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Darkness Rising	By : SaMe Category: M through R > Once Upon A Time In Mexico Views: 1846 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time in Mexico, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Darkness Rising

A Once Upon a Time in Mexico
story by Merrie

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

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

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

Author�s Note: Sorry I couldn�t get this up as soon as I
wrote the last chapter of A Gilded Cage, but unfortunately studying for a stats
test interfered. I would have complained to my professor that I needed to write
this instead, but I don�t think he would have been quite as understanding as
all of you.

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

Chapter Twenty-Three: Second Guesses and Negotiation

�Jesus, Roland. I know you said you wanted to make the man
suffer, but do you think that just maybe
you might have gone overboard a little?� Emily asked with a frown as the
doctors were called in to attend to Sands� broken and battered body. �I mean�I
wanted him to suffer too for what he had done to Sus,
but this? What have we done, Roland?�

�He�ll be alright. I didn�t kill him,� Roland said
hesitantly, his eyes locked upon Sands� bloodied form. �God I�m just like him
now,� he whispered.

�Roland, no you�re not��

�Look at what I�ve done to him, for fuck�s sake! He was
defenseless, Emily. He was tied up and I knew it. I knew it and it didn�t stop
me. He didn�t stop me�� Roland
murmured with a frown. �He didn�t even try. He just kept encouraging me. Why
the fuck would he do that?�

Emily shrugged. �He�s insane, Roland. His reasons are his
own.�

�It was like he wanted me to hurt him,� he said with a
frown, having not heard her response. �Like he wanted to be fucking punished or
something; as if I were justified in what I was doing to him.�

�Roland, who the fuck knows what�s in that twisted excuse he
calls for a brain? Maybe he felt some amount of guilt and responsibility for
what he did, but I doubt it. What�s more likely is that he gets off on the
pain,� Emily said with a sneer in Sands� direction.

�What?� Roland asked, having half heard her that time.

Emily rolled her eyes but answered him anyway. �I was saying
that that sick bastard over there probably gets off on pain. He strikes me as
the type.�

Roland�s face tuned from disgusted to pensive as he looked
over his enemy and victim. �You think so?�

Emily let out a soft snort in irritation and rolled her eyes
again. �For fuck�s sake Roland, I don�t know. Maybe he imagines he�s the Queen
of England in his off moments. Who cares? But even if that�s true, it doesn�t
make what we did right.�

�What we did? I
didn�t see you in there beating on him,� Roland said bitterly.

�I didn�t stop you. I knew what you were doing and I didn�t
stop you. That makes me an accomplice,� Emily refuted.

�The whole fucking hospital probably knew what we were
doing. That bitch doctor certainly did. And what kind of fucking sense does
that make? I thought doctors were sworn to �do no harm� or some bullshit like
that.�

Emily shook her head. �This whole place is nuts and I think
it�s catching. That bastard killed two of my best friends and countless others
and here I am defending him,� Emily said dryly.

Roland frowned. �I know. He killed them all and he didn�t
even care. He showed no remorse whatsoever, that fucking sociopathic bastard.
But�you�re right. I shouldn�t have done that. No one deserves what I did to
him. Not even him. I just�I was so angry. I wanted to make him pay, Em. And I did.�

�We all have things to answer for in this life, Roland.
Things we wish we hadn�t done; things we wish we could take back. They�re ours.
And we pay for them, Roland. We�re
paying now.�

�Not as much as he is,� Roland said grimly. Emily couldn�t
help but nod.

WWW

Washington DC, 12 March, 1986, 7:42 AM

The fire had apparently raged for hours. Sands had wanted to
stay and watch it burn, but somehow he wasn�t able to get that desire across to
the all-too-helpful medical technicians and family members. They had whisked him
away to the hospital before the mob had even showed up. Not that they had many
neighbors, especially not within walking distance, but he had no doubt in his
mind that once the nosy sons of bitches saw the ambulances and the fire trucks
speeding past their houses they wouldn�t be too far behind. It wasn�t fucking
fair. Why should they get to stay and watch when he couldn�t? It was his house!
He had started the fire, for fuck�s sake. Best
not to let anyone know that, Sands. They�d lock you up for murder.

�I don�t care. I was supposed to die, you son interfering
bastard,� Sands hissed. �I just wanted it to end.�

Aww. Boo-fucking-hoo. If you really thought I was just going to let
us fry then you�re dumber than I give you credit for, and that�s saying a lot.

