Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: Only Jeffrey, Roland, Emily, Susannah and all the corpses are technically mine, but I've always owned SJ in my dreams. Does that count?

Author's Note: This is it folks. The first part of the climatic chapter. It's been a long road getting here, and I'm certain it'll be a long way home.

Rating: R for extreme violence and naughty words.

Chapter Fourteen: As the World Falls Down, Part I

Roland stalked through the hallways back to his room, cursing when he bumped into Susannah, his door in sight. "I don't have time to talk to you, Agent Cartwright. Let me pass."

Susannah raised an eyebrow at Roland's use of her rank rather than her name, but didn't let it deter her. "Not a chance, Agent Rivers. Not until you tell me what happened between you and Emily. She's my friend and a good agent. I won't have you fucking up our chances of catching Sands simply because you two can't seem to get along," Susannah said, pulling herself up to her full height. She didn't even come close to matching Roland's superior height, but she was determined not to let it affect her. She wanted answers, and one way or another, she'd get them. She also noticed what seemed to be a fresh bruise on Roland's face, which made finding out what had happened between the two of them that much more important. She couldn't afford to sit around while they took chunks out of each other any longer. "Well?" she pressed.

"We got along too fucking well," Roland muttered under his breath before looking up at Susannah's glowering face. "I don't respond well to intimidation, Agent Cartwright. If you want to know what happened between Agent Brisbane and me, I suggest you ask her. Because you'll get nothing out of me."

"You stubborn, conceited bastard," Susannah said slowly.

"Be that as it may, I'm still not telling you anything. Good day, Agent Cartwright. Call me when you've got something relevant to say." With that, he pushed past her and entered his hotel room, slamming the door behind him.

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Susannah stared at the closed door of Roland's room as if she was trying to fathom its existence. "How dare he?" she muttered to herself angrily. It wasn't often that she got angry, but it did happen, and right now, she was livid. "We're supposed to be a team!" she called out to the closed door. There was no response from within. "If those two don't start getting along soon, I think I might go out and kill someone." With that, she set out to find Emily and figure out what the hell was going on.

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Emily was cold. Not that the pool room in which she still sat was chilly-it wasn't-but she felt it none the less. She watched as families with young children came in to enjoy the use of the pool, wondering vaguely what those parents might have thought if they had come in about ten minutes earlier. But such thoughts skidded across the surface of her mind; completely meaningless for the moment. She started at the rippling blue water of the pool, but didn't actually see it all. All she saw was the look on Roland's face as he fucked her. All she heard were the sounds of her own moans as she let him.

She sat in the same place Roland had left her, her hand still stinging slightly from where she had hit him, his response echoing in her ears. Lots of love to you too, baby. He had said, every word cold and laced with hate. She had sat there, wondering to herself, asking herself what she had done. She was still doing it now. She couldn't believe it. How had it happened? One minute everything had been normal, the next… She placed her head in her hands and wanted to sob, but the tears wouldn't come.

"Mommy, what's wrong with that lady? She looks sad. Is she sad? Maybe she would like some ice cream? That always makes me happy when I'm sad," a little girl's voice skirted over the edge of her consciousness, but she didn't look up.

"Leave the lady alone, Amelia. I don't think she wants you bothering her," a mother's firm yet kind voice drifted by. Again, Emily didn't look up.

Other voiced drifted by but she paid them no attention. It wasn't until she felt herself being shaken by an insistent pair of arms that she finally looked up. It was Susannah.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you?" Susannah asked in an irate voice, crossing her arms over her chest in an angry stance. "You want to tell me what the hell is going on between you and Roland?" Susannah asked, moving to sit on the deck chair next to the still silent Emily, trying to keep her voice down as they were in public. "Well? Are you going to answer me or are you just going to sit there like you don't understand a word I'm saying?" she asked angrily. They did not have time for this.

"No," Emily said in a small voice before Susannah pounced on her.

"No what? Is that all you have to say for yourself? No? We're on the hunt for a serial killer who's probably off adding another tally to his list while we sit here and argue like children. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to drag you over to Roland's room and force the two of you to work this out? Something I incidentally should have done long ago," she muttered under her breath.

"No, don't," Emily almost pleaded with her, the mere thought of having to face Roland again turning her stomach.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to follow through with that threat?" Susannah asked, intrigued by Emily's reaction at having to face Roland. Just what the hell had happened between the two of them?"

"I'll tell you. Just-just not here," Emily said softly, wanting nothing more than to never enter this place where her life had been so irrevocably fucked up ever again. She stood up off of the debauched deck chair and straightened her clothing once more, aware of Susannah's eyes upon her the entire time.

