(Well, the painting has gone more quickly than expected (amazing what an ol' cattle prod under the husband's bum can do to get things moving along! So it looks like we have another short chapter ready to go…)
Capt-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass & Midnightmuse: Again, many thanks! Yes, Sands the over protective parent… imagine what he really would do if a boyfriend came to call…
Chapter Twenty One:
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so
"So – how about helping the sight impaired guy get ready for his big day?" I ask Emma when we decide to call it a day on the book, right around six.
She hands the book back to me, "What do you need?"
"There should be black and red shirt in the closet – assuming Milo didn't lied to me about what I was buying," I wouldn't quite put it past him… I know how much he loves my wardrobe. "Could you find me that – and my black suit coat?"
"Sure."
I can handle the jeans myself – the black ones are to the left, the dark blue ones are to the right – I never wear faded jeans or any of those funky colours. I grab from the left-hand pile in the drawer and move on to find some undies in the next drawer down. Yes – my wardrobe for the day. And yes, a lot of thought has gone into it… "My stuff is on the left," I add to Emma, as I hear her approach the closet.
She chuckles just a little after opening the closet door.
"What?"
"Well – let's just say that I would have figured out for myself which side was yours."
"What does that mean?"
"For one thing – by black and red – do you really mean this thing that looks like it came off the set of a John Wayne movie?"
"That would be the one," I grin back at her.
Emma sighs – but says nothing. I hear her looking through the rest of my wardrobe. Everybody's a critic, I swear…
I excuse myself to take care of the basics of the morning – I'll shower after breakfast, but I'm one of those guys who just has to shave and brush his teeth first thing in the a.m. When I come out (having replaced the mask for sunglasses and pulled on a t-shirt in place of my bathrobe), Emma's sitting on the bed with Spencer (I know this because she is murmuring softly to him – I never will quite understand people who talk to animals.) "So what do you feel like for breakfast?" I ask her, anticipating a fairly swift response… I mean, it's not a difficult question or anything…
But no, she's doing that quiet thing again – like when I first brought her 'home' – and last night when she came in to make sure I was all right.
"I can't hear you shrug, you know," I manage not to snap at her.
"Sorry."
I sit down on the bed next to her. The silence that ensues is a whole different kind of awkward that – Christ, was it really only three days ago that we met? "So – you want to tell me what's on your mind – or do I have to start guessing?" I ask when I've had enough silence (trust me, it doesn't take long for me to have had enough.)
I listen as she takes a breath – finding her voice – and finally, "Are you ever going to show me?"
"Show you?" And then it dawns, "Emma – you don't want to see."
"You're right. I don't. But – I don't ever want to be caught off guard either. What if something happens and – I end up seeing on accident? Isn't it better for me to – know ahead of time what you've got under your glasses?"
"I don't have anything under them," the words just slip out, nice and cold, before I can stop them. And of course I instantly regret the tone I took as well as the words themselves – but – damn it, there just is nothing there. Nothing to see. Nothing to discuss.
"Nothing?" her voice is – small. Afraid. Not – not of me, I don't think – Christ, I hope not. Maybe afraid of – of what happened? Afraid because in her soft cozy world (well, ok, that's horse shit, her world was never soft and cozy, not with a mother who had lupus) but – in her world stuff like what happened to me only happens in the movies – and at the end of the scene, the actors get up and wash off the fake blood and go out for a beer. In real life – in real life, when someone takes a drill to your eyes, they drip down your face and are gone forever…
I find her hand and take it into mine, grateful that she doesn't pull away – in fact, she pulls a little closer to me and I warp my arms around her slim shoulders. "Em – come on, you don't really want to go there. You don't want to – see for yourself."
"I already agreed with you – I don't," she rests her head against my chest, "But – I – should."
"Just know that there is literally nothing there," I tell her in the gentlest tone I can muster – not exactly an easy task, given the subject we're discussing here.
"What – what exactly does 'nothing' mean?"
"It means – nothing, Emma – absolutely nothing."
"Have you considered – cosmetic surgery?"
"I'm not sure – there's anything that could really be done."