�Just leave me alone,� Sands moaned, placing his head in his
hands.

�Young man? Are you alright? Who
are you talking to?� a voice asked a few seconds later.

Don�t you dare tell him. You will not get us fucking locked up. I won�t let you.

Sands scowled but did not lift his head. �No
one. I wasn�t talking to anyone. Just leave me alone.�

�I know you�ve been through a trauma, but that�s no cause
for rudeness, young man,� the voice berated him softly.

Sands laughed bitterly then. �A trauma?
Both of my parents are dead, sir. They died in a fire that destroyed my house
as well. I have nothing left.�

�That�s not entirely true,� the voice said hesitantly.

Sands sighed and looked up. He was greeted with the sight of
a middle-aged gentleman with small round glasses perched on a well formed nose
above a rail-thin stature encased by a clearly expensive grey pinstripe suit.
�Who are you?�

�My name is Maximilian Dellacourt,
young sir. I am your father�s chief attorney. Or, I was in any case. I am also
the executor of your parent�s estate. I am terribly sorry for your loss, but
the truth of the matter is that the world moves on. What happened to your
parents was a terrible tragedy, but we must not let ourselves become embittered
by it. We must not lose ourselves to our grief.�

Sands blinked at him. �Excuse me?�

Is this guy serious? Fuck, and I thought your parents were callous. You know what? I think I like him.

�You should really attempt to listen, young sir. What I�m
telling you is of the utmost importance and I do not appreciate talking to
someone who isn�t going to hear what I have to say.�

�Oh. Right. Go on, I�m listening,�
Sands murmured, too dumbfounded to do anything else.

The gentleman cleared his throat. �Yes, well as I was
saying, I am the executor of your parent�s estate. Now listen closely. Pending
an investigation into their death, you stand to inherit everything. You were
there only son and as such, their only heir. You wouldn�t be able to access it
until your next birthday as you remain a minor, but you will be given a stipend
enough to keep a young man like you accustomed to the life you have been
brought up in. Do you understand me? You stand to inherit quite a large sum of
money, Mr. Sands.�

That is, if they don�t
find out you�re the one who torched the place. But still, we should celebrate!
You�re going to be a�just how much money are you going
to get anyway?

�Might I ask how much I stand to inherit?� Sands asked
cautiously.

Mr. Dellacourt looked at him with
a mild glare, as if to imply that no one of such high breeding and manners
should be asking such a question, but Sands just gave him a look right back in
return and the man went on anyway. �Roughly seven hundred and twenty-two
million dollars, young sir,� he said in a dry voice.

Sands couldn�t quite remember what he had done after hearing
that, but it was a safe guess that he probably gaped. Before he could even
think to gather his wits about him to say something in response, the man
continued.

�That figure is just what the banks hold, Mr. Sands. You
also own the majority of the stock in your father�s company and properties
throughout the world. There are also numerous investments both of your parents
took an interest in as well, but I won�t get into any of that now. Needless to say,
young sir, you are a very rich man.�

And I bet you�re going
to turn into a fucking snob because of it? The voice sneered. Fucking rich people.

Sands was about to retort to that when he realised Mr. Dellacourte was still standing in front of him and seemed
to be waiting for some kind of words of wisdom. �Thank you for informing me,
Mr. Dellacourte. I regret to say my energies will
probably be put toward clearing my name of�� he paused for emphasis. �...these
tragedies.�

Dellacourte nodded. �Indeed. Well
I have no doubt that these matters will be taken care of soon. I mean, they
can�t possibly believe you would set fire to your own house, can they? What
possible sense could that make?�

The voice laughed. If he only knew. Maybe
you should tell him. That could be fun. Think he�d believe us? Think he�d say
we couldn�t have the money if he found out you were insane?
�No sense at all,� Sands agreed with a mental glare at his
unwelcome guest.

He nodded again. �Well if you are feeling up to it, I
suggest we go and speak with the young detective that was practically standing
upon my heels to get in here. The nurse made him wait outside, bless her, but
if you�re able to speak with him, I rather think you should. If only to get
this whole mess straightened out.�

But what if I don�t
want to talk to him, you interfering bastard? Sands thought to himself with a mental scowl while on the outside he was all
smiles and acceptance. �I will certainly follow that advice, Mr. Dellacourte. Lead on.�

�Call me Max, young sir,� he said after a moment�s
consideration before taking him to meet with the detective.