"Alright. We'll go back to the room," Susannah said with a slight nod, not pressing for more at the moment. Once they were in privacy, she would ask her questions. And by God, she'd get her answers.

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"Just put the gun down and go back into the fucking house. You don't want to get our ass shot or thrown into jail, do you?" Jeffrey tried to reason with Sands.

"I really couldn't give a damn," Sands said with a cheerful smile. "And if you're so worried why don't you head back without me?" he said, snickering. "Oh wait, I guess that won't work." The snickering turned into full-out hysterical laughter. Sands had clearly lost it. "I guess you'll just have to come along. You can watch. I promise I'll put on a good show," he said with a quick nod.

"This is not fucking good," Jeffrey muttered under his breath, watching as Sands strode out from the house and into the public, not even bothering to hide the gun.

"Fuck, there aren't that many people out," Sands said with a slight pout.

"Well it is still rather early in the day," Jeffrey responded automatically before cursing himself softly for encouraging Sands.

"Hmm, you're right. Thanks. I guess we'll just have to go somewhere where there are more people. We wouldn't want all these bullets to go to waste. That would be stupid," he said with a nod, as if his explanation were the clearest thing in the world.

"Fuck this. Sands, at any other given time I'd be happy to tear the fucking town to shreds with you, but right now isn't the fucking time. You're not in your right mind. And in being that way you aren't thinking clearly. I will not spend the rest of my fucking life in an institution just because you feel like turning fucking kamikaze."

"I'm not in my right mind?" Sands repeated with an air of incredulity. "Jeffrey, as long as you're around, I'll never be in my right mind. You do realize that, right?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Fuck that. Just go back to the fucking house and calm down. I refuse to just sit idly by and let you destroy us."

"Jeffrey, you haven't got a fucking choice."

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Roland sat on the bed in his hotel room and went over again and again what had happened between him and Emily in his head. It all seemed like a dream. Not necessarily a bad dream-except for the ending, that was-but a dream all the same. It couldn't have really happened. That single sentence echoed through his mind, but there was no substance behind it. It had happened. He had slept with Emily. In public. He had thrust into her over and over again, bringing them both to release when they could have been caught at any time. He wished now that that had happened. That they had been interrupted before thing could go any further than they had.

There's no fucking use in thinking about that now. He thought to himself, rising to his feet. It happened. It's too late for regrets. He sighed. It was true. He could either sit here bemoaning the fact that it had happened, or he could do something about it. He needed to talk to Emily. And he really didn't want to. After he had pulled on his dark suit coat he grabbed is .357 and stuck it in the holster at his belt and clipped extra ammo on the other side. He was a little over armed just to be going out to talk to Emily, but he had learned to be cautious. You never knew when you might be thrust into a situation where that caution was warranted. And with a serial killer lose in the city that had already tried to kill him once he was taking no chances.

With this thought in mind, he left his hotel room to face the consequences of his actions.

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"We're almost there. And then you're gong to tell me what the hell is going—" Susannah was cut off by the closing of a door down the hall and a gasp from Emily.

"I uh, thought that was going to be harder. To find you I mean," Roland said, seemingly as dumbfounded as Emily was. "Listen, Emily. I'm fucking sorry, alright? I was out of line."

"You were out of line?" Emily practically screamed at me. "First you fuck me, then you call me a cunt. Yeah, I'd say you were out of line, you miserable bastard!"

"Oh fuck you! As I remember it you fucking deserved that comment. But it doesn't matter, cause you fucking slapped me before I could say it anyway, so what difference does it make?" he asked with a sneer.

"God I hate you. I wish that bastard Sands had just killed you when he had the chance," as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emily gasped, as if she couldn't believe what she had said.

Roland went very still, not saying a word, just looking at her. Susannah was reduced to decoration by now. Neither combatant took any notice of her any longer. "And to think, I actually came to apologize. What the fuck was I thinking?"

"Roland, I'm—" Emily started.

"No. Don't even say it. Fucking forget it. You're a cold bitch, Emily. You always have been, and you always will be. And you know what happens to cold bitches? They die in their own arms, miserable and alone. Just fucking forget it." He stalked past her and Emily without another word.

"Oh God, what have I done now?" Emily asked herself hollowly, trying not to react to Roland's words. There had been enough heated words between the two of them to last a lifetime. There was no point adding to number now.