"At my old school I was in AP Biology – one of the things we covered was advancements in artificial eyes – sorry."
I guess she must've heard or felt as I swallowed that cold hard lump in my throat. Yeah, this is a real touchy subject… I wonder if there will ever come a day when it isn't.
"I didn't mean – I mean –"
"It's ok, Em," I pull her a little closer – I really have begun to truly enjoy human contact – at least with a few very select people. (I will never be that guy who can hug a complete stranger hello – unless it's to place the knife just so in his kidney – but having my kid in my arms, that's a pretty neat feeling.) "I've already had this conversation with – someone else. The problem isn't just popping a couple of glass balls into – into the ol' sockets, here," I say in a forcedly light tone. This is not the way I wanted to start today… or any other day for that matter.
"Then what is the problem?" she wants to know.
She really doesn't get it... I'm more than a little glad, although I realize it won't last long. Emma seems to be like me, she's not going to stop until she does get it…
"For one thing, I still wouldn't be able to see," I make the attempt at simple logic first.
"But – you wouldn't have to hide behind those glasses, either."
Oh well, I knew simple logic wouldn't work, but I had to at least try… "Em – when I say nothing left – I really do mean nothing." Come on, you're a bright little cookie, please don't make me spell it out…
And I listen as she quietly digests what I've just said…
"I keep trying to – imagine what it must be like – to – to be able to see one day and be blind the next – to feel like you always have to hide," she holds onto me just a little tighter. "I – I can't make myself grasp it – because – it's so much more than just being blind, isn't it?"
"Emma, I don't want you to grasp it – not ever." Because, yeah, it's a Hell of a lot more than just being blind.
"You were – conscious – when they did it, weren't you?"
Oh Christ… I want to lie to her. But I can't. I should. Maybe a better father would, but… but I know she'd see right through me if I tried and the one thing I do not want to lose is her trust.
"Yes."
She doesn't say anything – but – I think – is she crying or just shaking?
"Emma – it's over. I walked away – that's all that really matters."
"I just can't imagine something so – horrible –"
"Good. You shouldn't even try."
"How did you – how did you –"
"Survive?" I finish for her – I feel Emma's nod against my chest. "I got – lucky. For once in my life, I got lucky." I found someone who gave a shit about my sorry ass… someone who probably still cares about me… And there's that knife in my gut again… "I'll come back..." – "Please don't. I've had enough empty promises in my life." – "I know." – "What – does that mean?" – "It means I know. Ok?" – She hesitates for an awfully long time before I get a rather quiet, rather uncertain sounding Ok out of her. – "Ok," I echo. I press my lips to hers… "Come on," I say, forcing myself back to the here and now, "How about breakfast?"
She just nods and I feel her start to sit up, "I – I never did say think you," she says, catching me off guard yet again.
"For what?"
"I know you didn't come for me – but you didn't leave me there, either. I know suddenly becoming a father wasn't in your game-plan – but – I – thank you."
I think – I think I just don't know what to say, but I feel as if I really need to say something. "Plans change."
Plans change, promises get broken… even the promise not to break a promise… I will do everything that I can to get back as soon as I can – you have my word…
Emma takes Spencer out back for his morning constitutional while I get breakfast started.
Alison is my own sister, I practically raised her, and I – I used her without a second thought whenever it suited my needs. I never hurt her – but I used her. So what would I do to a woman I barley know? A woman with Beth's past – a – what did she say – like a bit of broken crockery, cracked, fragile… Beth has been hurt enough, she doesn't need a guy like me. She needs – she needs a guy like Milo, only straight. She needs someone who can take care of her – someone who can – who can fill all those hurt places inside with pleasure. Someone who can patch up the cracks in her heart. Someone who will give her everything she needs and more; someone who will give her everything she deserves.
Someone who can truly love her.
Someone – someone who's better than I can ever be.
And why do I have to keep justifying this to myself? What's a promise anyway? Just a few stupid words spoken in a moment of – of selfish weakness…
"Need a hand?"
I nearly jump out of my skin.
"You ok?"
Emma… "Yeah. Yeah, I was just – just thinking about today," I lie to her – but this is one she's likely to believe. "Come here," I motion her towards me… and I'm rewarded by the pleasant sound of a groan. "It's separating eggs, not brain surgery."
