Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico story by Merrie

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses I'd sell mine and buy SJ.

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

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

Author's Note: A million, million times sorry for not having this up sooner. I blame Jeffrey. -)

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

Chapter Twenty-Two: Dealing With the Devil

This is a bad idea. Strike that. This is very fucking bad idea. The thought skittered across the surface of Sands' mind as he fled the two incensed CIA agents. With my fucking luck they're probably both expert marksmen as well.

Jeffrey didn't care about Sands' fears or even his thoughts. He knew only this: that he had to run. He would not pay attention to the throbbing in his chest, stealing each breath away before giving it back coated in the bright blood. He would ignore the furious shouts from behind him; the voices of the agonised left behind. He had killed their third and he knew they would make him pay for it if they could. The games had finally reached an end. The score was still being tallied. The crowd was going home and darkness was descending upon a field scarred by bodies and blood. It didn't matter. He had tired of the game. It wasn't any fun anymore. He didn't want to run anymore either, but he had no choice. It was the chase or death.

"You're rather be dead than caught, wouldn't you?" Sands asked breathlessly as they tore down the empty corridors as if the devil himself were hot on their heels. Roland Rivers was hardly the devil, but he'd send them to hell all the same were they caught.

Jeffrey didn't bother answering. His answer was clear enough. Sands knew that before the words had fully passed his lips. He just kept running, not bothering to speak. Speaking now cost oxygen they couldn't afford to spare. Not with the bullet biting, suffocating, killing. He could feel blood frothing on his lips now and knew he couldn't keep running for very much longer. He had to have some kind of leverage by then. Some kind of plan.

Detailed scenarios ran through his head at the speed of thought, the majority ended with a vision of himself lying in an ever-widening pool of his own blood as his eyes grew glassy and his breath short. His options were vanishing before his eyes and he could do nothing to slow them down. The world was spinning out of his control and he knew it. He could feel oblivion calling and he had to quicken his pace before he was crushed by the falling curtain.

"Damn it," Jeffrey murmured. His thoughts were running off with him, and he was becoming annoyingly verbose. He forced himself to narrow his focus to run, hide, kill.

A bullet whizzed past his head close enough for him to feel the sting of its path on his cheek and his focus was narrowed even more. The game had apparently not ended for the two CIA agents chasing him, and he now knew without a doubt that they were playing for keeps.

Roland cursed as his bullet missed its target, his face going tight with frustration and rage. While he was more than determined to capture and kill his prey, Sands knew he was running for his life and the sharp knowledge gave him speed and agility that he wouldn't have had otherwise. But even if Sands was running on pure adrenalin, he and Emily would run him to ground soon enough. Roland could feel it in his bones that this was the end. Sands would not get away from them again.

"He's bleeding heavily now," Emily commented, a devious grin marring her lovely features. If there was anyone else on this earth who wanted to see Sands pay for his crimes more than Roland did, it was her. At first, she had seemed almost cavalier regarding Yvette's death when it was clear to anyone who bothered to look that it was eating him alive. But with her, it simply wasn't there. She didn't show her grief like others did. She pushed it all aside with dirty jokes and thinly veiled innuendoes. That was just how she was. But now with the death of two of her closest, maybe even her only friends, she was out for blood.

Roland nodded in response to her comment, but couldn't stop himself from adding, "Just remember, a wounded animal will fight twice as hard as a healthy one will. And this fucking place is practically a den of bad hostage scenarios."

"I haven't forgotten," Emily said in clipped tones. She didn't appreciate him telling her what he already knew anymore than he would have. Roland understood this, but reminded her anyway. The last thing they needed was for this to turn into some kind of bloody shootout like the last time they had been faced up against him.

"Good," Roland answered in a tone to match hers. He hadn't been trying to upset or underestimate her; he just wanted to make sure where they stood. There was no room for error now and he wanted to make sure she knew that. He needed her to understand that. He needed her to understand that he couldn't lose her. He had lost too many on the very short list of those he cared for already. He tried to brush it all off like he was unaffected; like he was every bit as uncaring of their deaths as Sands himself was. Emily saw through that lie. She saw that he was barely holding onto his sanity in the midst of such overwhelming loss and rage, she saw that he needed his vengeance. She understood that need for she clearly felt it herself. She wanted to taste Sands blood as he did, perhaps even more. She wanted to see that bastard pay for the lives he had ruined. And she would.