"I have no idea, but you're going to tell me what the hell that was all about and you're going to do it right fucking now!" It was Susannah's turn to yell now, and she wasted no time in doing so. She opened the door to their room and practically dragged Emily through it and sat her down on the bed. "I don't have time for this shit, Emily. We don't have time for this shit. Tell me what happened and hopefully we'll be able to track down Roland before he goes off and does something stupid."

Emily took a deep breath before speaking, not meeting Susannah's eyes as she spoke. "Roland found me where you did-sitting on a deck chair in the pool room. Only it was empty then, and I think he locked the door somehow," she said absently. "He wanted to talk, and for awhile we did."

"And then?" Susannah pressed at Emily's paused.

"He kissed me," Emily said softly. "And I kissed him back." She paused from going further with that line of thought and asked, "Did I ever tell you that he and I were lovers, Sus?"

"No, I think I would have remembered something like that," Susannah said absently. She wasn't really surprised though. The tension that had been between them for as long as she had known either of them had always been on the edge of sexual.

"A long time ago. I met him at the Farm during training. We were young and stupid. What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time. I don't really know why he broke it off-I never have-but it wasn't…on the best of terms."

"I hadn't noticed," Susannah said dryly.

Emily seemed not to hear her and went on. "I don't know why he kissed me. I don't know why I kissed him back, but before I knew it we were having sex right there on that fucking deck chair."

Susannah closed her eyes with a wince. "I don't suppose you used protection?" she asked softly.

"Protection? Hell, I didn't even take my shoes off!" Emily moaned, burying her face in her hands.

"I see," Susannah said slowly, not knowing what else to say. She supposed Emily would deal with a potential pregnancy if and when the time came. She hoped to God that it didn't.

"After that I was embarrassed, shocked. So was he, I think. We both said some things, it doesn't matter what they were, but that just made things worse between us," Emily said with a sigh, sill not looking up.

"I can imagine," Susannah said with a sigh of her own, trying to work out a way to fix this. "Alright, you two need to talk, obviously. Let's go track down Roland and you two can have your conversation. I'll play referee," she said with a weary sigh. "But this needs to be dealt with. Now. I don't care if you have issues; I don't care if you're carrying his goddamned child right as we speak. We do not have time for this right now. Do you understand?" Emily nodded. "Good. Then come with me. Let's get this sorted out while we still can."

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It was a little early to be drinking, all things considered-it was only about 9-but Roland could have cared less at the moment. He sat at the bar in the restaurant of the hotel and the only thought that kept running through his head like a mantra was the need for a drink. So he sat, nursing a single shot of bourbon and tried to figure out just when his life had gotten so irrevocably fucked up. He was just about to start contemplating this when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden blaring of the television turned on over the bar.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring this live story. An armed gunman has gone on some kind of rampage in the metro train station, shooting anyone and everyone who gets in his way. The death toll stands at 6 and is sill rising. The local police have been doing everything they can to bring this man down but as of yet they have been unsuccessful. Wait-this just in. The man has been positively identified as billionaire Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, of DC. According to police here and in Washington, Mr. Sands is a wanted suspect in the murder of at least 8 people. It would seem those suspicions were well-founded. We here at WOBN will bring more as soon we can in this terrible late breaking story."

"Oh, fuck," Roland whispered, not believing what he had just seen. Standing up from the bar he ran out, his tie flapping behind him, not bothering to pay for his drink or call Emily and Susannah. Sands had to be stopped. Now.

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"He's not here. I thought for sure he'd be here," Emily said with a frown, scanning the practically empty bar for Roland's dark figure. He was no where to be seen.

"I'll ask the bartender. If he was here like you say, then the bartender would have seen him. There's no one else in here," Susannah said, walking toward the young gentleman who seemed to be arguing with himself over something. "Excuse me, sir? We're looking for a man who might have been in here earlier. He's about 6'4'', blonde hair, dark suit?"

"Oh, you mean that fucking bastard who ran out on paying for his drink earlier? Why? Does he owe you money too?" the bartender asked with a scowl.

Susannah sighed and pulled a ten out of her wallet and laid it on the bar. "That should be more than enough to pay for his drink." The bartender moved to grab the ten and Susannah slammed a hand down on top of his, holding it fast. "There's another twenty in it for you if you can tell us where he went."

"I dunno, he went crazy after seeing something on the television," the bartender said with a frown, looking down at the money that remained out of reach.

"What did he see?" Susannah asked.

"What do you mean he went crazy? Crazy how?" Emily asked on top of her.

The bartender looked at both of them and answered their questions one at a time. "It was a news report. Apparently some nutjob started blowing people away downtown at the train station. Your guy just seemed to freak and ran out of the bar after seeing it."

