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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:11:40 GMT -5
Part III~*~ The thing about dreams was you either remembered them, you had vague flashes of the things they had held, you remembered having them but not what they had been about, or you didn’t remember them ever occurring at all. Unfortunately for Sands, he had a photographic memory. Dreams weren’t a rare thing for him to have, however. Although . . . perhaps ‘dream’ wasn’t the correct word to use. Especially since he never seemed to be able to wake up from one and not be coating in a cold sweat. This one, however . . . he could’ve almost considered it a dream. Almost. It was strange. Strange in the sense that he had had ones like it before, but strange because he hadn’t had one like this in a long time . . . He had thought his nightmares would have contained the sound of drills whirring, Barillo’s mangled face, and Ajedrez’s horrible smile, but no. In this dream he was a kid again. About the same age as the kid who had helped him out, actually; around eight or so. What was odd was . . . there he was . . . as a little kid . . . sitting on a chair, looking around as if waiting for something. Yet, he was his present-day self and he was just sort of . . . standing on the sidelines, watching his eight-year-old self wait. Sands was starting to grow impatient and, apparently, so was his younger-self. The eight-year-old boy had crossed his arms, leaned back in the chair, and adapted a bored look that Sands was all too familiar with. It was the look Lynné wore whenever people pissed around but never got down to business, and it was the look he wore whenever he was kept waiting. And vice-versa, he though absentmindedly. Finally, just when he was starting to wonder what would happen if he just up and left, a woman entered the scene. Sands had to check twice to make sure she wasn’t his sister, for the woman was almost an exact replica, save for a few deliberate differences. For one thing, she was about an inch taller than Lyn was, and she seemed older, too, like a Lyn in her late thirties. But the things that stood out the most were her eyes. They were not the dark, intense brown of Sands or his sister’s eyes, but a frosty blue. Even though she wasn’t his sister, he knew who she was nonetheless. She was, if possible, the first person he has learned to trust, Lyn being the second, Ajedrez being the third. And like the third, she was dead. Although, she appeared very much alive when she picked up his eight-year-old self, set him on her lap, and spoke. “Hi, sweetie . . .”<br> Younger Sands simply looked up at her, but after a moment, he smiled slightly and allowed himself to rest his head on her shoulder. Sands sighed, but then, he realized, at the same moment the kid had sighed as well. The woman looked down at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”<br> “I was stupid . . .” Sands found himself saying. And even though his younger self hadn’t said a word, and the woman didn’t look over at him, she seemed to have heard what he said. “How?” she asked gently. “How were you stupid?”<br> “I didn’t see it coming,” he admitted. “I got too thingyy for my own d**n good and then everything fell apart.”<br> The woman said nothing but merely stroked the little boy’s hair, nodding slightly. Sands took this as a sign to continue. “And then . . . her.”<br> “’Her?’” asked the woman, sounding slightly intrigued. “A girl,” he explained offhandedly. “It was nothing . . .”<br> The woman’s face was disbelieving, though she still did not look over at him. Annoyed slightly, Sands continued. “No . . . not nothing. There was something. And y’know what the worst part was?” He laughed humorlessly. “I trusted the pregnant dog. I allowed myself trust and was blinded by it. And now –" he gave another cold laugh, “ – I really am blind.”<br> Sands looked up at the woman for a fraction of a second before continuing. “So, yeah, I was stupid. I was a dumb*ss. A f*cking, arrogant dumb*ss who got what was coming to him.”<br> The woman sighed softly and held the little kid closer to her. “Oh baby,” she murmured sadly, “why do you beat yourself up like this?”<br> “I don’t know,” Sands said quietly, and in all truths, he didn’t. This was unlike him, [very unlike him. True, he was as unpredictable as they come but this didn’t make any sense. He at least always knew what he was doing but now . . . he didn’t have a f**king clue. Sands looked up at the woman again and, to his mild disbelief, he saw that she was staring directly at him. But it wasn’t the woman now, though the person in her place bore a remarkable resemblance. She looked younger, about an inch shorter, but the most distinguishable difference was her eyes. They were not the cold, icey blue the other woman’s had been. They had melted into a dark, nearly black color of brown. He could only remember knowing three people (okay, now it was down to two) with eyes that dark, though he was sure there were others. But the only people that stuck out in his mind besides himself were his father – and eyes were the only thing they shared in resemblance – and his sister, whose visage was uncannily similar to his. Sands did not know how long he looked into her eyes, only that the moment didn’t last very long. Soon the eyes lightened and turned into more of a honey-brown color. Her hair lengthened and curled slightly, changing from dark to light, reddish-brown. And then, her skin darkened. Instead of the pale peachy color Lyn’s s skin bore, it had morphed into the light tan of Ajedrez’s. And there the pregnant dog was, sitting before him with his younger self on her lap. Before Sands could react, she had disappeared, only to be replaced by a figure that he was certain would haunt his dreams for quite a while: Barillo’s bandaged face leered down at eight-year-old Sands, whose large brown eyes widened in horror. Sands made to run towards them, intending to do nothing more than bash what was left of the drug lord’s face in, but something was holding him back. He whipped around. And there was the good doctor himself. f**k that. He was no doctor. He was just some sick bastard who got his enjoyment from watching other people suffer. Even Sands couldn’t find much pleasure in that. Guevera smiled evilly up at him and raised his hand. In it was the thing Sands had been dreading. Oh, he knew it was coming, but that didn’t stop him from fearing it. The silver drill glinted in the light, its blades held stationary for the time being. He knew that wouldn’t last long. And before he knew it, he was screaming. So was his younger self. Sands looked over and saw that Barillo was holding the boy down while Ajedrez approached him with yet another drill. He was so caught up in watching them that he didn’t notice Guevera moving towards him. That is, until he felt it. The nonstop spinning of the drill in his head as it slowly turned his eyes to jelly. It wasn’t as painful as when it had happened the first time, when he had actually had his eyes ripped from their sockets. During that time he had known right then and there that nothing could be more painful than that. Not having your legs cut off right underneath you, not even being burned alive. Just when Sands thought he couldn’t take reliving the Day of the Dead one more time, he awoke with a start. Or at least . . . he thought he had woken up. For some reason he couldn’t open his eyes. He looked around, trying to find out where he was but it was useless. Everything was dark. This didn’t make any sense . . . Why, [why wasn’t he able to do something as simple as open his eyes? He had been doing it all his life, why should now be any different? Panting slightly, Sands reached out in front of him to find out if he could see his own hand. No dice. What . . . where – why can’t I . . .? he thought wildly, frantically waving his hand in front of him and disparately trying to see it. Ajedrez’s last words to him rang in his head. ' See anything you like . . . ?' No . . . Somehow an old picture had managed to find its way into Sands’ mind amid all the confusion. The people in the photo were all the wrong age. He had been eight and Lyn had been three when it had been taken, but now . . . in the picture they were no longer children, yet the woman who stood between them hadn’t aged at all. Of course she didn’t look any older, she was dead, after all. The first person he had ever trusted . . . that was the last thing to enter Sands’ mind before he turned over, and lost consciousness once again. ~*~ Well, that would be the end of another chapter, guys. Thanks for reviewing, I appreciate it! ^.^ And I'm hoping to have a new chapter up by Friday, so, R&R! Oh, oh! And one more thing I forgot to mention at the end of the last chaoter. That quote about breathing? Y'know, 'if you don't breathe, you die?' Yeah. That one. I must give credit where credit is due and said credit it due to Mr. Christopher Durang, author of the monolouge 'Laughing Wild' which is a wonderfully hilarious piece that I highly recommend. So get out there and read it now, kids! Thanks for reading!!
