need to lie low? You have your own home, several of them in fact. Why here?" A horrid thought occurred to him, "What have you done?"
"He's a smart cookie, Sands. You'd better watch out for him," Jeffrey advised.
"I needed to get out of DC for awhile. As for what I've done? I'm sure it'll be on the evening news even here in Baltimore. Jeffrey created quite the little scene in a restaurant today, surrounded by witnesses. Not his most shining moment, but it worked in a pinch," Sands said with a smirk.
"Watch it, fuckmook. I got our asses out of there, remember? Rivers would have had you for sure had it not been for me," Jeffrey reminded him.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Sands said, waving a hand to dismiss his other half.
Julian didn't know if he'd be able to put up with Sands arguing with himself, no his other personality, much longer. Especially when that other personality answered back. "Tell me what you've done, or I'll call security and damn the consequences," it was an empty threat, and Sands caught it.
"You wouldn't do that, Julian. You value your own life too much. So, you don't want to wait for the evening news? Fine, I'll tell you what we've done. Mostly because I know you won't go to the cops, and second of all, the cops already know what I've done. The CIA some fucking how, too. Anyway, as I said before, I woke up in bed next to a dead woman this morning. A beautiful girl by the name of Yvette. Well, she had been beautiful before Jeffrey went to work on her, anyway. Do you think you might have gone a little far on that one, you psychotic bastard?" he asked aloud.
"No, not really. And what are you complaining about? It's not as if you care. And don't call me a psychotic bastard you sociopathic fuck," Jeffrey sneered.
Sands sighed, "This can go on for quite awhile, forgive us. We don't exactly get along yet. Anyway, dead girl in the bed, name of Yvette. She also unfortunately worked for the CIA which is why I've got them on my ass too."
"What, what did you do with her body?" Julian asked softy, horrified at the scene before him.
"Oh, it's dissolved into nothingness along with a transvestite I killed in a bathtub in a particularly seedy hotel room in the middle of downtown DC. So no worries there," he said with a smirk.
"And how many other people have you," Julian took a breath to calm himself, "have you killed today?"
"Let's see," Sands said, looking thoughtful. "There was the old woman Jeffrey set on fire in the restaurant, that's the story you're likely to see on the evening news, Mrs. Marta Sprout, the owner of said restaurant and the one who tried to turn me into the cops and the CIA, and some nameless guy on the street that tried to beat me up," he looked thoughtful for a moment, "You know what? I think he was the bartender of the restaurant as well. Huh, that explains a few things. So only," he counted off fingers, "four today."
"And what makes you think I won't turn you into the cops?" Julian asked, cursing the wavering of his voice.
"Because Julian, if you did that, the number would be five," Jeffrey said with a menacing smile. "And you don't want that, do you?"
"Oh don't listen to him," Sands reassured. "As long as you play nice, we'll have no reason to kill you, savvy?" Sands paused a moment to consider what he had just said. "Damnit, Jeffrey. Now you've got me saying that ridiculous word too," he grumbled.
"You could really do that? Just kill me?" as soon as he had asked the question; Julian had known it was foolish. The man or men rather, in front of him would not hesitate to end his life should he displease them. It was not a comforting thought.
"As I mentioned before, I seem to have killed my own parents, Julian. The man and woman who brought me into this life, such as it is, and raised me. I killed them both without hesitation. Now what makes you think I wouldn't do the same to you in a heartbeat? I don't even like you," Sands said with a sardonic grin.
"Fine, I'll help you. But for God's sake, could you lay off the conversations with yourself, with Jeffrey, with whomever the fuck he is for awhile? Or else I'm going to go bloody insane."
"Sure thing, Julian old pal. We'll be good, promise," Jeffrey said in a tone of voice that implied he planned to do nothing of the sort. Julian just sighed in resignation.
"Would you like me to show you to your room?" he said, and Sands smirked.
***
"And there's still no sign of him?" Roland asked brusquely, pissed off beyond all believe.
"No, none. If he's still in DC then we can't find him. He has to be somewhere else," Susannah gently informed him.
"Fuck!" Roland shouted. Sands had been within his grasp. What had happened? Where the fuck had he gone? Hadn't the DC police plastered his picture up on the side of a billboard by now after all that he had done? Good God, this was not happening.
"Don't you fucking yell at her, Rivers! It's not her fault that the bastard's slipped away. So he's a slippery one, I'll give him that, but that doesn't mean that we've lost him. He can't have gotten very far. Now use that brain you're so inexplicably proud of and think about this for one second. He couldn't have taken any of his cars; we've got surveillance on all of them. And you're required to pass through security at the airport, so what does that leave?"
"A train, the bastard's left on a train," Roland muttered, even more pissed off that he hadn't thought of such an idea before. "He had to have left on a train. Everything else would have been too risky."
"And give the genius a cookie," Emily muttered. Roland ignored her, the wheels of his mind now moving faster than he had time to express.
"It would have to be somewhere close, somewhere for him to lie low outside of DC for awhile. He knows we're after him. Susannah, check all the outgoing train-"
"I'm already on it," Susannah said, speaking over her cellphone as she called up DC information for a number of the train station.
Roland nodded and waited for her to finish, the energy he had felt upon seeing Sands in the restaurant flowing through his veins once more. 'The bastard may think he's gotten away, but he underestimates my persistence. I'll see him burn if it's the last thing I do.'
After a few long minutes of impatience, Susannah finally spoke again. "There was no record of a S. J. Sands or even a Sheldon Sands listed as a passenger for any of the trains that have left within the hour. But, there was a J. Sands on a train for Baltimore. Do you suppose it could be a coincidence?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," Roland muttered, his ice blue eyes going cold. "Pack your bags, kiddies. We're going to Baltimore," he snickered, and the chase had begun once more.
TBC
A/N: Well that was fun. How did all of you like Julian? Am I getting away with the addition of all these new characters? I sure hope so. Let me know what you think. Thanks!