Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland, Emily, Susannah and all others own me. I would never even attempt to claim otherwise.

Summary: Sands and Jeffrey, after having a good long homicidal run have finally been caught. So what happens next? And how the heck does a wanted psychopath wind up in the CIA anyway?

Characters: Jeffrey, Sands, Roland Rivers, Emily Brisbane, Susannah Cartwright, Dr. Claire Harrington

Author's Note: Finally, Sands comes back! All rejoice! Well, maybe not rejoice. There's much angst in store for him and Jeffrey, I'm afraid.

Rating: R for extreme violence, graphic imagery and language.

Chapter Seventeen: We're All Mad Here

Emily and Roland just looked at each other, looked at Jeffrey, and looked at Susannah, frowning in tandem. It was a bit unsettling to say the least. "Hello, Emily. Roland," Susannah spoke up. "Jeffrey's a little…out of it."

"So it would seem," Emily said dryly.

"Fuck, is he going to be able to tell us anything in this state?" Roland asked with a frown, moving a little closer to Jeffrey's side. The wide grin on Jeffrey's face gave him pause.

"He's already confessed to thirty murders, Roland. And I think he's telling the truth," Susannah said with a sigh.

"Oh!" Jeffrey spoke up suddenly, startling them all. "I remembered one you probably haven't found! Someone named…Halia. I met her on the way back from the Halloween party and killed in her home after fucking her. It's where I got the gun. She had it in her underwear drawer." He giggled. "Can you imagine that? A gun in your underwear drawer?" He snickered. "A pistol with your panties?"

"Yeah, hilarious," Roland said with a frown and a raised eyebrow before turning to Dr. Harrington who stood near the doorway, watching the proceedings with a detached manner. "What the hell did you give him?" he asked in sotto voice.

"Something to keep him calm," she said evenly. "I'm glad to see its working."

"Keep him calm? Good Christ, woman. This isn't keeping him calm; it's turned him into a fucking fruitcake! How are we supposed to trust anything he says to us in this state? He could be fucking imagining it all!"

"I don't like your tone, Agent Rivers. Mr. Sands is my patient. I've already gone over this with your colleague, Agent Cartwright. If you don't like my methods for dealing with him, feel free to leave," Dr. Harrington said haughtily, her arms crossed over her chest in an uncompromising manner.

"She's a real cold bitch, isn't she? Can I request another doctor? This one's broken." Jeffrey piped in with a laugh that Roland almost found himself joining.

Dr. Carrington didn't even bother responding to that. She just ignored Jeffrey's off-hand comment as if he were something to be humored from time to time, but ultimately ignored. "I have other patients to attend to. You may have," she checked her watch, "exactly fifteen minutes alone with Mr. Sands. But if I find out that you are abusing your privileges in any way and thereby undermining my attempts to rehabilitate him, you will be escorted from the premises and not permitted to speak with him alone again. Do you understand?" She looked at each of them in turn sternly, before turning on a sharp heel and exiting the room.

"Psst," Jeffrey whispered. "Now that the cat is away, the mice can play." He paused. "Not that I consider myself a mouse of course."

"Maybe a rat," Roland muttered under his breath. Susannah hushed him and moved closer to Jeffrey.

"Jeffrey, is there anything else that you can tell us? Anything at all?" Susannah asked in a quiet voice meant to be calming. Jeffrey smiled at her.

"Feel free to lock me up anytime, sugarbutt. You too, darlin'," he directed toward Emily, giving them both a leer and pulling against his restraints in a writhing, sensual manner. Susannah blushed, Emily just looked intrigued, and Roland looked as if he were about to shoot him.

"Cut the bullshit, Sands," Roland said with a scowl. "You're caught, you sick son of a bitch. And you're going to fucking fry. What do you have to say about that?"

Jeffrey seemed unperturbed about his impending death or consequent incarceration. "Cut the bullshit, Rivers," he echoed with a grin, still rocking against the restraints slowly. "Not Sands, not Sands, not Sands," he said with each pull against his bonds. "Sands left. He's a pussy. He abandoned me to this fucking place. Don't know if he's ever coming back. If he does, I'm going to beat the shit out of him for doing this to me. You hear that, you yellow bastard?!" he shouted up to the ceiling. "Come back," he moaned afterwards, the anger that had been in his voice seemingly nonexistent.