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:15:33 GMT -5
Chapter Six: Shooting Blind Part I This chapter is going to be a little different. Different in the sense that, instead of continuing with the story, we’ll be going backwards. ^.^ o.o It’s crucial to the story itself, however. Really, I don’t think the story would make much sense if I didn't write this chapter. Besides, it’s not like all of chapter seven will be taking place in the past. It sorta flips back and fourth, as you shall soon see. ~*~ God, it was dark. Really dark. And aggravating. Really dark and really aggravating, that pretty much summed up the position. WHY did the CIA always want them to practice in the dark? Because it’s good training for when you’re out in the real world, a small voice mocked. Oh yes. The company wanted to keep their agents on their toes and always ready for anything. The rule was to keep perfectly quiet, while still managing to look normal, and wait for someone to slip up. One single movement, one sound could give a person away. Oh . . . and there it was. Quicker than anything, in one smooth motion, a shot was fired. When the bullet hit its target, there was a resounding thud. But there was not time to pay attention to that. Another one had shown up. Ducking, jumping, and sprinting were all very difficult to do while trying to fire a gun, but a person can manage. And here was the proof: All of the targets had been hit, and in total darkness, too. However, one cannot assume that just because they’ve done well so far, that it’s all over. One is never out of the woods until you reach the edge of them, and even then you still have to keep your guard up. A person must always keep their senses alert. That was one of the main rules in the CIA. Made sense. And if one of the senses happened to desert a person, the other ones had better make up for it, ‘else, they’re screwed. Another sound, a few more shots. Oooh, right through the head, definitely. Ahhh, there was another one . . . these f*ckers just didn’t know when to quit, did they? Oh well. Their loss. Just point the gun, make sure your aim is right, and pull the trigger. Then, one listens for the person to scream in agony as the bullet pierces their skin, shoot them again, wait for the sound that tells you their body has hit the ground, then shoot them one more time, just to make sure they’re dead . . . “Sands!”<br> Oh, come on . . . not now . . . a few were still alive. “ Sands!”<br> Tearing off her blindfold, Lynné Sands whipped around to face her boss, i. e., an agent who was higher up than her, therefore making him her ‘superior,’ which basically told him to feel free and order her around. F*ck that. This guy may be higher up on the food chain than her, but he had a boss too, and fortunately, that particular boss was head of the CIA and he almost never had a problem with the way Lynné did her job. Almost. “What?!” she demanded, giving him a fierce glare. The man was nervous, and he just managed to hide it. “I think you got ‘em, Lynné,” he told her, motioning to the cardboard figures whose torsos were now sporting several holes. Suddenly, a new target shot up out of nowhere. Lynné, not even looking to see if her aim was right, fired. The cutout fell to the ground, a bullet hole going through its head. Lynné saw her so-called boss shift uneasily and she smirked. “What is so important that you felt the need to interrupt my fun, Latch?”<br> “You’ve got a new assignment,” he answered promptly. Lynné’s eyebrows arched. “Really,” she said coolly. “Where, pray tell?”<br> “Ah, well . . .” There was that uncomfortable shift again. Lynné felt herself sigh mentally. While she always enjoyed her gift of unraveling even the strongest people, it sometimes toyed with her patience. Her outward appearance merely showed unlimited patience; that didn’t make it true. “ Laaaatch,” she said, using her light sing-song voice. “Where am I going to?* Don’t make me start singing.”<br> He cleared his throat, buying for time. Clearly, he knew Lynné would not react well to hearing her new destination. “Well,” he began, “it seems that the drug problem down south is getting a little out of hand –" “Meaning sooner or later it’ll be taken over by some drug lord,” finished Lynné. “There’re just two questions I’d like you to answer for me, think you can handle that, sweetie?” she asked in a falsely kind voice. Latch’s eyebrows contracted as he scowled at her. “Yes,” he grunted. “Good.” She grinned. “Now, question one begins as thus: Who is this soon-to-be-all-powerful drug lord?”<br> “A man by the name of Armando Barillo, ring a bell?”<br> “Nothing’s a’ringing, Latch, except that that name sounds Spanish,” Lynné replied cheerfully. “On to my next question. Where exactly is this drug lord gaining his power?”<br> Though I think I might have just answered my own question. Latch cleared his throat again before answering, “Cullican, Mexico.”<br> It didn’t take very long for his words to sink in, however, Lynné remained silent for a moment. Mexico? Mexico?? She didn’t even speak Spanish, for Christ’s sake! What the hell were these bastards thinking assigning her to Mexico? Soon, Lynné became lost in her own thoughts, blocking out everything else. She was so deep in concentration, that Latch didn’t want to interrupt her with the other part of her mission. “Lynné?” he asked cautiously. “What?” she snapped. “That’s not all I was supposed to tell you.”<br> “Well, Latch, I hate to sound pushy,” said Lynné, turning her back to him and raising her gun, “but I have a few more cardboard cutouts to ‘decorate,’ so if you don’t mind . . . get on with it, or f*ck off.”<br> “You’re getting a partner.”<br> Lynné didn’t respond, instead she remained frozen with her gun pointed at one of the cardboard figures she had been using as target practice. The things were supposed to spring out at you unexpectedly and you were supposed to shoot at them. Simple enough. Only thing was, you were blindfolded the entire time. Sighing, she turned back to her ‘boss.’<br> “Could be worse,” she said reasonably. “After all, it’s not like they’re gonna stick me with a rookie or anything.”<br> At these words, Latch preformed his nervous shift again. “Uhh, yeah . . . about that . . .”<br> ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:17:27 GMT -5
Part II~*~ Partner . . . PARTNER!? she thought wildly. What did those b*stards take her for? Lynné Sands was not something to be taken lightly, and the CIA knew this. Which is, more than likely, why you’re ass is being sent of to -- the voice snickered with mirth -- Mexico?? Lynné stormed through the office, paying no mind to how anyone reacted to her sudden fury. Passing through the sliding doors of the entranceway, she strode out to the CIA’s parking lot, intend of finding her car and making it back to her apartment without having to . . . take out her anger . . . on some unsuspecting person. They were idiots. They were all complete morons and she had taken them for just that the moment she had set foot into the headquarters of the CIA. But this was a bit much, even for them. They were fools to think that they could send some rookie officer out to some godd*mn town in Mexico and hope that they would both make it back alive. Now, if it had been a more experience person they were asking her to accompany, things might turn out differently. The worst her ‘partner’ would have come back to the States with was a missing foot or shattered nerves at the least. But at least they would have come back. This f*ckmook rookie, a newcomer to the biz, would eat away at her self-control. Most of these bastards either thought they were always right for some reason, pushed others around, or kissed *ss. For the most part, rookies usually had all three of these qualities rolled into one. And even on the off chance that this person wasn’t a stereotypical rookie, she still would not be able to cope with them. It just wasn’t her. She never seemed to get along with most people. She could read them; they couldn’t read her. Best to just keep things separate, and let everyone be. Just as she had reached her small, silver Corvette, a tentative voice stopped her. “Miss Sands?”<br> Oh God . . . not one of these little pr*cks who never called her anything but ‘miss’ of ‘ma’am.’ No way. If a person decided to call her that out of respect, okay, but she could not handle it if this guy was going to call her ‘miss’ all the time, not if they were supposed to go all the way to freaking Mexico together. Turning around slowly, exasperatedly, Lynné Sands said calmly: “The one. The only.”<br> The young man before her grinned, relieved. “My name is Liam Fusco, I’m sure Agent Latch told you already, but I’m your partner for the mission in Cullican . . .” And he immediately plunged into their mission and how he hoped they would get along well since that was one of the main things about having a partner. But Lynné wasn’t interested in this; it was all old news to her. After he had made certain that she wasn’t going to shoot him, Latch had told Lynné everything she needed to know about her assignment and partner. Speaking of partner . . . he wasn’t too bad. Not in looks, anyway. He was tall and slim with nice facial features. He had friendly blue eyes that made him seem anything but dangerous, unlike her, but she didn’t like hair. Its dirty blonde color was okay, but the rest of it was too short. She would have to do something about that. ~*~ That was nearly four years ago . . . Lynné lowered the book she was reading and looked across the living room at Liam, who sat in front of his laptop, typing away. He had indeed let his hair grow; it just brushed his shoulders now, though he hardly ever let it out of a loose ponytail. She had even goaded him into growing a small moustache and goatee to go with his hair. Now Lynné studied her partner intently. Yes . . . an improvement had definitely been made. But he still liked to spend much of his time in the evenings on that d**n computer. She sighed impatiently and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll be done in a second,” he told her, his eyes never leaving the screen. “This is –" “Say important, and I’ll break your fingers. And you can’t very well play Solitaire like that, now can you?”<br> “For your information,” Liam began, using a statement Lynné thought only popular amongst girls, “I’m not playing Solitaire.”<br> She raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing?”<br> “Talking to my brother,” he answered distractedly, going back to his typing. “That the one who’s a doctor?” she asked. Liam had five brothers. “Yeah, Adam.”<br> “What field’s he in again?” she wanted to know as she began to dive into her book again. “Well, he’s a surgeon,” replied Liam uncertainly, who had never been to medical school like his partner. “Actually, he was telling me about this new thing he’s been working on.”<br> “Mmm,” was all she said, then, “How’s it coming?”<br> “Well, it’s worked in all the animals they’ve tested it on so far.” Liam tossed an uneasy glance her way. Lynné had always hated animal testing, which was strange seeing how she never even flinched when she killed a person, whether she had to or simply on her own free will. That was the main reason Sands had rigged that bullfight he had gone to; he had only taken out bets to throw people off. “Mmm,” Lynné said again, once again engrossed in her book. Suddenly, she looked up. “What’s he experimenting with, anyway?”<br> ~*~ Mwahahaha . . . . I’ll just leave it at that, being the evil person that I am. Hey, I have got Sands as a head-voice, after all. And I know Lyn’s up there somewhere, as well. What did you expect?*’Where am I Going to?’ is a song from the musical ’Evita.’ I’m just borrowing it for this story cuz Lyn’s the little show tune fan in my head. I think she gets it from me, actually. 9.6;