"I think I might do better at brain surgery," she tries to take the egg from my hand.
"Rule number one?"
With a heavy sigh, she washes her hands…
… After breakfast (which probably would have been better if I'd just made it myself… but flat omelets aren't the world's greatest disaster), I place my call to that school of hers. By the end of the twenty minutes they force me to remain on the line, I'm really glad I have something more pressing on my calendar today than marching down there and shooting someone. Hello, I'd like to report that my daughter is going to be absent today should not require an inquisition worthy of a seventeenth century Cardinal – or maybe Kramer and Sprenger themselves. It really shouldn't require a scheduled conference set for bright and early tomorrow morning either – but agreeing to one is the only thing that gets me off the phone, so – I agree to it.
"I told you that school sucked," Emma tells me.
"I'm going to go have a shower," is my curt reply. On my way up, I snag the portable CD player and put in my favourite CD… it is about the only thing that might have half a chance of getting my blood pressure back to normal in the next hour, which is about how long I have to get ready. I think I'm going to spend a half that hour of it under a very hot shower.
-------------------------------------------
"Milo told me there had been a – change – in your life," Marlina Eddas comments in a cool dry tone, as we walk down the steps of the townhouse. "Although he declined to tell me what it was."
I just smile. It's warmed up outside, the snow is gone… but it's early in the season – there's still a very good chance we'll have more of the white stuff for Christmas. "It came as a bit of a shock," I tell her honestly.
Eddas remains politely mute – I'm sure my little muffin came as quite a shock to her too – although Emma demonstrated that she was capable of being a very gracious hostess; Marlina Eddas arrived while I was still upstairs getting dressed. When I came down, I found the two of them having tea and chatting about innocuous things… Emma, it seems, is much better at small talk than I am. Or at least, she fakes it quite well.
"I'm parked just at the end of the walk," Eddas tells me – she's still a little uncertain around me – I'm not sure if it's me, per se, or if she would be this way around any blind man – or any blind many carrying loaded firearms…
I use the cane to find the car – I hear the remote lock beep and click and open the door to let Spencer in first. As I slide into the passenger seat, I slip the black cowboy hat and set it in my lap (come on, you had to know I'd be wearing it, today of all days). Spencer makes himself comfortable in back (Emma gave him a good brushing while I was in the shower) – and I am genuinely grateful that it shouldn't take us more than twenty minutes to get to our destination, because I'm quite sure Eddas wouldn't approve of my smoking in her car – and I already need another cigarette.
I listen – she gets in – but – hmmm… "Something the matter, there Boss?"
"This – new development in your life – does it change anything?"
Is that genuine concern I hear in her voice?
"Yes. It makes me more anxious than ever to get this situation resolved. Or are you worried about my willingness to put my head on the ol' chopping block, now that I've found myself responsible for such a charming young daughter?"
"It had crossed my mind."
I just smirk, "Lady – my head's on the chopping block no matter what. Don't worry – I'm still your rat."
She doesn't say anything – and I really wonder what Milo has said to her – because bless his heart, the dear boy does not approve of this part.
"Should I assume Milo filled you in on yesterday's developments?" I ask her – because – honestly, I don't think I want to discuss my personal life with my boss any more than absolutely necessary.
"Yes. I got the images via fax this morning. It's – useful –"
"But something Suarez could explain away pretty easily, I know."
"How dirty is she?"
"Other than the possibility of treason and maybe sedition against the Mexican government – I'd say she's no worse than me."
"You certain know how to instill confidence," she tells me – and I feel her easing onto the expressway.
"I figure there's no reason in bull shitting you at this stage of the game, Doll-face. You said it yourself, I am the scum of the earth."
"And didn't you try to overthrow the Mexican government?"
"No. I just tried to ensure that Marquez would over throw it. There is a difference, you know – and I thought I was supposed to get rid of Corazon. I certainly never had any intention of letting Marquez keep power – I just underestimate – or perhaps over estimated – one of my little pawns. Still – I suppose it all came out in the wash, especially since no one really wanted Corazon dead anyway." I really need a cigarette…
"Are you going to tell me you've never taken an independent initiative, Officer Sands?"