"It's as I said. You need him, don't you Jeffrey? He balances you, doesn't he? He keeps the two of you from falling apart," Susannah asked cautiously, looking down at the struggling man beneath her, the blush on her face a thing of the past. She had let him get to her. Such a thing wasn't going to happen again.

"No," Jeffrey moaned, shaking his head violently. "He left me! But I don't need him! I don't fucking need anyone, you bitch!" he hissed, pulling at his restraints once more as if he wanted to lunge at her and tear her throat out. From the look of utter rage that passed across his face, that was more than likely the truth. Then, as suddenly as it had happened, the rage was gone, and he stared up at the ceiling again with rolling, drug-glazed eyes. "I don't need him. Fuck, maybe he's not even real. Wouldn't that be fucking hilarious? Maybe I just imagined him and it's only ever been me all along. Maybe there is no Sands! Only me! Me, me, only me," he repeated over and over.

"That's where you've got it wrong, you bastard," Roland hissed at him, leaning in close over Jeffrey's restrained form. "You're Sands. You've never been anyone else. I don't for a second believe this 'I'm not Sands, I'm somebody else sharing the same fucking body' story, and neither will the fucking jury. I'll make sure of it."

Jeffrey grinned. "Bullshit. You believe me. I saw it at the party; your belief. You knew then as you know now that I'm telling you the truth. We are two. Separate, divided, split, and yet whole, same, one. Sands and Jeffrey. Jeffrey and Sands."

"Oh yeah? Well if that's true, then where the fuck is Sands now?" Roland asked coldly, a smug smirk on his face.

"Pacing, always pacing. Like a fucking caged tiger in my mind," Jeffrey murmured absently. "He's here…but not. He doesn't want to come out and play with the other kids. He doesn't like their games. He doesn't want to join in with their fun. He wants to make his own. And you aren't allowed to play. I'm not either," Jeffrey said with a sigh. "He's playing hide and go seek and someone forgot to end the game. He's still hiding, you see. Buried away where I can't get to him. But I know he's up there. If he wasn't…there would be only me. And the others."

"Others?" Emily asked softly, moving to stand at Roland's elbow near Jeffrey's bed.

"Of course. There are always others. Like me, but not. There are none quite like me. I'm special, did you know? None of the others have been able to take over like have. They have no voices. Only whispers."

"You mean other personalities?" Emily continued, casting a glance over at Susannah who caught her eyes and frowned thoughtfully.

"Oh come on. This is bullshit! Can't you see that he's playing you? This is all a fucking act!" Roland said irritably, his face filled with disgust.

Jeffrey laughed. "We're not in a china shop. No bulls here," he said gleefully.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Roland asked.

"The mad cannot be asked to interpret their madness. It would never work," Jeffrey said with a solemn shake of his head. "Confusion would abound and the madness would spread. Is madness contagious? Are we all mad here? Are you going to all end up in here with me? That would be fun, wouldn't it? I wouldn't kill you, promise. I'd be good." Jeffrey let out a little maniacal laugh. "Well, I don't think I can be good, actually. But I'd try!"

"Jeffrey, tell me about the others, please," Emily asked him gently.

"Others, others, lots of others. There are those that whisper, and those that shout. I don't like the ones that shout. They're ever so hard to talk over. I try not to pay them any attention. To pay them attention would be to acknowledge that they exist, and that would be bad. Very bad."

"Why would that be bad?" Susannah asked softly.

Roland stalked across the room and sat in a chair against the wall after Susannah's question, still disgusted with the whole conversation, but not bothering to comment on it any longer. Their time with Sands would be up soon anyway. He'd let them play out whatever fucking little game Sands was playing for now. But sooner or later he would cut through the fucking bullshit. Other personalities? Please. The guy might have a few fucking screws loose-you fucking had to to have killed as many people as he had-but it was nothing more than that. Sands was a killer and con artist. And not even a very good one, at that. Roland could see through his tricks. And he would make the other see through them as well.