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:20:45 GMT -5
Chapter Seven: The Morning After Part I Jack-voice is mad at me. He seems to think that, since I now have a title for my PotC fic, I should get to work on it. Oh, and I also had to hide his rum. Toulouse Lau-Trec-voice kept drinking it and he’s already a more than a little tipsy from all the Absinthe he tends to drink. 9.9 But mostly he’s mad because I haven’t started on the PotC fic. Oh, and he and Sands-voice aren’t the best of friends, if you catch my meaning, so that only worsens the situation. Nonetheless, Jack’s just gonna hafta wait his turn, cuz I’m onna roll with this! =D A/N: The writer would like to note that that introduction had nothing to do with the story whatsoever but it was in her head so she had to get it out. Plus, she didn’t know what to for an intro. Hopefully that won’t happen again, for all our sakes. Thank you. ~*~ When he woke up the next morning, Sands was met with an odd sound. It wasn’t the buzzing of drills or a former girlfriend’s voice. He had heard it before that he knew, but it still seemed new and different. Yet annoyingly familiar, he thought cynically. Still trying to place the sound, Sands gingerly propped himself up on his elbows, making sure to be careful with the left one. Vaguely wondering where he was exactly, he slowly began to review the events of the previous day. Most people in Sands’ condition would have wanted to do anything but recall that year’s Day of the Dead, but Sands was unlike most people. Right, I was an idiot, I decided on that last night, no need to think about it now. . . . Good . . . cuz I’m not going to. Mmm . . . . but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Of course you will, he agreed silently. Well y’know what? Go ahead. Knock yourself out. I’m not gonna stop you. Can’t even control the voice in your head? It tsked in disappointment. That’s kinda sad, I mean . . . I am you, after all. You’re a part of me, Sands corrected. There’s a difference. The voice sighed in impatience. And what part of you would that – God, can’t anybody do something about that godd*mn tapping!? Sands’ eyes would have lit with realization if they had not parted company with him. Tapping . . . Lynné tapped her fingernails . . . that's why the sound had seemed so familiar. And annoying. Don’t forget annoying, the voice put in. Yeah, but she only does it when she’s worried, he reminded himself. Ah, sh*t. That can’t be good. If I could only find out where the f**k she is . . . You didn’t seem to have any trouble locating sound sources yesterday, said the voice snidely. How can now be any different? Simple, he answered distractedly, I haven’t had any coffee yet. Oh you’re just hilarious, aren’t ya? Sands ignored the voice and thingyed his head in the direction he thought the tapping was coming from. It was near a wall somewhere . . . possibly next to the window . . . no, right next to the window, right in front of it. No . . . that wasn’t right. It was close, but it wasn’t right. It was almost as if she was standing right outside the window. But that was stupid; the spare bedroom was on the second floor. Oh Christ, don’t tell me she’s on the roof . . . She is? the voice asked, failing to keep all of the excitement out of its words. Oh, good. Maybe she’ll fall off. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.~*~ Lynné was indeed out on the roof. She had entered Sands’ room early that morning, intending to check on his injuries. However, waking him up had proved difficult. Sands was sleeping so deeply, she doubted he had been able to hear her. But for once he looked completely relaxed amid the turmoil that had been going on since The Day of the Dead, so she let him be. Deciding it was best to just wait until her brother woke up, Lyn began to pace the room, thinking rapidly. Somehow, she found herself out on the roof. She didn’t remember how she got out there, quite frankly. She didn’t even remember climbing through the window. All Lynné could remember was a class she had taken back when she was in training for the CIA. It was the defense class. The only one she actually acted like she was paying attention in. The teacher was an older man, a former agent, as a mater of fact. He certainly knew his nuts, Lyn had to give him that. The particular class that she was remembering went very well with the current circumstances she was having to deal with. ‘ Remember this,’ the prof. had said, ‘ always go for the eyes first. Just make sure the person you’re fighting is blinded. ‘ I don’t care what the hell you use,’ he continued, ‘ whether it's a knife, a drink, or dirt, it doesn’t matter. Just go for the eyes first.’<br> “Yeah, well . . . they did,” Lynné said to herself with a light laugh that lacked in humor. “They did what?” asked Sands as he gingerly made his way through the window and onto the roof. If it had been anyone else, Lyn would have stared in disbelief, but instead she shook her head at him. “No one,” she answered his question. “Just . . . thinking . . . about the past, training, and all that jazz.” Sands sighed and leaned his head back against the house. “What time is it?”<br> “’Round seven,” she answered. “Still planing on leaving?” Sands inquired. Lynné smiled slightly. “Always.”<br> “So . . . are you going to?” He was looking right at his sister now, even though he couldn’t see her. “Maybe,” said Lyn carefully. “It all depends on how things . . . play out.”<br> “Mmm . . . just make sure you know how to play the game. ‘Else you could find yourself in a nuts-load of trouble.”<br> Lyn quirked an eyebrow, leaning closer to him. “Believe me, dear, I know how to play.”<br> “Well good for you,” he snapped sarcastically and then went back to leaning against the house, brooding. Lynné closed her eyes and sighed quietly. This was going nowhere, absolutely nowhere. And she was growing tired of sitting and waiting and nothing else. If Sands was trying to make a point of something . . . “Sorry, Lyn . . .” Sands murmured quietly. Lynné leaned forward to get a better look at him, while she herself was completely startled. “What?” she breathed. “I said . . . I’m sorry, all right?” Sands said, sounding slightly aggravated. “I’m sorry, Lyn,” he said once more. “About everything. About not getting you out of here, about being a dumb*ss and landing you with my f*cking problems, about the . . . mistaken identity.”<br> “Oh,” Lyn murmured softly, sounding both bemused and perplexed. Such a strange combination of feelings for her to have. “Well,” she said after a moment, “I’m not going to say you shouldn’t be, just that I’m . . . a little astonished.”<br> Sands smirked a little. “Yeah . . . y’know, I think you’re the first person I’ve said that to in at least . . . what, twenty years?”<br> “Probably longer,” replied Lyn, nodding. “It’s probably just the painkillers I had to give you.”<br> Sands sat up and turned to the sound of her voice. “You gave me painkillers?”<br> “You needed them. And how the hell else d’you think you were able to climb through the window?” she asked calmly. “Oh,” he said, leaning back and looking slightly confused. Lyn was somewhat surprised that her brother didn’t seem more, well, pissed that he was once again hopped up on meds. The pills she had given him were certain to make him a little unfocused, which was the last thing he wanted at the moment. So why wasn’t he a little more –<br> Mmm, that’ll be the painkillers, she mused silently, realization dawning on her. “. . . so, yeah, it’s definitely the painkillers,” Sands was saying. She hadn’t even noticed that he had been talking. “Which is good, cuz I was starting to get worried.”<br> “Right, right,” agreed Lyn, staring out into the sky. The sun had risen only a few moments ago, tinting the pinkish sky orange with golden clouds. “Wait, you mean . . . you were worrying about yourself, right?”<br> “Yes,” he replied, looking at her strangely. “Why?”<br> “No reason,” she said, standing up carefully and dusting off her jeans. “Just shows me that your charming interior hasn’t changed that much.”<br> “Implying that it has changed?” he queried. “Did I say that?”<br> Before he could demand to know what she meant, Lynné had slipped her thin body through the window, and left the room. ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:22:12 GMT -5
Part II~*~ “Adam?” Liam asked hurriedly as he held his cell phone up to his ear. On the other end, his older brother ran his hands through his short, light brown hair, thoroughly confused. “Liam, calm down, you weren’t making any sense last night . . .”<br> “I know, I know,” he said quickly, wanting to get to the point. “My laptop froze and then I lost the connection entirely, but I needed to ask you –“ “What?” Adam demanded, then he quickly added, “ I don’t mean to offend, but I have a lot of patients waiting –“ “I know. I know you do. Listen,” Liam began, “you know that new treatment you’re working on?”<br> “Why wouldn’t I?” his brother asked, confused. “You said it’s been successful so far, right?”<br> “Well, yes, but only on animals,” Adam admitted. “Have you tried it on any –" he swallowed hard “—humans yet?”<br> His brother paused for a beat, his uneasiness cutting through the silence like a knife. “No . . . not yet. Why?”<br> “If I could get you a volunteer, would you be willing to try it?” Liam asked without any hesitation. Adam blinked. The Mexican heat must have gotten to his brother’s head. Either that, or he really did have a person willing to undergo the surgery. “Sorry, I’ve already got someone lined up,” he told Liam truthfully. “Oh . . .” said Liam, disappointed. “Well, when is you’re patient scheduled to have the surgery?”<br> “Monday.”<br> “Today’s Saturday . . .” Liam muttered more to himself than to Adam. “Okay, listen, could you phone me and tell me how it turns out?”<br> “Um, sure,” Adam agreed uncertainly. “Good,” said Liam, “I don’t want to tell her until I’m certain.”<br> “’ Her?’ Liam, where did you find a blind woman?” Adam demanded. “No! She’s not . . .” He waved his hand, exasperated. “It’s her brother.”<br> “Oh,” said Adam, “but there is a ‘her,’ then?”<br> “Yes,” answered Liam tiredly, “but it’s not like that, if that’s what you’re thinking –“ “Who’s thinking anything?” Adam asked innocently. “Adam –" But he never finished. At that moment, Liam saw two black cars pulled up in front of the house. Four men all dressed in black stepped out of the vehicles, each armed with a gun. Reaching for his own pistol, Liam called up the stairs: “Lynné!!”<br> “I know!” she yelled back. “Get ready!”<br> He heard the distinct sound of the safety being taken off a gun and then there was silence. Quickly scanning the kitchen and then the living room, he tried to see if there was any evidence that showed that he was housing two CIA agents, one of whom had been presumed dead for nearly three years. Nothing. No, there was nothing that held the slightest hint that more than one person resided under the roof of the Mexican-style house. Which was exactly as Lynné wanted it. She had planned this, Liam realized, she knew that she couldn’t keep hiding for ever, and that one day the CIA would show up on their doorstep, whether it was collect her or not. The doorbell rang; a knock followed. And there they were. The CIA. The Central Idiocy of America, as his partner had always called it. Liam smiled at the thought of Lynné and her knack for thinking up nicknames that fit so well with things even if they were slightly disrespectful. Trying to put on his calmest, most innocent face, Liam slipped his small gun into his pants (a habit he had picked up from Sands) and answered the door. ~*~ Hah, this thing’s just full of cliff-hangers, isn’t it? If you agree with me, then good! I’m doing my job well, then. As always, tell me what you think, thanks for giving this story a chance, and please await the next chapter. Merci beaucoup.