I favour her with a cute little half-smile, "'Course not, Boss – but I only go out of my way when it's of direct benefit to myself. Frankly, I could care less who sits on Mexico's 'throne.' They all look the same to me. Especially now."
I think – my little dig may have gotten to her… still got the touch…
"My office has been in touch with President Corazon over the weekend," Eddas' voice is like sandpaper.
"How bad is it?" My tone is casual – but – truth is I'm very curious… even if I'm not going back.
"I strongly suggest that you stay out of Mexico for the rest of your life."
We make the rest of the trip in tolerably comfortable silence. It's a short drive, even with morning traffic; all the same, as soon as I'm out of the car, I reach for my cigarettes.
"Nervous?" Eddas asks me.
I just smile at her, "I'm never nervous. I just like to smoke – and we all know that smoking is prohibited in federal buildings." And just about everywhere else these days. (Yes, I'm still bitching about that – just get used to it.)
"I have something for you," she says.
"Awww, gee, you shouldn't have," I reach out to take whatever it is from her…hmmm… "Not to ruin the moment, but I already have a phone."
"It's not a cell phone, it just looks like one. Keep it clipped to your belt."
"So what is it?" I ask, affixing it as requested – which probably surprises her. But I really do know how to play ball.
"It's like a tape recorder – but without the tape."
I can so see that she is just on the cutting edge… probably needs someone to program the VCR for her… "You want me to record my interig – er – interview?"
"Of course."
I think I may like working with this lady after all… "You realize it's going to be recorded anyway."
"I don't trust your superiors to give me an unedited copy."
"And this way you'll get to hear anything I say off the record," I add in a deceptively light tone. Yes, I am beginning to like this lady – but I also realize that giving her the unedited version of my debrief could get me into more trouble than I'm in already (yes, boys and girls that actually is possible…)
"Don't get the wrong idea," Eddas says to me…
I'm about to assume she means one thing, when I feel her hand press against my waist (well, against the 'phone') – nonetheless, "Jeeze, Darlin', usually I make a girl wait until at least the second date before getting fresh. Is it even appropriate, with you being my new boss and all –?"
Her exasperation is most audible. "It's recording now," she tells me in a very flat tone.
I knew that – my grin tells her so (not that I really think she thought I thought she was making a pass at me…)
"And yes – the idea is to also catch anything that is said off the record as well as to record your official debriefing and anything else that gets said regarding you, Mexico, Suarez or Collins. So, for the record, I'm going to repeat the fact that you have been given full immunity in exchange for your cooperation in this matter. Satisfied?"
"Depends on your definition for full cooperation," I say – hey, as long as we're dancing…
"What you're doing today. And the fact that you've come to work for my office."
Hmmm… not quite exactly our deal, but there are probably things she doesn't want on the record either. Ok, I can dig that. "So what's the battery life on this thing?"
"Twelve hours."
I just nod and flick my cigarette to the ground – listen for the hit – stamp it out with the heel of my boot. Wonder what Eddas thinks of that…
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," I slide the hat on and take Spencer's lead.
"Would you like – me to – "
I just smile – it's an almost-earnest smile (which I know has got to frighten her more than when I'm being flippant), "I've gotten pretty good at this." And besides – I want to make just the right first impression… so cane in one hand, Spencer's lead in the other, we head across into turf that is familiar to me, even blind…
…Getting through security proves mildly amusing. The metal detector probably lights up like a Christmas tree as Spencer I and march through (after I've – deliberately – bumped into the table where kindly obliging guests are asked to deposit their keys).
(I've already pegged that there are three people stationed here, two males, one female – she's wearing entirely too much cologne, so she's either old or young, I won't know until she speaks. I know from numerous previous visits that all three are armed – but not exactly dangerous. Ok, I look at 'dangerous' in relative terms, folks. So relatively speaking, what we have here are a couple of Cub Scouts and a Brownie. Like I said, it's a mildly amusing experience.)