WWW

"We are so fucked," Jeffrey was forced to admit as he wiped a trail of bloodied saliva from his chin. Its presence concerned him more than a little, the bullet in his lung grimly making itself known. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not fucking giving up or anything, I'm just saying."

"We have been in better situations than this, yes," Sands acknowledged, trying to ignore the pain coursing through him. He vaguely wished he had asked the doctor who had treated him for some painkillers, but he knew then as he knew now that he couldn't afford to have his senses dulled by drugs ever again. He needed the pain to help him focus on staying alive. The pain assured him that he still walked this earth. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't poetic, it was life.

"We're running out of bullets too, you know. If we're going to do something to get ourselves out of this fucking shitstorm we find ourselves in, it had better be quick," Jeffrey needlessly reminded him.

Sands didn't bother answering such an obvious comment, knowing they didn't have time to banter. He just kept running in the direction he hoped the exit was in. He might have stopped to glance at many of the directories he passed to figure out just where he was, but there was no time. He couldn't afford to stop now. If he did then it would be over. He refused to let it end like this; running through expressionless halls for his life, dreading, fearing the sting of a bullet tearing through muscle and bone without prejudice as one of his pursuers hit their mark. And yet…that would be a far preferable end to being caught. He'd rather go out in a blaze of blood and bodies than live the rest of his life in a white-walled prison somewhere. Maybe he could plead guilty and ask for the death penalty if that happened. Had anyone ever asked for the death penalty before? He didn't think they had. The idea was too ludicrous for anyone but the truly insane to consider. Sands considered it. He didn't know if Jeffrey agreed. He didn't care. Jeffrey didn't matter. It wasn't Jeffrey's life that would be at stake, it was his.

"Your life is no longer your own. It hasn't been for quite awhile now," Jeffrey said simply, picking up on Sands' thoughts.

"Fuck you. You're only a voice in my head that has caused me nothing but problems since I first acknowledged you. I should have checked myself into an institution or put a bullet through my head that day."

"Who's to say you didn't? Maybe you're in a hospital right now imagining all of this? Maybe they've got you so doped up that you can't even remember who you are let alone what's real anymore?"

"Why stop there?" Sands asked, bitterly going along with the game even though he knew he had neither the strength nor the time for this. "Maybe we're both figments of someone's twisted imagination. Maybe there is no Sands or Jeffrey at all. Maybe we're both disassociative identities of a disassociative identity. Ever wonder about that?"

"Can't say I have, actually," Jeffrey said honestly, amused where Sands was going with this. "And I can also say that I have never questioned my own reality. Only yours."

"Oh what, you think that maybe I'm a voice in your head? Please. You're deluding yourself. You're not real any more than the Tooth fairy or Santa Clause are. You're nothing but a figment of a fragmented mind, Jeffrey. That's all you ever were."

"'A figment of a fractured mind,' huh? I almost like that. It has a nice ring to it," Jeffrey said wryly. "Well no matter. It that title truly is fitting then know this: I might be a fucking figment but I won't stop until I've shattered your mind completely in preparation to take over. I can and will survive without you, but it's obvious you can't do the same without me. You created me, Sands. It wasn't the other way around."

"Then since I am your god, I will find a way to damn you should you go against my will, Jeffrey. Keep that in mind."

"If you're my god then I guess it's fortunate that I'm an atheist," Jeffrey growled at him. He had been about to go on when they suddenly found themselves in the lobby surrounded by a few armed guards and a great many terrified patients. He wasted no time in grabbing a young woman and putting his stolen gun to her head before the guards could pull their heads out of their asses and figure out what was going on.

"Let her go! Drop the gun!" was yelled among the din of all-out pandemonium. Men, women and children alike immediately began screaming and trying to flee the sudden danger they more felt than understood. The woman under his borrowed gun began to sob quietly, probably expecting to be killed any time now. It was ironic actually. She had probably come to the hospital to be saved or to see someone saved and yet here she was at death's very door. Life was funny sometimes.