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:27:43 GMT -5
Chapter Eight: When Old Friends Come A-Calling ~*~ I’ve been thinking . . . . . in that last chapter, did it seem like Sands was getting a little out of character? I’m not sure, that’s why I’m asking. Same thing goes for Lyn. I know she’s a new character and it’s not like she really can be OOC because I could always say ‘Oh, that’s how I want her to act,’ but I don’t really wanna hafta say that. ^.^;; She pretty much is the female equivalent of Sands, so that’s why I’m asking about her as well. But, y’know, I think she would be a little bit more compassionate (strong word to use when discussing these two, I know) than her brother simply because she’s a girl and she’s younger and she hasn’t been completely corrupted yet. Albeit, Sands did say in the first chapter that there’s a decent chance that her mind has already been tainted. O.o Oy vey . . . ~*~ “Agent Fusco,” a tall, sinister agent acknowledged, nodding. “Agent Miller,” greeted Liam. The fact that he recognized one of them seemed to be the signal they were waiting for. As soon as the words left his mouth, two members of the small troop of agents walked past Liam without so much as a hello, and entered the house, one staying in the living room, the other heading off towards the kitchen. Taking his eyes away from them, Liam asked with false surprise, “What are you doing in this part of Mexico?”<br> “We’re here on important business and I advise you do not stand in the way of it.”<br> Once he began tuning Miller out, Liam took notice of the stern, no-nonsense faces of his fellow agents. Small yet muscular Conrad had accompanied Miller, along with powerfully built Bradley, whose seemingly unlimited height could only make Conrad appear shorter. They were the two who were now ferreting through his home as if they owned the place. Then there was Baronn, the only female of the bunch -- Liam tried not to laugh at the thought of calling these four that; it didn’t fit if you were addressing the quartet of imposing CIA agents (all clad in neat, business-like attires, no less) as a ‘bunch.’ Even Baronn, who would have been rather attractive if she ever managed to rid herself of that steely look in her eye, was giving off a frosty air. It was strange to think of frost at a time like this . . . they were in Mexico, after all. Liam forced himself out of his little stupor when he realized that Agent Miller was informing him of something that clearly held a great deal of importance. “I’m sorry, but could you repeat that?” Liam cut in, knowing that, if she could hear him now, Lynné would be slapping herself in the forehead and cursing him for not staying focused. Miller looked piqued at being interrupted and even more disgruntled at the thought of having to repeat everything he had just said. Nevertheless, he started to speak again, only to be cut short by Baronn. She smiled icily at Liam. “We’re looking for Agent Sands.”<br> Liam’s eyes widened slightly, and the four CIA members all distinctly saw the blue orbs begin to mist over. Miller and Baronn exchanged confused looks. They knew this guy was a little bit. . .delicate. . . . . .but tearing up at the very mention of a person’s name? Placing a hand to his mouth, Liam said in a horrified whisper: “But . . . but she’s . . . dead.”<br> “Oh, for the love of – not her!” Baronn spat, waving an impatient hand at him. “Oh . . .” he said softly, still looking deeply heartsick at the thought of his ‘former’ partner. “You mean –” “Sheldon Sands, yes,” sighed Miller, exasperated. “He was working with you, correct?”<br> “Well, we exchanged information,” Liam half agreed. “When did you last see him?” Baronn pressed on. “Uhh, day before yesterday, I think.”<br> “You think?” repeated Miller skeptically, “You mean to say you don’t know?”<br> “It’s my estimate,” Liam explained, not bothering to hide a glare. Meanwhile, Conrad, who had been searching the living room, stalked up to Miller. “Nothing here,” he told him shortly. “Not in here, either,” announced Bradley, who came striding out of the kitchen. “Well,” began Baronn with feigned sweetness, “perhaps you could try the other rooms.”<br> Simultaniously, Bradley and Conrad's caveman brows furrowed, but they weren’t the only ones who were glaring. Liam, sorely reminded of his partner’s casual and sarcastic drawl, shot daggers from his eyes at Baronn. “What exactly are you looking for?” he asked with measured calmness. “I thought that would be obvious.” Baronn blinked at him, her long eyelashes fluttering so much that they appeared blurred. Probably the false, stick-on kind, he thought sourly. “You think Sands is here?” asked Liam, his voice disbelieving. “Why?”<br> “We attempted to contact him once the rebellion in Cullican had begun,” stated Miller, “but since his line was in the middle of being changed, that was impossible. “Once the things had died down a bit, we had someone try to call him again. But instead of Agent Sands answering the phone, we got some crazy lady instead.”<br> Liam’s eyebrows rose. “Crazy lady?” he echoed. “Yeah,” said Miller impatiently, “actually, Latch – he was the one who called – said that it was at least four different women, but he thinks it might have just been the same person trying to throw us off.”<br> “She did throw us off,” snarled Baronn irritably. “Until we had that call analyzed, everyone thought it was six different people.”<br> Liam swallowed and gave silent props to Lynné for successfully managing to confuse the company. “You had the call traced, I assume.”<br> He didn’t like that smile that crossed Baronn’s face as he said that. “Of course we did,” she said pleasantly, “That’s why we’re here.”<br> “Um, with all due respect, Meredith,” Liam said, calling Baronn by her first name, “do I look like a woman?”<br> “You sound like one sometimes,” remarked Conrad as he strode back into the scene. Liam glared. He could admit that his voice went up an octave or two when he was in a panic, but only in private. Having the uncanny ability to raise ones voice to a quivering soprano made him a target for insults. Ever since he had learned of this, he had tried relentlessly to stay away from terrifying situations. Unfortunately, when dealing with Sands and Lynné, that just wasn't possible. “To answer your question, Fusco,” said Miller, boredom etched in his tone, “no, you don’t look like a woman. But you may be housing one.”<br> Liam’s eyebrows went up. “Really?” he asked, trying to sound surprised, interested, anything but guilty. “Well, as you already know my partner – former partner,” he quickly amended, “is, um, dead –” “We know that, Fusco!” Miller practically shouted, the fury in his voice caring throughout the house. ~*~ Upstairs, Lynné had to cover her mouth the stifle her laughter. Beside her, Sands smirked. “Sounds like the rookie finally managed to irritate someone besides you.”<br> “Yeah,” Lyn agreed, nodding, and then, as if addressing Liam, she said, “You have learned well, young grasshopper.”<br> Sands thingyed his head in her direction. “I didn’t know you liked that movie.”<br> “I don’t,” she corrected. “I just quote it – wait a minute.” She held up a hand to silence him, forgetting for one brieft moment that he was incabable of seeing the gesture. “That b*tch . . .”<br> ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:30:19 GMT -5
Part II~*~ “. . . always knew she’d end up the way she did,” Baronn was saying. “She had it coming to her, really, after all the things she did. Killing all those people . . . I can’t believe the heads of the company let her get away with that.”<br> “Yeah, I – I know what you mean,” agreed Liam not untruthfully. In all honesty, he couldn’t understand why Lynné’s badge hadn’t been taken away from her, or why she hadn’t been put in a psychiatric ward long before now. But he never wanted to see her sent to such a place, and here were these people, fellow agents, no less, tearing up a girl who they thought dead. It was downright disrespectful. “Yeah, but she always was a bit of a manipulator,” Miller put in. “Bit of one?” asked Baronn with disbelief, “Jesus, that b*tch could talk her way out of anything. And if that didn’t work, she could always shake her *ss; you know they'd let her off, the slu—” “Now, do you really wanna finish that sentence, Merie?”<br> All four of the CIA agents spun around to face the stairway, but Liam was the only one who was smiling. The remaining three gaped as the slender, fair-skinned, dark haired, gun-toting Lynné Sands was gracefully descending the steps with a falsely pleasant smile on her face and a small silver handgun in her hand, fitting her palm perfectly. “B . . . Beatrice?” Baronn gasped, her heavily lidded eyes wide with shock. “Lyn,” she informed the stunned Baronn, “or Lynné.” “They . . . I . . . told me you were dead,” her fellow agent finished in a rush. “Ah, well as you can see, I am very much alive.” Lynné gestured up and down her body to express her point. “Unless I’m a zombie and don’t know it, of course. D’you know if they’ve invented some kind of pill that’ll do that yet?” she asked, looking mildly curious as if she wasn’t intending to kill Baronn on the spot. Lynné acted as though she and Baronn were having a nice conversation instead. Baronn seemed to have found her voice; her heavily lidded eyes narrowed, but her ruby red lips twisted into a sneer. “I see ‘death’ hasn’t changed you. Still the same old pregnant dog.”<br> “Oh, Merie, you have wounded me,” Lynné gasped sarcastically, sounding pained and hurt. She then dropped the act and stared pointedly at the other agent. “You should really watch your mouth, dear.”<br> “Well,” began Miller, while Baronn seethed in fury and Conrad just stood there looking both confused and stupid. Bradley had yet to return. “Since you seem to be very much alive and well, I suppose you won’t mind answering a few questions?”<br> Casually, Lynné placed her index finger on her chin, feigning concentration. “Yes, I suppose I would,” she told him after a moment. Miller scowled. “Now, Merie,” Lynné said as she strolled towards Baronn, “I’m in the middle of making a very difficult decision here. You see, part of me, the more violent part, is insisting that I cannot let you live having said what you said. However, the other, more cautious part is saying that I can’t very well kill you with all of these other agents roaming all over my house.” She shook her head and sighed. “Ohh, what to do, what to do. .”<br> Suddenly, she looked up, her dark eyes staring directly into Baronn’s pale blue ones, her expression completely unperturbed by the situation. “We could just compromise.”<br> And with one lightly fast movement, her hand shot out and punched Baronn straight in the mouth. The woman was sent reeling backwards, her hands spinning in zealous circles as she tried in vain to keep herself erect. “Told her to watch her mouth . . ." She shrugged. “Oh well.”<br> Miller and Conrad both reached for their guns, but before they could react, Lynné had gotten to hers and shot the latter in the chest. BANG! Liam was sent flying into the couch as a bullet from Miller’s gun went through his shoulder. Spinning around, Lynné aimed her gun in his direction, but saw that the man had already fled up to the safety of the upstairs. Lynné shook her head after him and said to Liam: “Tell me, why does everyone think the safest place is upstairs whenever it looks like they’re in danger?”<br> Her only answer was several short breaths from her partner and a motion to follow Miller. “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there. Sands is upstairs, remember? You alright?”<br> Liam nodded vigorously and once again motioned for her to go upstairs. “I’ll . . . I’ll get Bradley. . .” he gasped, his breath quickening. She nodded once and then darted up the steps. ~*~ “What the f*ck!?!” Miller cried as he laid eyes on the smug looking figure that was Sands. He was leaning up against the doorframe of the guestroom, his arms crossed, a gun held in his right hand. There were three spots where short, criss-crossed lines ran along his skin for a few inches; two of the stitches were in his legs, the other one was in his right arm. For some reason, Sands was wearing his sunglasses, which only increased Miller’s annoyance for reasons he didn’t know. Sure he was only wearing boxers (black ones with little marijuana plants on them, no less) but the sight was still a shock. “Well, hello, Miller,” Sands said cheerfully, “How’s every little thing? And, according to Lynnie, I’m very accurate when I say little.”<br> Miller’s face contorted with fury; he knew very well what Sands was talking about and thought that Lynné had no right to tell her brother the details of their short-lived relationship. He went for his other gun, the one that was full of tranquilizers, not bullets. The CIA wanted Sands alive and ready for questioning. This could be the chance they had been waiting for, the one he had been waiting for, at least. Many of his fellow agents agreed that both of them, Sheldon and his pregnant dog of a sister deserved to go to mental hospitals or jail at the least. And this might be their chance. Miller pointed the gun straight at Sands’ chest, ready to take him out. Only Sands was quicker. He fired two shots at Miller’s torso, knowing exactly where to aim. Smirking in triumph, Sands heard his fellow agent fall to the ground and was about to shoot him again, just to make certain he was dead, when suddenly –<br> If he still had eyes, they would have widened in surprise. Sands felt a rush of fire graze his side almost a second after Miller had crashed to the ground. Instantly, his hands flew to the area of pain, and when he pulled them back, there was no mistaking it, his long fingers were now tipped with blood. Not thinking twice, Sands lowered his gun to the spot where he had heard Miller fall, and fired. ~*~ Lynné’s quick footsteps stopped about halfway up the stairs when she heard the distinct sound of two shots being fired and then, the sound of a body hitting the ground. Then, there was another, this one from downstairs. But it was soon followed by a third from upstairs again, and this one sounded as though it came from another direction. Biting her lower lip, she continued her flight up the steps. Just like the night before, Liam was right behind her. His injured arm didn’t seem to be slowing him down at all, which would have surprised her had she not been so worried. “Did you get Bradley?” she asked hurriedly as she raced up the steps. “Yes,” panted Liam. “Good. And Baronn’s out, and I’m sure Miller’s in the same league as Conrad -- ”<br> She stopped so suddenly that, like the night before, Liam crashed into her from behind. There before them lay the crumpled, bleeding, but clearly dead body of Agent Miller and in front of them stood Agent Sands, his right hand holding a gun, his left holding his side from which liberal amounts of blood was seeping. He looked up as he heard them come up the stairs. “Lyn . . . ?” he asked weakly, his tone mingled with urgency and helplessness. “Yes . . .” she breathed, her face etched with alarm. Sands nodded slightly and staggered towards the sound of her voice. Once he reached her, he collapsed, and would have fallen down the stairs if Lynné and Liam hadn’t grabbed him. Sitting her brother up against the wall, Lyn rested a cool hand against his forehead. It was livid with heat and his breathing was slow. Liam looked down at Miller. He saw that the late agent held two guns and, on closer inspection, he saw that the one was loaded with tranquilizers, not bullets. Clearly, the CIA had wanted Sands alive. He looked over at his partner and saw that she was looking at the tranquilizer gun with the utmost hatred. “B*stards . . .”<br> ~*~ Aww . . . poor Sands. :cry: But don’t worry. Things’ll pick up in the next chapter. Miller, Bradley, and Conrad may have gone to Davey Jones’s locker, but Miss Baronn hasn’t! =D And Lynné doesn’t like her, as you’ll soon find out. (reads what she just wrote) ‘Davey Jones’s locker!?! >.O Bloody pirate head-voices . . .