Susannah had a sinking suspicion about this but she had to ask anyway. "You didn't happen to hear what the shooter's name was, did you?"

"Yeah, I have a pretty good memory and this one just seemed to stick. Sheldon Jeffrey Sands."

"Fuck," Emily whispered.

"What? You two know this whacko too?" the bartender asked curiously.

"We're the ones chasing him," Susannah responded, giving the man his money. "Thank you for your help." Dismissing the bartender, she turned to Emily. "We've got to get to him before Sands does."

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"Stop this, you fucking psycho! You're going to get us fucking killed!" Jeffrey screamed as Sands reloaded the .45 and picked off a few more of the screaming members of the crowd that were trying their best to get away from them. Jeffrey had to admit; even under pressure-although he didn't seemed to be showing any outwardly-he was a good fucking shot.

"Why should I? Why should I do anything you tell me to do? I fucking hate you. Ever since you fucking showed up in my head my life has been nothing but shit," Sands growled after shooting a few more people. It was getting harder, they were beginning to take cover.

"How many fucking people have you killed already? Do you even fucking know? I think you've made you're fucking point. Let's just get the fuck out of here before the fucking cops get here. Which shouldn't be very long. Especially considering you've already fucking shot two. Cops don't look kindly on people who take out there own. There's a bullet with our fucking name on it out there, and I don't want to embrace it today, asshole. Not today."

Jeffrey's words gave him pause. How many people had he killed? He hadn't been paying attention. If they were in front of them, they died. It was as simple as that. He would keep killing them until either he was dead himself or out of bullets. Feeling the heavy box of ammunition in his left pocket, the first option was more likely at this point. "How many?" he asked, taking a shot at a cowering woman hiding behind a trash can. Unfortunately, he merely clipped her, probably shattering her collarbone. She would still likely die of blood loss, but the miss pissed him off.

"All together or just today?" Jeffrey asked, scowling.

"Don't fucking play with me, Jeffrey. I'm not in the mood. How many?"

"Not counting the people in fucking DC and at the party you've killed 10 if that woman you fucking just missed dies," Jeffrey said evenly.

"She will," Sands said absently. "Hmm…only ten? That's not nearly fucking enough. I'm not even out of bullets yet. Not to mention, the police have yet to arrive. You'd think they'd fucking be quicker than this."

"You're fucking insane. Do you want to die? Tell me the fucking truth, you asshole. I need to know if I have to fucking fight you. Because I do not want to fucking die. I have fought to long and too hard for this fucking life and I'll be damned if I give it up now."

"Haven't you been fucking paying attention?" Sands yelled. "You have no choice! As long as I'm fucking around you have to do what I want! And the only way to fucking get rid of me is to fucking kill yourself and you already said you don't want to fucking do that. It seems we're at a bit of an old-fashioned Mexican standoff, wouldn't you say, Jeffrey buddy?"

"Fuck you. I will not let you fucking throw this life away simply because you're having a bad fucking day," he said, grabbing the gun from Sands' hand and shooting the member of the press that had just poked his head out from behind a pillar in the throat and his camera man right through the lens. "12," he muttered after Sands had taken the gun back.

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Roland ran. He knew the train station wasn't far from the hotel, and he couldn't count on the length of time it would take to get there in a car or how many people Sands would have killed by then.

He could hear people yelling at him as he ran by, and he knew he must have looked like a madman. He was running full tilt dressed in a suit and tie, pushing anyone and everyone aside who got in his way. He would have had his gun out-he probably should have had it out-but he couldn't risk getting stopped by some well-meaning cop who was overly concerned about the gun wielding suit running down his streets.

"I'm going to shoot that fucking bastard myself. Please God; let me get to him before any of the cops can," he prayed fervently to a God he was hoping would be feeling vengeful. "Right between the eyes into that sick fucking twisted head of his. That's all I ask."

He sincerely hoped he wasn't running to his own death.

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"You're a fucking pussy. So what, there's a few cops out there. Stop fucking hiding and go out to meet them," Sands grumbled, pissed that Jeffrey was forcing them to hide underneath the ticket counter as bullets sailed over their head.

"A few fucking cops?" Jeffrey screamed. "You bastard! There's a full fucking battalion of them out there! God I fucking hate you! I wish you would just fucking die so I could get some fucking peace! You're insane! I may like to kill a few dozen people, sure but you just fucking killed 20 people and I can feel you wanting to shoot some more! There is no fucking way they'll let us live now."