"Don't ask questions to which you already know the answers," Jeffrey said with an irritated frown in Susannah's direction. "You're good at that; asking questions. Is that all you do?"

"Pretty much," Susannah said wryly. "Never seem to get the answers I want though," she muttered under her breath.

"Questions, questions, who's got a question? I've got questions, she's got questions, everyone's got questions. No answers, only questions. No resolution, only conflict. Conflict and discontent. 'Now is the winter of our discontent,'" he murmured, slumping back on the bed a little. "Have to fly. Can't go home but you can't stay here. I don't want to be here. Here isn't home. Home is where the heart is and I left mine in San Francisco. Never been there, but that must be where I left it because it's not here, right? Right?"

No one had an answer for that one.

WWW

Sands floated through the ether of nothingness and never wanted to return. The world was garish and bright and dangerous, and here he was safe and warm and without worry or fear. Here he was whole. Out there he was fragmented; insane and unable to get better. Out there he was a murder who had been caught and would be made to pay for his crimes. My crimes…how many people have I killed now? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? This is all that bastard Jeffrey's fault. If he hadn't shown up I would have been fine. I would have been free. I wouldn't have to be here. He wasn't even entirely sure where here was exactly; he just knew he was no longer in the world of the conscious and sane.

Sands looked over the world he had built up around himself with a discerning eye, taking in each and every detail from the thick Persian rugs under his feet to the warmly lit walls surrounding him covered in expensive pieces of art. If he were being honest with himself, the construct he had built up around him within his mind was a near exact replica of the mansion he had grown up in, save the presence of another living soul. He didn't let that bother him. He didn't allow reality to slip in in the form of one of his parents, or fire-blackened walls either. This was his world. His refuge, his safety. And yet, the walls were slowly crumbling down around him. He had been fucking besieged by that goddamned voice inside his head. Jeffrey was at the front gate with a battering ram, and he wouldn't give up until he had gotten through the front door and dragged Sands out into the real world again. Fuck him. I like it here. He wanted control? Will he can fucking have it. I don't want it. Control out there right now is a fucking joke.

Sands knew what was happening out there. He knew that Jeffrey had gotten himself fucking shot, caught, and drugged into near oblivion. That was another thing. As soon as Sands left the safety of his sanctuary, the drugs would affect him too. He would be just as lost as Jeffrey was right now, and t hat was unacceptable. One of them had to have a clear head if they wanted to get out of here. Wait, do I want to get out of here? Didn't I just want it to end before? Wasn't that why I left? He couldn't really remember. After leaving that woman's place, everything was pretty much a blur. He vaguely remembered bits and pieces-the phone ringing, walking to the train station-but nothing more than incomplete scenes in an already confusing play with too many characters. Unfortunately, as soon as he had thought of the image of a ringing phone, one appeared before him and began ringing incessantly almost immediately. Sands just stared at with irritation, his eyes going over the old-fashioned spin-dial, the spiraled cord that connected the parts of the phone, the nondescript colour.

He didn't want to answer it-he had a good idea of who it was on the other end and he didn't want to talk to him-but ignoring a ringing phone, especially one right in front of you, was something he had never been able to do. He just couldn't. It was one of his…quirks, he guessed. Even so, he tried valiantly to ignore it even as his hand was moving forward to pick it up off its cradle. Anything to stop that fucking ringing!

"Hello?" he asked slowly, prepared to move the phone away from his ear should the caller grow hysterical. He moved it away almost immediately.

"What the fuck are you doing in there you fucking pansy! I fucking need your help and you're just sitting in here in your fucking little house like a fucking child! Do you fucking understand what's fucking happening out here? We're fucking caught! They're going to fucking execute us, Sands! Get your ass out here and help me get the fuck out of the place!" Jeffrey shouted, his voice surprisingly clear and collected despite his desperation and the drugs running through their body.