"Um – we seem to have a problem here, sir, I'm terribly sorry," one of the young men says in a very sweetly polite tone – I do believe that he is down right mortified that the metal detector has reacted at all. "Maybe it's your cane –"
"Oh – right – sorry – " I respond in an equally apologetic (i.e. sarcastic) tone. I dig out my badge making good and sure that all three of them get a really good gander at what I'm packing. "My bad, I should have identified myself." I hand over my ID, just a few degrees off from where the nice young man is actually standing – he compensates without a word – but – that startled little sound coming from his throat just makes my day.
Eddas makes her way through the metal detector without any ado whatsoever (naturally) and mutters something not quite under her breath about not having all day as she comes to stand by my side. I do believe it's aimed more towards security than me – so much for me following her lead – oh well, she'll have her chance in few minutes. Hopefully… this really could take all day.
"Um – if – you could just wait a moment more – Officer Sands – I have to – make a call," says my mortified little security guy.
I shrug, "The lady says she doesn't have all day – but if you want to piss her off, be my guest." Then I turn to Eddas, "You know – that's a really very funny expression."
"What is?" She doesn't sound amused.
"That you don't have all day. I mean – really – you do have all day, and many more hereafter – you just don't happen to want to spend them here, cooling your heels here."
Her sigh is pure exasperation.
"Um – Officer Sands?" says my boy.
"Hmmm?" I turn my head almost in his direction (doing that Ray Charles thing again.)
"Um – Sir – Director Mitchel would like to see you. Now, Sir."
"Right, of course – I'm sorry, what was your name – you seem to have me at a slight advantage here, you see," I smile a smile that looks more forced than it really is – and I do believe that was a wince I hear, because you know what I said was no accidental slip of the tongue.
"Um – Roger – Sir – "
"We're on our way to see Director Mitchel," Eddas cuts in, in a sharp tone. "If you don't mind." I'm reasonably certain that's directed at Roger… and I almost feel sorry for the poor kid (his compatriots are be doing little more than enjoying the show – makes me wonder if this happens all the time...)
"Tell me, is that Roger something, or something Roger?" I ask, reaching out my hand to take my ID back from him (just a little off from where I know he is, of course.)
"Roger Dallas," he answers – placing the ID carefully into my outstretched hand.
I wonder what would this kid do if someone really dangerous walked through the door… I mean… well you know what I mean. I pocket it and turn to Eddas, "So, are we off to see the Wizard or what?"
She practically drags me to the elevators…
… "Are you always like this?" Eddas inquires, as the doors slides shut with a soft mechanical shhhhpf. (Funny, I'd never really noticed that sound before…)
"Like what?" I as in a tone of absolute (and absolutely feigned) innocence.
"That's what I was afraid of."
I chuckle, "That was just the warm up, Doll-face – we're on our way to the real performance now, and let me tell you, the critics in this town are a bitch."
"You must have been the class clown when you were in school."
That almost gets me laughing for real, "Quite the opposite. I was the quiet kid who sat in the corner watching everyone. You know, the way neighbours always describe serial killers after the fact 'he was such a nice, quiet young man' – well that was me."
"Would you characterize yourself as a serial killer, Officer Sands?"
Trying to get me to admit to something on tape – or just questioning the wisdom of being alone with me in an elevator… I wonder… "Tell me, which way is the wind blowing, do you know?"
"What?"
"You see, I am but mad north-north west – but when the wind blows southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw."
"I beg your pardon?"
I'm not quite sure if she wants to laugh – or have me committed… "Hamlet. Act two, scene – something or another."
"You – like – Shakespeare?"
I think what she means to ask is if I understand Shakespeare… and yes, yes I most certainly do… However, I answer the question she actually asked, "Just the comedies."
"Hamlet is a tragedy," Eddas tells me.
"Says you. I say it's a comedy."
I think she's very glad when we reach our floor…
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Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger are the authors of a 17th or 18th century manual on torture, the Malleus Malificarum – which just seems like one of those odd tidbits of knowledge that a guy like Sands might have stored in his head. ;-)
The chapter title is another quote from Hamlet… in other words, I was having a hard time coming up with a truly appropriate title, however I think the sentiment more or less covers it.