"Stop being so fucking melodramatic. Everything will be fine, you'll see. And if not, we'll die. Who the fuck cares? I don't. I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of this life, I'm tired of the killing-but that seems to be the only thing I'm good at anymore, and I'm fucking tired of you. I just want it all to end. And if this is how it's going to be, then so be it. I'm fucking ready."

"Well I'm fucking not!" he yelled at his unhinged other half. The irony that he seemed to be the rational one for a change once again occurred to him, and he couldn't stop himself from giving a desperate laugh.

"Give yourself up, Sands. There's no where to go! You're fucking surrounded!" an irate voice came over a loudspeaker after the gunfire had stopped.

Sands rose up with lighting-quick speed and took out another cop before taking cover again as a hail of bullets once more assaulted their position.

"Fuck this!" Jeffrey yelled. "Listen up, you fucking cops and listen well. My name is fucking Jeffrey and I'm Sands' alternate fucking personality!" he had no idea if they would believe him or not, but he had to try. He'd be damned if died in this fucking train station. He had to escape somehow, and with the cops' current itchy trigger fingers, that would be more difficult than if they were trying to negotiate him out. "I don't want to fucking get shot, but I've got a fucking hostage!" That was true. There was a young woman at his feet that had been hiding here when he had rushed in. Sands had shot her in the leg, but Jeffrey convinced him not to kill her. She was currently huddled in on herself, not making a sound except for an occasional whimper.

"Release the hostage, throw out the gun, and we'll talk." It was a different voice this time, probably some kind of police negotiator. Where were his three CIA agents? Surely they must have known about this by now?

"I don't want to talk to you! Get me Rivers!" he yelled, not entirely sure why he had asked. He tried to convince himself that he was stalling, but in truth, he really wanted to talk to him. At least with him, he knew where he stood.

There was a fumbling of the blow horn as it was handed off to another person. "Give yourself up, you fucking psychotic bastard. There's no where left to run," Roland's cold voice echoed over to him.

"You sound pissed off, what's the matter, Rivers? And I'm fucking Jeffrey, not Sands!"

"You've killed 21 fucking people! Of course I'm fucking pissed off!" Roland yelled into the blow horn, his voice booming throughout the practically empty train station.

"Actually, I killed most of them. Jeffrey only killed two!" Sands yelled sullenly, after losing a fight with Jeffrey over the control of the gun. "You fucking knew this would happen though, so why don't you tell us why you're really pissed off?!"

"I'm fucking pissed off because I didn't get to you first," Roland murmured, his voice filled with ice.

"I see. Well, if they'll let you, you could always press the needle when they fucking execute us. Or do they electrocute people in this state?" Sands asked wryly. "Either way, I'd let you do it. We're old pals!" The giggle that Sands gave after that was nothing short of insane.

"He's fucking lost it! I didn't want to fucking kill any of those people! I just want to fucking get out of this alive! You want the fucking hostage? Fine, take her! I don't fucking care any longer!" He knew full well that he was probably throwing away his only bargaining chip, but what the hell else was he going to do? "Get the fuck out of here before I fucking change my mind," he muttered to the cowering girl. She looked up at him with wide eyes as if she didn't trust him. "Go!" he screamed. She ran pretty fast for someone with only one good leg.

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"Roland, thank God. What the hell is going on here?" Susannah asked, coming to his side, Emily hanging back a little, uncharacteristically not saying a word.

"That bastard Sands, or Jeffrey, or whatever the fuck he wants to call himself just killed 21 people. He's holed up behind that ticket counter up there. He's trying to negotiate," he said evening, not looking at her or Emily.

"Who is? Sands or Jeffrey?" Emily asked in a soft voice.

"Don't tell me you really believe that shit? That's got two personalities? Come on. It's a load of shit. Some line he's feeding us so that he'll spend the rest of his life in an institution rather than on death row," Roland said with a sneer.

"Somehow I think he'd rather be on death row than in an institution. But I suppose we'll just have to wait for him to make that decision for us. Won't we?" Susannah asked, her eyes cast toward Jeffrey and Sands' position, wondering just what the hell was going to happen next.

TBC

A/N: WHEEZE. FINALLY!! Goodness, this chapter took FOREVER to write!! I hope it was worth the wait. Part II won't take NEARLY as long to write as this one did. I'm on a role for once! And for those of you who may think this story's nearing an end…think again! -Merrie cackles madly- I'm no where near being finished yet! So please, send me your reviews! Hope you still like it! OH! And to ALL of my reviewers-past and present-out there, THANK YOU!! You keep this story alive.