"What do you think I am, stupid?" Jeffrey asked with a laugh. "Or better yet, do you honestly believe that that ever works? I mean come on. Honestly, you can do better than that. How about a 'drop the gun punk or I'll blow your fucking head off?' See now that I would respect. Well ok, I probably wouldn't respect anything coming from the two of you but you could at least put forth a little effort. This woman's life is in your hands and you're stuck on clichés. Pathetic, utterly pathetic."

"Jeffrey, shut up. You do realise that they won't hesitate to shoot us if they get the chance," Sands hissed under his breath, pressing the barrel of the gun into the woman's temple hard enough to elicit a whimper from her as he eyed the two security guards warily.

"Oh fuck them. They're not going to shoot us. They're too afraid they'll miss and take out pretty miss hostage here's pretty little head. Isn't that right? They don't want to accidentally splatter me with her brains in front of all these frightened witnesses." The woman whimpered louder at Jeffrey's callous words. "Hush now, dearie. It will all be over soon. I promise," he said evilly, grinning wide when she began to tremble in his arms.

Sands just rolled his eyes at Jeffrey's behavior and continued staring down the guards, wondering what would happen when Rivers and his red-headed whore showed up. He had thought they had been right behind him as he ran through the halls but apparently he had been mistaken.

"Maybe they got fucking lost," Jeffrey snorted.

Sands somehow doubted it but he couldn't help but smile as Jeffrey's infectious inappropriate humor filled him as well. "He's right, you know," he addressed the young woman. "This will all be over soon."

"Please let me go," the woman pleaded in a trembling voice. "I have done nothing to you."

"Now that's not entirely true. You got in our way," Jeffrey said with a sardonic grin. "But there's no need to worry, little lady. We haven't killed every person that's gotten in our way. Just most of them. And if you faint on me I'm most certainly going to kill you. And I'll make sure you're awake for it," he warned when he saw her face pale dramatically.

"Jeffrey, stop teasing her. If you're going to kill her, just do it. Don't play games."

"Let go of the girl right now you sick son of a bitch or I swear I'll put a bullet straight between your eyes."

"See, now that's what I'm talking about. Hi, Agent Rivers. Did you miss us?" Jeffrey asked cheerfully.

"Like a bullet in the lung. How's yours feeling by the way?" Roland responded coldly.

"I didn't know you cared," Jeffrey drawled before wiping at his bloodied chin once more.

Roland's gave followed the movement yet his gun never wavered from its aim between Sands' eyes. "I don't. I just want to make sure you don't die before I've had a chance to kill you myself."

"Oh I don't know about that. I think Miss Emily might be inclined to make you wait your turn," Jeffrey said with a grin as Emily strode up next to Roland, her own gun aimed in a lower yet no less fatal position as well. "Nice to see you again, sugarbutt," Jeffrey leered in her direction. "It's a shame I had to kill your friend. She tasted like strawberries. What fun the three of us might have had together."

"Speak about Susannah like that again, and I'll blow your dick off," Emily growled.

"Oo, feisty. I'd love a chance to break you, sweetness," Jeffrey drawled wickedly.

"Take one step towards her and you're a dead man," Roland hissed.

"And Rivers flies to the rescue as always. He seems awfully protective of your virtue, Emily. Are you two fuckbuddies now? Well fuck me sideways with a shovel. Look at him bristle at that. You are! I must say, I didn't see that coming. How long has it been since I killed your last lover, Rivers? Days by my reckoning. Unless you were boinking Susannah too. If so, then it hasn't even been an hour yet. In either case, you seem to go through women like a fifty-cent whore. What the fuck do you see in him? Does he give good head? Is that it?" Jeffrey laughed. "Look at his fucking face. I think he wants to kill us despite our pretty miss hostage."