"Who fucking cares if they execute us? I don't. It's better than the fucking alternative," Sands muttered into the phone.

"I fucking care! There is no goddamned way I am going to let these ignorant bastards win! No goddamned way!" Jeffrey seethed.

"What would you do even if you escaped, Jeffrey? They're fucking after you everywhere. And they're not going to stop. Ever. There are some things that fucking cops just can't get past, and the murder of lots and lots of fucking people is one of them. They're never going to stop looking for you."

"I wouldn't have gotten fucking caught in the first place if you hadn't decided to go all psycho on me, you careless bastard! This is all your fucking fault!" Jeffrey shouted.

"My fault?! Excuse me, but before you fucking showed up, how many people had I killed? None. You want to start pointing fingers, you'd better take a fucking look at yourself, Jeffrey."

"You fucking killed your parents with no help from me. In fact, if it wasn't for me, you would have fucking died with them!"

"They don't fucking count!" Sands responded petulantly. "And you didn't fucking do anything. You didn't even exist then. I got myself you. Not you. You didn't do anything."

"Bullshit! You were sitting there like the little mama's boy you are outside their fucking room, listening to them fucking scream. You wanted to hear them fucking burn, didn't you, you bastard? Well you got your fucking wish. How did it feel? I hope it was fucking worth it, because you very nearly fucking burned along with them. I got you out. Me. Not you. You didn't do jack shit."

"Fuck you! You've brought me nothing but trouble since you fucking showed up, you sick bastard! Fine, I've fucking killed, but who was the one that decided to have their fun with the corpse first? Not me. Who stabbed her a fucking few dozen times? It takes a special kind of psychotic to keep stabbing someone long after they're dead. But oh, that wasn't all. What happened to her eyes, Jeffrey? Why did you take them? What did you do with them?"

"I didn't like the way she was fucking looking at me!" Jeffrey shouted. "She deserved to fucking die! She fucking woke me up in the middle of the night while you were still fucking asleep, the fucking slut. She was all hands and mouth, moaning your name. Your name. Not mine. I got a little fucking pissed off at that so I fucking killed her." His voice was filled with wicked humor. "And I let her have her fun while doing it. Can you imagine? The feel of a warm wave of blood washing over your body as you're fucking and killing someone at the same time? It was the single most erotic experience of my life."

"You make me fucking sick," Sands spat out into the phone.

"Oh, is that right? I make you sick? Well, I've got news for you, you bastard. I came from you! I am a fucking part of you, as much as I might want to deny it sometimes. Everything I do, everything I am is a fucking reflection of you! So who's the fucking sick one now?"

"You, you, always you," Sands said without hesitation. "I'm not like you! I never was!"

"Just how many people have you killed, Sands? Do you even know? You've fucking killed more than me. If I didn't know that I could eventually take over that number and pass it I might be fucking pissed off at you," he said dryly. "Now are you going to fucking come out of there or am I going to have to break the fucking door down? It's your choice, you cowardly bastard. One way or another you're coming out of there, either by your own will or by mine. Personally, I'd prefer to do it my way, but I'll leave it up to you for…5 more seconds."

"Fuck you," Sands grunted into the phone with a scowl.

"Three more seconds," was Jeffrey's only reply.

"You're not going to fucking do any—" Sands was cut off by the sound of the door being broken down and the real world flooding in before he could stop it.

WWW

"--thing," Sands finished with a confused frown, taking in his surroundings. He seemed to be in a white room, laying on something flat, while people watched him. "Oh fuck. Real. Everything's real," he muttered, giving his head a brief shake in a vain attempt to clear out some of the drugged confusion he was feeling.

"One big happy family again," Jeffrey muttered.

"What the fuck just happened?" Roland asked suddenly. In the time it had taken for Jeffrey to retrieve Sands, the three CIA agents had seen quite a disturbing display. First, Jeffrey had closed his eyes and gone as still as if he had just keeled over and died. Then came the series of violent convulsions that had them all half running out the door to call someone, anyone, before they had stopped as suddenly as they had began. And now they were acting like nothing had happened.