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:34:02 GMT -5
Chapter Nine: Ice Returns Part I Oh, wow. I can’t believe I’ve written (checks again) nine chapters! Nine chapters already! :smile: This is, officially, my longest story yet. ^.^ And here I was worried that I could never write anything longer than a short story. Nah, I don’t think this is gonna be one of those. There’s still a lot that must get done in this story. I just hope things don’t start to drag on. :shock: Well, in any case, I’m glad you guys keep reading and reviewing. ^.^ ~*~ “Sit still, both of you,” Lyn commanded impatiently. She was getting tired of having to sew people back together, and, from the looks of things, she was going to have to do it not one, but two more times. Make that three. The stitches in Sands’ arm had pulled out. “I wasn’t gonna go anywhere,” Liam said, putting up his hands in defense. Sands merely took in a sharp breath. He hadn’t said anything since he had called out his sister's name, and that worried Lyn. Surely he would have had some smart remark to go with her command? “Sands?” she asked quietly. He was sitting down and she and Liam had sort of propped him up against the wall in the hallway, by orders of Lynné, who thought it would be best not to move Sands around too much. “Sands?” Lyn asked again. He nodded slightly, but made no other movement aside from the occasional wince. Sands’ upper body was swaying slightly, the loss of blood having drained him of his remaining energy, leaving him weak and dizzy, two things he never wanted to be. Lynné looked down and saw that the wound in his side was bleeding more profusely than she thought. “Sands, let me see that,” she requested steadily. Liam was envious of how calm she was; it was almost eerie how imperturbable his partner could be at times. Slowly, Sands moved his hand away from his bleeding side. Lynné let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t as bad as she had thought, yeah, he had been shot but the bullet had just grazed his side, nothing more. What worried her most was the amount of blood gushing from the wound. Sands had already lost a decent quantity yesterday, but he had survived. Now, she wasn’t so sure he would make it through the night. He won't, the voice sneered gleefully. He won’t and you know it, and when he’s dead, you’ll be allll alone. Aww, poor little Lynnie. Losing the people she ever loved, one after the other. Boy, luck doesn’t seem to be on your side, does it? That would be a ‘hell no,’ she snapped back silently, The only thing that p*sses me off, is the fact that, no matter how many people leave me, you can never seem to f*ck off. Language, Lynnie, the voice scolded mockingly. Remember what you told Baronn about watching her mouth? Oh, speaking of which, she’s downstairs, incase you forgot. I didn’t forget, I’m merely preoccupied. So kindly, if you please, give me a moment and piss off. If you give me that, I’ll put up with whatever you have to say when I’m done with this. Deal! Lyn knew she was going to regret striking a bargain with the voice in her head, but at the moment she could care less. Sands was her main focus now, and, as much as she hated to admit it, the voice was right. He would not live unless she managed to get some blood into his system soon. “I don’t imagine you’re blood is type B negative,” she said to Liam. He shook his head. “No.”<br> “D*mn it . . . .” Lyn cursed, then sighed. “All right. Guess we only have one option, then.”<br> “You’re going to rob a blood bank, aren’t you? Lynné?” he asked urgently. “Hell no,” Sands protested sharply, turning his head to give Liam a disgusted look. “There is . . . no way I am walking around . . . with some peon of Mexico’s blood in me.” He panted slightly and clutched the area where Miller’s bullet had penetrated his skin again. “Calm down, picky,” said Lyn, rolling her eyes, “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”<br> “What were you thinking, then?” asked Liam, looking interested. Lyn’s only answer was to lift a hand to her brother’s forehead and place her other hand on his shoulder. “D*mn . . .” She took a breath. “Okay, you’ve definitely got a fever –” “Great,” Sands said sarcastically. “Fermez la bouche,” Lyn shot shortly. “And you’re skin’s clammy.” She sighed. “Liam? Think you could get me a blanket or two and my medical kit?”<br> Her partner nodded and was off. Leaning his head back against the wall, Sands let out a sigh of pain but said nothing else. Lynné slid down the wall and sat down next to him, not really expecting to have a conversation, just hoping to be some sort of comfort to him. Aww, cooed the voice that she alone could hear. Kodak moment! F*ck off. Remember what I said about leaving me alone? I struck a deal. I struck a deal with the f*cking voice in my head and it agreed that it would let me be until I had Sands taken care of. You’re backing out on the deal, dear. Y’know, I often wonder why you’ve never given me a name, it said out of the blue, as it usually did whenever it didn’t have an answer to her retorts. Gee, I dunno. I guess I’m just not crazy enough, she thought with mock sadness. Aww, thasso saaad . . . but it’s okay. I forgive you, honey. Besides, you’ll be completely crazy soon enough. I can see it now: You’ll be in the middle of his big gunfight, right? You on one end of the street, and the enimy at the other and you’ll both have guns pointed at each other. Kinda like one of those old Mexican standoffs, y’know? Yeah, I know. Anyway, when you go to fire, instead of aiming your gun at the other person, you aim it at yourself! See, cuz I’ll be there, I’ll always be there, and you’ll be too busy arguing with me to pay attention to whatever else is going on in the world. And it’s during that gunfight, right then and there, that you finally lose it, and turn the gun on yourself. The voice laughed under its breath. Heheh . . . bang. Yes, but if I die, then what happens to you, I wonder? There was an uncomfortable moment in which the voice was silent for the first time in hours. Clearly it hadn’t thought of that. I hate you. Now ya know how I feel, cupcake. “What was that crash I heard earlier?” Sands’ voice came from far away, but it penetrated her thoughts nonetheless. Instantly, Lynné snapped to attention, a little angry with herself. She hadn’t even realized he’d been talking. “Oh,” she said faintly. "Baronn. B*tch did a number on my fingers.” At this, she looked down at her left hand and saw that already bluish-purple bruising was beginning to gather around her knuckles. “But I think the damage done to her was more permanent.” “Oh?” Sands asked, sounding somewhat intrigued. Smirking in satisfaction, Lynné placed her hand in his. At first, he wasn’t sure why she had done that. He couldn't see, so what did she hope to accomplish? But then a thought struck him, breaking through the fog of pain that surrounded him, and he understood. Carefully, Sands traced Lyn’s hand, his long fingers looping over and under hers until they met with something that certainly wasn’t human skin. It was hard, cold, and metal. A ring. If exhaustion hadn’t decided to overtake his body, Sands would have laughed at his realization. Lynné’s ring wasn’t the fanciest piece of jewelry in the world. It was plain but pretty with its miniscule flowers carved all around the outside of the sterling silver band, but Lyn had never worn it to draw attention to her hands. In Sands' memory, the ring had always served another purpose. “Where did you hit her?”<br> “Right in her makeup-coated face.”<br> Sands smiled as he thought of this. If Lyn’s hit had been hard enough, and he was sure she did for he could feel the start of the bruises, Baronn’s face would bear the markings of Lyn’s ring for quite a while. ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 26, 2004 20:35:59 GMT -5
Part II~*~ “Where the hell is Fusco?” Sands muttered to Lyn, not really paying any attention to her response. Now he was talking just to take his mind off the pain, which was slowly increasing with every breath he took. God, it was cold out. And this was f*cking Mexico, for Christ’s sake; it wasn’t supposed to be this cold. It wasn’t supposed to be cold at all. It was times like these Sands wondered why his mission couldn’t have taken place in Alaska. Unwillingly, he leaned against Lynné and rested his head on her shoulder. What did he care if she was annoyed or confused? He was f*cking freezing and Lyn was the closest thing to heat he had. Oh sh*t . . . I’m shaking . . .that can’t be good. “Sh*t. . . . you’re shaking,” he heard Lyn curse more to herself than him. Sands felt the back of her hand on his head once again and imagined her biting her lip in worry. For some reason, he didn’t like it when she worried, he didn’t mind when other people pissed themselves because they were so frantic, but the emotion didn’t suit his sister at all. But assuring her that he was all right would be pure bullnuts and she would know it, so it wouldn’t do any good to say anything. The footsteps were what brought Sands out of his musings. The sound was sudden, audible, and it echoed throughout the hallway. If it hadn’t been for the painkillers Lyn had given him earlier, Sands was convinced that each footstep would send vibrating waves of agony straight through his head. Lynné looked up to see Liam returning at last, weighed down with several blankets, a pillow, and a rather fancy first-aid kit. The blood that had stained his shirt was still flowing freely from his arm, but at a slow pace. Lyn cursed again knowing that there was another bit of stitchery she would be tending to later. Liam spread out the blankets before Lynné and handed her the medical kit. She took the bag wordlessly. Carefully, Lyn eased Sands down onto the makeshift bed. Sands said nothing but let out a sharp hiss, his jaw clenched tightly in defiance. “All right?” Lyn asked cautiously. “Fine, fine,” he answered, though his teeth were still gritted together. “Just . . . so f*cking . . . cold. . .”<br> She nodded in understanding. Shock was undoubtedly taking over Sands’ body; of course he was cold. Without another thought, Lyn gently placed a blanket around his shoulders and sighed. It was the best she could do until she had him pieced back together. Looking down at him sadly, she picked up a needle and a spool of catgut thread, and got to work. ~*~ “Are you okay?”<br> “Mmmhmm.”<br> “Do you know how to give a blood transfusion?”<br> “Yep.”<br> “. . . . .you do know that you have a low enough blood count as it is, right?”<br> “I would hope that I do, yes.”<br> “So you know that draining a pint of blood leaves a person rather . . . disoriented?”<br> Lynné said nothing and rolled her eyes. “And that, having the meager amount of blood that you do, draining some could be fatal?”<br> “I wouldn’t go as far as fatal,” said Lyn thoughtfully as she set up a portable IV. “But, yeah, it’ll leave me more than a little wacked-out, sure.”