"Enough of this," Sands said firmly, tired of all the games. "We're going to walk out of here without incident. Do understand? Unless you want this girl," he tapped the barrel of the gun on the woman's temple for emphasis, "to be yet another on the list of people you've gotten killed for fucking with me then you're going to do what I say." He raised his voice to address the frightened crowd around them, patients and doctors either too scared or to sick to do anything but watch, "You hear that everyone? This woman's life is in his hands. Introduce yourself, Rivers. No? Fine. He, ladies and gentlemen, is Agent Roland Rivers of the CIA. He's been chasing me for quite awhile now, and he's gotten quite a few people killed in the process. If you don't want to be one of those people, don't let him come after me. I swear to you that I won't kill a single person in this room if you just let us leave. That includes you," he said to his hostage. "This young woman's life is in your hands too. And none of you want to see me put a bullet between her lovely hazel eyes, do you? What is your name?" he asked her directly.

"Cl-Clara," the girl stuttered.

"And how old are you?"

"S-S-Seventeen."

"Clara, aged 17, about to be shot because of an overzealous pair of law enforcement officers decided they rather see me dead than take your safety into account."

"Please," Clara implored Roland and Emily softly as the two security guards had already lowered their guns. "Don't let him hurt me."

"Damn you, Sands," Roland hissed becoming acutely aware that every eye in the room was fixed on he and Emily.

Sands couldn't help but smile at the predicament he found himself in: a known killer becoming the good guy in potential victims' eyes just because he knew how to bargain better than the CIA did. It was nothing short of hilarious, to say the least. He forced himself to drop the smile and grow serious once more, however. It wouldn't be prudent to allow his audience to see just how much he was enjoying this. He might have lost their fragile favor if that were to happen. "Put down your guns, let me walk out of here and no one will get hurt. Not you, not Emily not Miss Clara here, no one. I just want to leave." He coughed violently again, spitting out a wad of blood on to the floor that made everyone within line of sight wince in disgust. "As you can see, I'm probably not going to get very far anyway, so what do you have to lose?"

The look on Roland's face was one of picturesque rage, and Sands very nearly smiled again to see it. The CIA officer looked back and forth at the enraptured crowd, knowing they would hang him were he to take the shot anyway. He probably could have made it-he was a near perfect marksman-but even if he did, the people in this room would see his career ended. The parents of the young hostage would no doubt sue for willful endangerment or some such bullshit and suck him dry of ever last dime as well. Was all of that worth taking one man down? Before he could come to a decision, Emily made it for him by lowering her gun. He had no choice but to follow suit.

"Good," Sands nodded, disbelieving of how well this was going. "Now drop your guns to the ground and kick them toward me." He didn't plan on picking either of them up; he just wanted them far away from itchy trigger fingers. Roland and Emily gave a seemingly choreographed scowl but did as he ordered. Once the two handguns had slid across the polished tile floor to Sands' feet, he further kicked them away into a corner so Roland or Emily wouldn't be able to retrieve their gun and shoot him in the back once he had turned to flee.

Just don't turn your back on them. Easy enough, Jeffrey suggested. It won't be a surprise if you can see it coming.

Sands intended to do just that. He had no doubt in his mind that if given the opportunity, Roland would shoot him in the back as he made his escape. "On your knees, both of you," he further ordered.

"Why? So you can execute us both more easily? Doesn't sound very sporting, Sands," Emily said dryly. "Especially if you want the people in this room to believe that you want nothing more than to escape."

"You can go fuck yourself because I'm not doing anything else for you. IF you want to go, then fucking go. I'm tired of your games. Know this however, I will find you again and I will kill you," Roland hissed.

"You've had your chances, Roland buddy. You've failed each time. I've come closer to ending your life than you have mine," Jeffrey taunted, enjoying the way Roland's fair skin flushed in anger. His hand didn't move to the scabbed over cut across his neck though as Jeffrey made a point took at it, so he had to give him a little credit for that at least.

"I've fucking shot you in the chest. You don't consider that life-threatening?" Roland responded, quickly regaining his composure.