"Sands decided to join the party. Bring the kiddies and enjoy the show! Say hi, Sands," Jeffrey murmured blankly.

"Caught. Fucking caught. All your fault, you bastard," Sands hissed to Jeffrey, nearly insensible with rage while Jeffrey seemed to not have a care in the world.

"I was behind the gun but I did not pull the trigger," was all Jeffrey had to say in response. "Oh! Did I tell you? We made a record! We should have a party! Where's my cake?"

"No more drugs for you," Sands murmured in response, still scowling at Jeffrey. His head still felt like it was on a fucking merry-go-round turning at supersonic speeds, but he wasn't as affected by the drugs as Jeffrey was. He wondered if there might be something to that. "Shot and caught. You fucking did that. Not me."

"Shot and caught, caught and shot," Jeffrey chanted, Sands' scowl miraculously changing into a manic grin and he Jeffrey spoke. The grin shifted back into a scowl in the instant Sands took over and turned to address his audience.

"Well look who it is," he drawled coldly, looking over the faces of the gathered CIA agents and wanting more than anything to rip each of them to shreds. Rage licked through him like tongues of fire and he pulled at his bonds. All of the rage that Jeffrey was currently unable to feel seemed to have funneled itself into Sands so that he was practically shaking with it as Jeffrey rambled on; oblivious.

"Sands?" Susannah queried cautiously before taking a step back as Sands turned his gaze on her, his eyes black with fury.

"Give the little bitch a kewpie doll," he hissed at her, his struggles against the restraints that held he and Jeffrey fast to the bed even more. His chest ached from the still tender bullet wound, but he paid it no mind. He was far too gone with anger too feel any pain now.

Susannah watched Sands pull at his restraints like a dog running against the length of its chain with something like grim fascination. The change from Jeffrey to Sands right before her eyes was nothing short of astonishing. Whatever doubts she had about the source of his insanity-and she was able to admit to herself now that she hadn't fully believed that he and Jeffrey were indeed two persons-vanished.

"Two persons; one body," Emily whispered, startling Susannah almost as if she had been listening in on her thoughts. The two women shared a glance and both of them took an unconscious and simultaneous step backward almost as if rehearsed. Roland on the other hand took a step closer, heedless of the dangerous man before him.

"And the true bastard finally shows its face," he sneered, looking down at the hissing and spitting man beneath him. "Does this mean you've finally decided to give up the fucking charade? Because honestly, I'm getting bored with it," Roland said with a slight frown, his hand absently reaching for the gun on his hip at a particularly violent reaction from Sands before it fell back to his side and he cursed himself for his jumpiness. There was nothing Sands could do to him. The only weapons he had at his disposal right now were his tongue and his wit. And Roland didn't think much of either of them.

"I'm going to fucking tear your head off and shove it back down your neck you piece of arrogant shit. And what I did to that darling cunt of yours Yvette will seem like child's play when I get out of here. And I will get out of here," Sands promised darkly, his eyes going black as chips of obsidian in his rage.

Roland's blood boiled, but he held back. He would just be letting this fucking bastard in front of him win if he struck him now, and such an action would only get his ass tossed out onto the pavement by Dr. Harrington anyway, so he kept a rein on his temper. Barely. "You're not going to get out, Sands. You're caught and there will be no escape, you fucking son of a bitch," Roland said evenly.

"There's always escape, my dear Roland. You just have to wait for the opportune moment," Sands said, a cold smile on his face as he looked over the room's occupants. He would escape. He could find it in himself to be patient if the situation warranted it. He would bide his time; make them believe he was cowed and harmless, and then he would strike. He was tired of pretending he was something he wasn't. He was tired of everyone looking at him without the fear that should have been chilling their bones. He was a killer; pure and simple. It was what he had been born to do and it was time the world started remembering that.

TBC

A/N: So sorry this took longer than I wanted to get posted! School started and robbed me of a good chunk of my writing time. I promise, however, that I will still keep writing the new chapters and trying my very best to post them within a week or so's time. Thank you for sticking with me. You guys are the best.