<br> “Lynné . . .” Liam’s blue eyes were pleading, almost desperate. “Liam,” she said, looking directly at him for the first time, “if you can give me another option, then I will cease in removing blood from my system. But may I remind you that there are bound to be more CIA agents out there looking for us, not to mention the remains of the cartel, and, to top it all off, I’m supposed to be dead. Now, if you know a way one of us can get out of this house and scurry off to the local hospital to steal blood, then fire away. If not, shut up.”<br> Liam stared at her for a long moment. Then, he turned his gaze to Sands, who was lying on the bed of the guestroom. After Lyn had finished with the stitches, she and Liam had been as careful as they could in transporting Sands from the hallway to the guestroom. Shortly after Lynné had begun her work on his injuries, Sands had fallen into unconsciousness. He had yet to wake up from this deep state. And now Lyn was saying that he needed a blood transfusion or things could take a turn for the worse. Well, they would be a lot worse off than they were now. Liam swallowed hard and nodded to his partner. He knew that, once again, she was right. ~*~ Lynné sat slumped in a chair beside Sands’ bed. Her brother was still asleep, Liam was standing near the end of the bed and kept throwing worried glances her way, and she herself had just drawn a pint of blood out of her body. Stupid, Lyn, reeeally stupid. . . mmmyep . . . Surprisingly, the voice in her mind didn’t have anything to say about her recent (not to mention rash) actions. Oh well. Maybe it was actually following up on the deal they had made and was hibernating for a while. Or perhaps the voice, like her, was in a drunken state and didn’t have the will or the energy to speak at the moment. “Lynné?” she heard Liam's voice echo worriedly. “Lynné. . . ?”<br> “What?” she slurred, blinking blearily up at him. Wait, wait . . . since when did he appear twice whenever she looked at him? And he never used to hover around like that. . . Ah, sh*t . . . I feel like I’m . . . stoned . . . woo, haven't felt like that since college . . . “Lynné, I think you should lay down for a while,” Liam was saying. “I am laying down,” she protested. “Err, ah . . . sitting down. . . same difference . . . and you’re shoulder’s bleeding again, did you know that?”<br> “What?” he gasped, craning his neck to see his shoulder, “B-but you fixed it . . . you stitched it up—” “I never said I was an expert at sewin,” Lynné told him with an unbalanced shrug. She was about to tell Liam that it was not big deal and that she would simply sew his arm back together, once her eyesight stopped going in and out of focus, of course. But she never had the chance. Before Lynné could say anything, Liam had moved over to the small mirror that hung above the dresser. Sure enough, there was a small trail of blood making its way slowly down his arm and onto his bare chest. With a small gasp, Liam blanched at the sight of the red ooze, looking utterly terrified. His eyes rolled back into his head and suddenly he began to sway slightly. Without warning, Liam’s feet gave out from beneath him and fell to the ground. It didn’t take long before his body was down there with them, and before he ever met the floor, darkness had come and blocked out everything. “Oh!” Lynné gasped, uncharacteristically startled (Liam feinting wasn’t a new event). Swaying slightly, she grabbed each arm of her chair and heaved herself to her feet. She then began an unbalanced stagger towards partner, using the bed where Sands was sleeping as a stationary crutch. “Oh don’t tell me. . .” she muttered wearily. Looking over the edge of the bed, Lynné saw that Liam had indeed fallen into a dead feint. She turned her head to Sands, who would probably sleep through the night and into the morning, and then turned back to Liam, who didn’t look like he would be waking up anytime soon, either. Sighing at the sight of the two unconscious CIA agents (not to mention Baronn, who was still out cold in the living room) Lynné gave a halfhearted shrug. “Oh well . . . when in Rome . . .”<br> And with that, Lynné Sands promptly fell over onto the soft mattress of the bed. ~*~ Huh. That turned out longer than I thought it would. . . . . how ‘bout it. Anyway, stay tuned for bargaining, escape, and yet more dream sequences in the next installment! Thanks muchly to everyone who's reviewed!
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 30, 2004 15:58:32 GMT -5
Chapter Ten: Questioning People, Questioning Dreams Part I Lynné Sands opened her dark brown eyes with a start. She had always been a light sleeper, always ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. And in order to sleep, she had to have complete darkness. The slightest glimmer of light would keep her awake. ~*~ This was strange . . . even when he was lacking in sight, Sands could still see. Not with his eyes, of course, but there were substitutes. Sound, scent, and touch worked efficiently enough. Though they wouldn’t work forever. Something was bound to happen sooner or later. Ohhh, that’s right. Something had happened. That’s why he had another hole to add to his ever-growing collection of injuries. He had six in all, however, he shouldn’t have had any of those injuries in the first place. Well, one of them, anyway. Part of him couldn’t help but admit that. F*cking b*stard, Miller . . . Sands thought bitterly, before turning over on the bed and gradually falling back to sleep. That was another strange thing. When he was asleep, when he dreamed, he could still see. Sands remembered shrugging it off whenever he thought about this later. He supposed it was because . . . he wasn’t literally seeing the images before him but . . . they were being placed in his head. He could still picture things in his mind; the cartel hadn’t deprived him of his vivid, if rather twisted, imagination. The mind was a very dangerous thing at times, and yet it could also be very useful. Sands knew that. He had known it for as long as he could remember, which was a very . . . very . . . long . . . time . . . ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 30, 2004 16:02:19 GMT -5
Part II~*~ Sheldon Jeffery Sands had grown up in central Colorado with his loving family of four. Scratch that. He had grown up in Colorado, but the words ‘loving’ and ‘family’ were never used when talking about S. Jeffery Sands. He had been robbed of the only person he could have ever called true family when he was only eight. And, for the longest time, he had blamed Lynné for that. For the first few years of his life, Sands had lived with his father and mother in a large house in a nice neighborhood. Things had been all right, and why wouldn’t they be if his family was rich? True, they didn’t live in a mansion but their home was rather spacious nonetheless, and they weren’t so poor that his father couldn’t afford to pay for lessons in tennis and horseback riding. Yes, horseback riding, but Sands couldn’t say it wasn’t a useful skill to know. He had gotten out of more that one situation by using the aid of a horse. Sure, his life was okay. He had nice possessions and, for a child, he was very bright. He even had several other children he could consider friends, but he was younger at the time, more trusting when it came to people. But none of those things made up for how things were at home. Sands father was decent to him, in the beginning, at least, but he was never incredibly close with the man. He always preferred his mother to his father. That was obvious. His mother was very pretty from what Sands could remember. She had long, dark hair, fair skin, and light blue eyes, unlike his father who had black-brown hair, a light olive skin tone, and deep brown eyes. Like his. Like his used to be. The forlorn thoughts left as quickly as they came, and Sands was spared for the time being. Things had been going fairly well up until the time he was four. He was getting along very well with his mom, and, though they had a few rows here and there, Sands and his father were civil towards each other. But then, things . . . changed . . . and Beatrice Lynné Sands entered his life. Sands didn’t like the little girl from the start. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something told him that the child was an enemy. Admittedly, when Beatrice was born she was showered with attention and he hadn’t cared for that in the least, but it was more than jealousy that drove him towards hatred. Perhaps it was the certain date of her birth that did it. Sheldon Jeffery Sands was born on February 28 . . . . . Beatrice Lynné Sands had been born five years later on February 26. Needless to say, with Beatrice being born, Sands’ birthday was forgotten that year. F*cking leap year, Sands thought as he tried to fall asleep. I still don’t care for that little arrangement. But his loathing for his sister had increased three years later. They had been in the car, his mom and his hated sibling, heading towards the nursery school where Beatrice stayed while their mother went to work at her law firm and their father did his things with the government. They had been driving down the freeway, but they hadn’t been the only ones. There had been several other drivers . . . one of whom was, though the police could never find evidence against him, drunk. Sands could remember everything about that day. His father receiving the phone call, the call that had informed them that his mother and sister had been involved in a car accident. His father almost drove off without him, but Sands had beaten him to the BMW and was already sitting in the car when his father finally came out of the house. He could remember the doctors saying that his mother, the driver, would not live through the night, but that his sister would, but only because she had been in the back seat. She was still badly injured and would need a blood transfusion, and quickly for she didn’t have a high blood count to begin with, but they were out of the type of blood she needed. His father had hurriedly informed them that his son, Sheldon, had the same blood as Beatrice. The little girl lay unconscious on the hospital bed, bruised and cut, as Sands watched the doctors inject his blood into her. As he took all of this in, scorn ate away at his insides. If she hadn’t been born, his mother wouldn’t have had to drive her to school, if she hadn’t been born, there wouldn’t have been a car wreck, if she hadn’t been born, two pints of blood would still be inside of him. But there was someone else to blame: the driver of the other vehicle. Of course he had gotten off scot-free. He was fine, save for a few scrapes. Hell, he wasn’t even thrown in jail for DUI because this was the nineteen eighties, before it was against the law to be driving drunk. ‘ Yeah, I had at least twelve shots before I got on the road . . .’ the b*stard admitted it! They had all heard him. But nooo, no. . . .that wasn’t ‘enough evidence’ according to the police. F*ckmooks. That’s why Sands despised all kinds of law enforcement. Funny that he became a CIA agent many years later. Sands tossed uneasily on the bed. He was still a little cold, but not as cold as he had been a few hours ago. Sleep still evaded him, however, and thoughts of the past continued to enter his mind. Sighing wearily, Sands turned over once more. His mother had died. He remembered her lying on the hospital bed in a room that was white and bare (color seemed to be illegal in hospitals), her dark brown hair fanned out on the pillows beneath her, her cool blue eyes closed. He would never see her eyes again . . . . But she didn’t look like she was that badly hurt. She was bleeding internally, the doctors had informed him, there was nothing they could do. Sands hadn’t been allowed in the room as his mother lay dying, instead, two doctors had ushered him out into the hallway while his father stayed with her. Sands shifted again, wishing the bed he was laying on was warmer. No . . . that wasn’t right. He wasn’t that cold, and there were how many blankets covering him? Suddenly, a part of him understood that the warmth he was seeking wasn’t heat. Aww . . . isn’t that sweeeet? the voice in his head cooed mockingly. You’re more human than you thought. Shut up. If I’m noy human, then what the f*ck am I? Beats the sh*t outta me. I’m just a voice in your head, remember? All too well, Sands replied coldly. Wait a minute . . .what the f*ck is laying next to me? What? Oh. Lyn. I think she passed out or something. “ What!?!”<br> ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 30, 2004 16:03:17 GMT -5