"So what? It's not such an accomplishment. Your trained whore put a bullet through my lung before I killed her and it hasn't stopped me any." Clara trembled in his arms at his words. "Oh stop your sniveling. I already said I wasn't going to kill you," Jeffrey said with an irritated scowl. "Well actually Sands did, so I could claim an out…" Jeffrey trailed off with a laugh. "Jesus, look at your face. I'm not going to kill you Clara, you amuse me too much."

"Just let her go, Sands. We're unarmed. You don't need her to get out of here," Emily tried reasoning with him.

"I'm Jeffrey, not Sands. I would have thought you would have been able to tell the difference by now. Oh well. Let it never be said that it takes a certain amount of intelligence to join the CIA. Hell, I bet I could join if I wanted to," he said wryly.

"You'd never pass the psych evaluation. Let alone the fact that you're a wanted serial killer might give the director pause," Emily said dryly.

Jeffrey just shrugged. In truth, he now felt the stirrings of a strong urge to prove her wrong because she said he couldn't do it. He had no real desire to tie himself to a faceless, boring branch of the US Government other than the thought that someone didn't think he'd be able to. He'd never been one to back down from a challenge. But that was neither here nor there. He had to get out of this fucking situation first before he could start planning his future. "Well it's been fun, but I'm afraid I must leave you all," he addressed the room at large. "Sorry to maim and run but you know how it is. Oh, and if you get a chance to talk to that bitch doctor of mine, be sure and tell her that if I ever see her again it will be in the mere moments before her blood is on my hands. Thanks," Jeffrey said cheerfully, backing towards the door, Clara in tow.

Roland clenched his fists at his sides in rage as he watched Jeffrey back out of the room. This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't allow it to happen. Not when he had been so close to bringing this monster to the end he so deserved. His eyes locked with the young woman's-Clara's-and as he glimpsed the utter terror and fear in her wide eyes he made his decision, hoping fervently that it was the right one. If it wasn't…if he was risking a young girl's life on a misinformed choice…well he didn't want to think about that right now. He steadied his now slightly trembling hands with thoughts of how many people he would be saving if he were to catch Sands now. And if there was to be once more innocent lost in the process…well the many outweighed the one. He had to believe that. He had to believe that he was making the right choice or else all would be lost and her death-if it came to that-would have been meaningless.

Hopefully moving faster than Sands could react, Roland's hand moved in his pocket to pull out the butterfly knife he had only recently started carrying again after Sands had almost slit his throat and flipped it open deftly. Taking a moment to pray that his aim was true and that he wasn't about to kill the young girl himself, Roland let the knife fly towards Sands retreating figure.

Before Jeffrey even had time to realise what was happening as his gun fell out of a ridged hand that seemed to have a knife through it, his hostage had fled and he found himself tackled to the ground. He only had moments to scream in pain and outrage at his wounded hand before he saw a strong fist coming into his line of sight and everything was darkness.

WWW

Consciousness was a passing dream; a memory maybe? He wasn't so sure. He knew nothing of time, of life, nothing. He thought he must know something about death because this was surely what it was; the never-ending void of nothingness. This had to be death. Heaven and Hell it seemed did not exist. Only oblivion embraced him now. Thought was insubstantial and inconsequential. Not that thought was needed here. He had dim recollections of faces and voices belonging to those faces but he couldn't grab ahold of any of them long enough to discern their meanings. Maybe this is what death was really like; separated by the thinnest of veils to reality, able to see and hear all just enough to know you were awake but not enough to do anything to affect anything. He hoped not. That sounded closer to his vision of hell than death. He'd rather an eternity of fire and damnation than one of helplessness.

"I think he's coming around." A voice floated through the veil, and he would have frowned if he could gather the strength. At least I have a body to frown with, he thought suddenly, even if it is a rather weak one at the moment. "Mr. Sands? Can you hear me?"

His almost-frown deepened. Who was calling him? An angel? The devil himself? He didn't bother trying to answer. Whoever it was could just go away and bother someone else. If this truly was hell, then they had millions upon millions of other condemned souls to torture. They could leave him be; for at least a little while, anyway.

"We know you're awake, Sands so you can cut the bullshit," a voice growled in his ear. "Your ass belongs to me now," it further hissed. "And God as my witness, I'll see you fry."