Part III~*~ Sands shot straight up in bed and regretted it two seconds later. The wound in his side immediately fired shots of pain through his torso, but he hissed through his teeth and did his best to ignore it. “Mmm…what?” he heard Lynné mumble next to him. “What the hell happened?” Sands demanded furiously. “. . . . . nothing – wait a minute, why am I sleeping in your bed?” Lyn wondered aloud. “Why are you . . . yeah.”<br> Though neither of them knew it, at the same time, both of the voices in their minds cackled insanely at how dense their torment-ees could be. “Ohhh,” Lyn sighed with realization, “Oh, oh, oh. . . Okay. I know what happened.”<br> “Really,” said Sands sarcastically, “Do tell.”<br> “Wellll,” she said casually, “after you passed out, I drained a pint of my blood, gave it to you, and then collapsed.”<br> “On this bed?” Sands asked incredulously. Lynné looked down at the sheets below her. “Yep.”<br> Sands exhaled dramatically as Lyn crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall the bed was pushed up against. “So you drained your blood --” he said disbelievingly. “-- only a pint--” Lyn corrected. “-- when you knew that was a dumb*ssed move?” he continued, acting as though he hadn’t heard her. “It would’ve been dumber if I’d’ve just let you die, but, hey, can’t chance the past. Not yet.”<br> “Crazy b*tch . . .” Sands muttered tiredly, suddenly feeling extremely lightheaded now that that dilemma was out of the way. Lynné’s expression changed from casual to concerned in an instant. Sure, Sands was sitting up, but he wouldn’t be for long. His upper body was already swaying dizzily and his head hung slightly as if he hadn’t enough strength to hold it up anymore. His skin had become pale and clammy and, as she once again placed her hand on his head, she detected a fever. Gently, Lynné took Sands by the shoulders and started to ease him down onto the bed. “Lyn, what are you –” “C’mon, lay down,” she instructed, her voice orderly yet comforting. That was something new. “Why? I’m –” “Say fine and I’ll add another hole to your mounting collection. Now. . . down, boy.”<br> “No, Lyn, I’m fine,” Sands tried to protest. “After what you did, you probably need more sleep than –” “Oh, gosh, don’t get me started on sleep, mister. And I don’t need any. You on the other hand are sick and suffering from blood loss, not to mention the fact that you went into shock last night. . .”<br> “I went into shock?” Sands wondered out loud. “Too right you did, now down.”<br> At last, Sands came into contact with the bed, and when he did, he didn’t bother to get back up. God, why am I so tired? Sands thought. One moment ago he had been at full attention, but now he was groggy, his mind was clouded. He needed sleep desperately. Oh, gee, let’s think about this. You were shot how many times? Only four. That’s one less than when I was stationed in France. Only by one f*cking shot.Sands obliged to his sister’s orders, but only by leaning back to rest his head on Lyn’s lap. For some reason, he felt that his sister would exit the scene, maybe not entirely, but just long enough to leave him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to make certain she stayed. Why, though? the voice wondered curiously. Why do you want her to stay? Need somebody to annoy, was Sands’ stiff response. Oh, f*ck that, snorted the voice. That’s what I’m here for, f*ckmook. D*mnit, I wish he’d stop doing that, Lyn thought, annoyed. Catchin’ ya off guard, isn’t he? No. Yes. No. Yes. F*ck you. That was weak.~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 30, 2004 16:04:41 GMT -5
Part IV~*~ Lynné Sands opened her dark brown eyes with a start. She had always been a light sleeper, always ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. And in order to sleep, she had to have complete darkness. The slightest glimmer of light would keep her awake. But there wasn’t any light right now. Her bedroom was completely dark. So what had woken her up . . . ? She sat up abruptly in her bed, her straight, shoulder-length hair swinging around her head as she did so. There it was again, the thing that had interrupted her sleep. It was a long, drawn-out, gasping sort of sound, like someone who was trying desperately to calm themselves. Somewhere, someone was distressed or even terrified. As quietly as she could, Lynné swung her feet over the edge of the bed. They dangled about a foot or two above the floor. Lynné frowned down at them. She didn’t like being tiny, but that’s the way she was. Carefully, she slid off of her bed. Her feet hit the floor making no noise. She remained silent as she slipped out of her bedroom. Stealthily, she went down the shadowy hallway, her bare feet inaudible on the cool, hardwood floors. Placing a hand on the door next to hers, Lynné turned the knob, and poked her head inside the room. Her older brother had his knees drawn up to his chest tightly as he sat up on his bed shaking uncontrollably. Long, dark, hair that fell to his chin curtained his face, but his eyes were still visible. His eyes, identical to hers, were livid with fear. They kept darting around the room as if terrified that something was going to jump out of the dark corners. Cautiously, Lynné approached him. He couldn’t hear her, her feet never made a sound, but his bedroom door had undoubtedly moved. Sitting up abruptly, her brother narrowed his eyes and focused all of his concentration on detecting movement or sound. He knew he wasn’t imagining things. The darkness that surrounded him wasn’t toying with his mind as it had been. That door had moved, he was sure of it. Four-year-old Beatrice Lynné Sands, in her light pink nightgown made of soft satin, crept into his room. Hatred banished fear as he took in the girl’s small form. He hated everything about her, and why shouldn’t he? She had taken everything that was his: his hair, his eyes, his blood, his mother. He had every right to despise the little girl. “What do you want?” demanded eight-year-old Sheldon, glaring at her furiously. “Are you okay?” she asked curiously. Her sentence was simple but perfect. At the age of four it was clear that the child was smart. Her grammar was hardly ever wrong, her sentences never held any errors, and she probably knew more words than the rest of the kids in their neighborhood combined. Well, except for him, of course. Sheldon was a bright child as well, his parents had determined that years ago. He remembered, briefly, when his parents had praised him for his achievements. But those days were over. Now it was all about darling little Beatrice. “I’m fine,” he spat furiously. “Get lost.”<br> Beatrice rolled her eyes at him. “That’s a lie.”<br> “No, it’s not.”<br> “Yeah, it is.” She put her small hands on her hips and narrowed her dark eyes at him. “What’s wrong?”<br> “If there was anything wrong, I wouldn’t tell you,” her brother sneered. Her eyebrows rose at this remark. “Why?”<br> Sheldon paused. Didn’t she know? He looked at the little girl in front of him, considering her intently for a few seconds. She really didn’t know?? Was she that stupid? Here he had thought she was smart, guess that was a mistake if she didn’t even know he hated her. Maybe she didn’t know why, but surely she knew at least that much. Yes, that must be it. But then again . . . . he had never really shown any scorn towards her. Sheldon merely pretended Beatrice didn’t exist, and whenever he had to talk to her, he kept things brief. Maybe she thought he was quiet. If she did . . . “Don’t you know?” he asked incredulously. “I know lots of things,” Beatrice replied simply. Now it was time for Sheldon to roll his eyes. “I mean, don’t you know that I . . . y’know, don’t like you?”<br> “Yeah, kinda,” she said, hoisting herself up on his bed. He glared down at her. Beatrice . . . was sitting . . . on his . . . bed. “But you were keeping me awake. so,” she continued, looking up at him expectantly. “What’s wrong?”<br> Her brother scowled down at her. There was no way he was about to spill his guts to her. Besides, she was four, what could she do? What could she do . . . ? She was just a little girl, after all, it wasn’t like she’d remember any of this the next morning. Little kids had short-term memories. Not her, a small voice reminded him. She was talking when she was nine months old. Yeah, her memory’s reeeeal short. He couldn’t remember when he had first heard the voice, it was so long ago. It seemed like it had started speaking to him when Beatrice was born. Yes, that made sense. He felt neglected after his little sister arrived and he needed someone to talk to. Unfortunately, Sheldon had never asked for the voice. It had shown up on its own will. “Nightmare?”<br> “What?” Sheldon asked, turning his attention back to his sister. “Did – you – have – a – nightmare?” she asked slowly and deliberately. “What – yeah . . .” He trailed off, stunned that that little girl had gotten an answer out of him so quickly. “About . . . .” Beatrice held out her hand as if waiting for him to put the answer there. Nothing happened; her brother continued to stare at the carpeting. She rolled her eyes again. This was getting irritating. If she wanted to get in a decent amount of sleep, she’d have to get some answers now. “Sheldon?” she asked intently. Her brother’s head snapped up. His dark hair swung around as he turned sharply to face her. No . . . she hadn’t . . . she hadn’t . . . “Don’t – call me – that,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “I hatr that name.”<br> To his surprise, Beatrice smiled. “Me neither. You don’t really look like a Sheldon,” she said eyeing him critically. He winced at the sound of the name, but said nothing. “If it makes you feel any better,” she continued, “I hate my name, too.”<br> Sheldon considered the small girl beside him for a moment. No, Beatrice didn’t fit her any better than Sheldon fit him. “What about your middle name?” he asked her. “Lynné isn’t that bad.”<br> “Yeah,” she agreed, nodding slightly. “Yeah, that’s okay. What about you?”<br> Her brother wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Jeffery makes me sound like a little kid,” he told her. Once again, Lynné rolled her eyes, giving him a ‘duh’ expression. “It’s better than Sheldon,” she informed him. “I still don’t like it,” he stated firmly. “Well what about just calling you by your last name?” Lynné suggested thoughtfully. Gazing down at her, Sheldon pondered what his sister had been saying. Why was she doing all of this? Did she expect something in return? Because she wasn’t going to get anything out of him if that’s what she thought. But then he took something into consideration: Lynné was his sister, and from what he had noticed in the short time they’d been ‘bonding,’ she was very much like him. Realization sinking in, Sheldon turned to Lynné and gave her a rare smile. “Yeah, Sands’ll work.”<br> ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 30, 2004 16:06:26 GMT -5