"DC doesn't have a death penalty," Sands said hoarsely, figuring that since the voice refused to leave him alone he had might as well talk to it. Who knew how long it would be until he heard another voice besides his own?

He could hear the distinct grinding of teeth and decided that that must not have been what the voice had wanted to hear. It didn't seem to deter him-him? Was the voice male-any however. "While that might be true, there's one in Maryland, you sick son of a bitch."

"But I thought I was already dead?" Sands asked the faceless voice confusedly. "If I'm already dead then how can they execute me? You're not making any sense, annoying voice. Go away and let me be."

The voice laughed then and Sands didn't appreciate that at all. "Open your eyes. You're not dead Sands, but once I'm through with you, you'll wish you were."

Sands didn't want to obey, but morbid curiosity got the better of him. His dark eyes reflected the too bright light of the room he found himself in and shut tightly once more before he could stop himself. He tried to rub at them but he found to his confusion and growing horror that he couldn't move.

"Yeah well we thought it'd be best to make sure you weren't able to escape a second time," Roland-he now knew it had to be Roland's voice even without seeing him-drawled bemusedly.

"What-what is this?" Sands asked, finding he could barely even turn his head to look at his captor. He didn't have to be able to look to know that his hands and feet were bound in five-point restraints and there was a belt strapping him to the bed despite the nauseating pain emanating from his chest where the bullet had been. He didn't feel as if he were about to drown in his own blood at any moment anymore, so he figured they must have taken it out. His hand was also screaming at him as well but not as loud as it probably should have been considering it had had a knife sticking out of it last time he checked, so that probably meant he was drugged to the gills as well.

"This, you sick bastard, is where I get to break you. While you are under medical supervision, that's true, I've given more leeway than you could possibly dream considering what you have done to the people of this hospital. It's never a good idea to bite the hand that feeds you, Sands. And an even worse idea to cut it off. And that bitch, Dr. Harrington isn't someone I'd want to get on the bad side of anytime soon. Too bad for you," Roland said mockingly.

"So what, you're going to torture us? Well fuck me sideways with a broken broom handle. I didn't think you had it in you, Rivers. I should have known you were just like me though. Who else would be able to catch us twice? Only someone who knows how we think because he thinks that way himself."

"You will be nothing when I'm through with you. You will be a broken, sniveling kid begging to be put to death. I promise you that," Roland hissed.

"Do you really? Promise? Does that red-headed firebrand of yours get to torture me too? Because I have to say, I'm going to enjoy that quite a bit," Jeffrey drawled, utterly undaunted by Roland's threats. Not able to raise their hands to protect themselves, they had felt the full force of Roland's blow, causing spots to dance before their eyes and their vision to double. "Oo, hit me again you big strong man," Jeffrey taunted. "You'll have to try harder than that if you want to get through the painkillers they gave me."

Roland did try harder; with pleasure.

"Oh I felt that one," Jeffrey said with a couple of blinks to regain his equilibrium after Rivers had sent his world spinning. "That was nice. Thanks. Does it feel good to beat someone who can't defend themselves? Do you get off on it? Look at your face, of course you do." That earned him another sock to the jaw. "Not to give you incentive or anything, but if you break my jaw I won't be able to plead my innocence at my trial. So could you keep that in mind? Thanks ever so. Oh and I'm sure the jury will love to see me beaten within an inch of my life. Think I could win them over? I can be very charming, you know. I would have them eating out of my skewered hand in no time."

Roland smiled, and it was a grim thing. "I can make sure your trial is pushed back until you're properly healed. Don't worry about that."

"Oh. Well I'm glad to see you're thinking ahead…" Jeffrey said slowly, his footing lost.

"Always, Mr. Sands. Always," Roland agreed before continuing to beat Jeffrey within an inch of his life. Sands for his part tried very hard not to scream.

TBC

A/N: Yes, I am evil. Yes, I know this. Thank you. -) Despite that, I hope you liked it. Thank you a million to all of you who have reviewed last chapter; Arenas, meow, Blue Trinity, JohnnyDEPPmaniac and AJB. This chapter is for you guys!