Part V~*~ Lynné’s eyelashes fluttered as she slowly drifted out of sleep. As she lifted her head off the wall, she glanced around the room. Instantly, memories of the past twenty-four hours began to flood her mind. The Day of the Dead, taking out a few nobodies, kicking Ajedrez hard like she had always wanted to, Sands leaning against the rough wall of a building, blood trailing down his limbs and face . . . She blinked rapidly to clear her head, but it didn’t help. New, more recent events came into focus. Lynné thought of how she had asked her brother to remove his sunglasses when he told her what had happened, how they had talked a bit while she was stitching him up. Then she thought of the two black cars she had seen pull up in front of her house, seen four people step out of the vehicles, and realized that they were no people, they were a quartet of her fellow agents – the agents! Lynné shot up abruptly, not disturbing Sands in the least. He was still asleep and using her as a cushion. Shaking her head and remembering that her brother had always been a deep sleeper, Lynné took in her situation. There were three dead and one possibly alive CIA agents in her house, and she couldn’t think of how she was going to get up. Lynné was just about to let her irritability get the best of her and simply shove Sands over to the other side of the bed, when Liam strolled through the door. “Hello,” she said, giving him a tired smirk that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Hi,” he replied cautiously. “I, um, tied Baronn up and, uh, did what I could with the others.”<br> “Which was?” prompted Lynné.<br> “Well, I dragged them all into the living room as best I could and cleaned up the blood.”<br> Lynné nodded in approval. “Baronn still unconscious?”<br> Her partner shook his head. “She was coming to after I tied her up. You hit her pretty hard,” he explained, smiling slightly. “How’s your hand?”<br> “Fine, fine.” Lynné waved him off with her unharmed hand purposely. If he saw the bruising that was forming on the other . . . she didn’t need him feinting on her again. Biting her lower lip, Lynné reached across her for a pillow. Once she had one in her grasp, she began the tedious task of replacing her legs with it without waking Sands. Finally, after several long minutes, she succeeded and Sands had a pillow under his head instead of her lap. Lynné looked up and smirked when she saw Liam watching her with a politely confused expression on his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I’d swear you’ve done that before.”<br> Lynné’s smile widened a bit. “For some reason . . .” she drawled lazily, “most men I come into contact with find me cushion than the real thing.”<br> ~*~
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Post by BunnyLuvsit on Oct 30, 2004 16:07:34 GMT -5
Part VI~*~ Agent Baronn was exactly where Liam had left her: tied to a chair at the kitchen table. Her dark, nearly black hair framed her face, shielding her pale green-blue eyes from view. The heavy eye makeup she always wore had been smudged, leaving dark circles under her eyes and, with her short black hair, making her look more gothic than usual. Her bright red lips had been punctured by Lynné’s fist and blood was slowly trickling down them, past the yellowish-purple bruising that had formed on her pale chin, and onto the dark blue blazer she wore. Pulling out a second chair, Lynné sat down directly across from her and flashed her a sardonic smile. “Hi.”<br> Baronn only response was to narrow her eyes at the woman in front of her. In return, Lynné sighed with disdain. “Merie . . . I thought we’d outgrown the silent treatment.” She sighed again. “Apparently not.”<br> “And I, as well as everyone else at the Company, thought you were dead," snapped Baronn. “Once again, apparently not,” said Lynné, smiling once again. “Now, down to business –” “It’s no business of yours Baronn informed her in a haughty tone that was met with a raised eyebrow. There was silence for a few moments, but then a smirk crossed Lynné’s face. “You’re right,” she said, “It is no business of mine; it is that of my brother’s. However, since he is unable to join us at the moment, I am acting as his official spokeswoman. So kindly answer the questions I ask . . . and I can guarantee you that --”<br> “Guarantee what?” the agent spat. “That I won’t go into cardiac arrest?” She snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the last person you interrogated.”<br> Lynné’s eyes narrowed, enhancing her dangerous image even more. “I wasn’t informed that that suspect had a heart condition, a fact that you and I both know. Just because my questions made him a little excited and it had a tiny effect on his nerves, doesn’t mean that’ll happen to everyone I interrogate.”<br> She smiled mirthlessly again, and this time, Baronn was unnerved, but she held her ground and glared back. “Prod all you want, you f**king pregnant dog, but I’m not telling you anything.”<br> “And what a good little agent you are for doing that,” Lynné complimented in a high, falsely cheery voice, resisting the urge to pat Baronn on the head like a dog that had just preformed a cute trick. Dropping the act, Lynné continued. “But you need to stop screwing around.” She waited for a few seconds, half-expecting Baronn to start talking. No dice. Time to try a new tactic. “Okay,” Lynné said, standing up and beginning to walk back and forth in front of the table, “even if you won’t give me any information, I still think I have a decent idea of what’s going on.”<br> She paused staring intently at the agent before her. Said agent’s icy gaze didn’t waver in the slightest. “Sands told me he had called the Company yesterday because it looked as though his cover had been blown –” “By who?” Baronn interrupted. “Ajedrez,” Lynné replied shortly. “Ajedrez. . . ?” she repeated slowly. “But wasn’t she an AFN agent -- ?”<br> “She also happened to be Barillo’s daughter,” Lynné cut in. “Anyway, after Sands called the agency and they hung up on him, he ran into the cartel and things got a little . . . ugly, but I won’t go into details.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Needless to say, he escaped the cartel, I found him, and then you guys dropped by. “Now this is where it gets a little hazy, you see, after Sands told me that the CIA hadn’t bothered to help him, I got to thinking –” “Always a dangerous thing for you to do,” muttered Baronn. Lynné gave her a swift, warning look and she shut her mouth. “I got to thinking and wondered if he had been burned. It seemed possible, and why not? That’s what happened to me.”<br> She heard a small, startled gasp escape Baronn and smirked down at her. “Oh, come now. You couldn’t have thought that I didn’t know? But then again, I’m supposed to be dead, so I guess you must’ve. “Moving along, I then wondered, if the CIA had indeed thrown Sands away, what their reason was. . .”<br> Suddenly, she sat down again, her eyes perfectly level with Baronn’s, and said out of the blue: “Sometimes, things can be too good, did you know that?” Lynné didn’t wait for an answer. “Lots of things are good, but every once in a while you’ll find something that’s too good . . . and that tends to throw things off balance. And do you know what has to be done whenever that happens?” Once again, she didn’t wait for Baronn to respond before continuing. “You get rid of it, and by doing that you restore the balance. “Lots of things have been eliminated because they were too good: Presidents, CIA agents, cooks—” “Cooks?” Baronn interrupted. “Oh yeah,” said Lynné, nodding. “You’d be surprised how many cooks have been killed because they were good at their job. But by doing so . . . the balance was restored. And that is what I think the CIA tried to do. Sands was too good at his job, the Company realized that that simply wouldn’t do, so they tried to get rid of him without . . . actually . . . getting rid of him.”<br> Baronn continued to stare into Lynné’s eyes, but now she looked somewhat uncomfortable. Hoping that Lynné wouldn’t notice her sudden nervousness would be useless. That b*tch saw everything; she had already figured out the CIA’s plans, and she hadn’t even been in contact with the Company for three years. “I’m assuming the CIA caught word that Sands was still alive, so that’s why they sent you four out here to investigate. I’m also assuming that your first lead was this place because of a certain phone call you received last night –” Lynné saw Baronn’s pale eyes widen through the massive amount of makeup around them. “Yes, that was me,” she said, smiling slightly. Lynné strolled calmly over to the table and once again took her seat across from Baronn. “So tell me, Merie,” she said, grinning maliciously, “are my skills still in tack or has Mexico rusted them a bit?”<br> Biting her lip and tasting blood in her mouth, Baronn swallowed, and Lynné knew that her gifts of intuitiveness and manipulation hadn’t wavered in the least. Her lips pulled into a small smirk of triumph that Baronn noticed right away and didn’t like at all. “What are you going to do with me?” demanded Baronn, her tone low and growling. “Do you remember what I said about you being a good little agent?” Lynné asked calmly. Baronn gave her a questioning look. What did that have to do with . . . her eyes suddenly widened with realization and shock as Lynné’s words sunk in. She didn’t seem to be able to move, not that she could have. She was still tied to the kitchen chair. Finally, after several silent minutes, Baronn managed a jerky nod. “Then you should already know,” Lynné said casually. Without another word, she pulled a small silver gun out of her pocket, and aimed. ~*~ (reads list of pages) O.O Meep, I can’t believe how long this chapter is!! ^.^ Eleven pages may not seem like much to some, but for someone (namely me) whose chapters only last about eight pages or so, that’s a lot. And I didn’t even get to fit everything in this chapter! :evil: Only one of the three things I promised in the last chapter happened in this one. Well, ya got your dream sequence, at least, and in the next installment, expect bargaining and escape!
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