WWW

Present Day

Claire Harrington, M.D was silently fuming as she surveyed
the ills that had been inflicted upon her patient. Something has to be done about this. This shouldn�t have happened. And yet� I can use this to my advantage. I can make him
trust me. She nodded to herself as she realised what she would have to do.
It was simply, really. She had seen enough mindless cop shows to understand the
concept of good cop, bad cop. Agent Rivers and his woman were the bad and she
would be the good. She would earn Mr. Sands� trust by caring for him. She would
show him that she had only the best intentions for him; that she would never do
anything to harm him. That is, unless it was for his own good. Sometimes bad
things had to happen for the good of the person afflicted. What doesn�t kill us
makes us stronger. She firmly believed that.

�Are you ready to hear the report, Doctor?� a voice
interrupted her thoughts.

She nodded. �Yes, do go on. How bad is he?�

The attending physician that stood at her elbow cleared his
throat checked and rechecked the chart in front of him, and began. �Two broken
ribs, a fractured jaw, broken nose, broken left cheekbone, and the wound on his
chest has broken open again.� The doctor closed his notes and cleared his
throat again. �It could have been worse, but that man beat him up pretty badly.
If you aren�t going to call the proper authorities, I will.�

�And say what?� Dr. Carrington seethed, her vision filled
with images of strangling that bastard CIA agent for what he had done to her
patient.

�Tell them what happened! Look, I believe what they say
about him, I believe that he killed all those people, but no one deserves
that.�

�They won�t believe us,� she continued.

The doctor scoffed. �Why wouldn�t they? We�re doctors, for
Christ�s sake, Claire.�

Dr. Harrington�s eyes narrowed minutely at the usage of her
first name, but she didn�t comment upon it. �And they�re CIA agents. They�ll just
tell whoever�s in charge that they were defending themselves; that they were
given leave to use all necessary force to bring him back to us and they did
so.�

�That�s a load of bullshit and you know it, Claire. They beat him while he was in their custody. He couldn�t even defend himself
because he was restrained. Tell me you�re not going to let them get away with
this.�

�Oh I�m not, Greg,�
she stated coldly. �You don�t have to worry about that.�

Dr. Harrington�s companion frowned a little at that as he
looked up and saw the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes. He didn�t
worry, actually because it was clear that she would see to it that the persons
responsible for Mr. Sands� condition would pay dearly. He only hoped he be
around to witness it when she did.

WWW

�So�who are you and what did you do to deserve taking care
of the psycho?� Sands muttered as a nurse bent over him to shine a light into
his eyes for what seemed like the twentieth time to check him over for a
possible concussion.

�Don�t talk. You�ve got a fractured jaw,� she instructed
evenly, her voice practically medicinal in itself.

Sands rolled his eyes and gently lifted his aching head up
to take in his bound hands and feet. �All I can do is talk. And it doesn�t
hurt,� he further elaborated, giving the IV in his right wrist a meaningful
look. �I don�t know what you�re giving me, but I feel about ready to float off
this bed and out the window. That is, if I wasn�t tethered down.�

�If you�re trying to get me to remove your restraints you�re
wasting your time,� the nurse, or possible intern-he could never remember such
things-said clearly. �You�re going to stay here until you�ve healed and then
you�ll be handed over to the proper authorities.�

�Where I�ll be locked up for the rest of my life or
executed. Yes, I know,� Sands finished for her. �Neither option sounds like
much fun to me.�

�Fun? You�re looking for fun?� the
nurse/intern asked incredulously. She was probably an intern. Nurses didn�t
wear the white doctor coats, did they?

If he could have shrugged, he would have. �Why
not? If we can�t get any fun out of life, then what�s the point?�

�What you would consider fun normal people consider worthy
of a death sentence, Mr. Sands.�

�Be that as it may, that doesn�t mean it�s not fun.�

�You�re sick,� she said disgustedly.

�Which is why I�m tied to the bed in a fucking crazy ward,
I�d imagine,� Sands said dryly. �But don�t knock it �til you�ve tried it.�

�What? Are you completely insane? I�m not going to go out
and kill someone just because you say its fun!�

�Did he say kill someone? No, he didn�t. And of course we�re
crazy. We�re nuttier than squirrel shit,� Jeffrey added with a smirk. �You
don�t have to kill someone to have fun. Oftentimes, it�s more fun to maim them
for life. Have you ever given someone a limp before? That�s one of my goals.
One day I�ll have enough patience to do so, you mark my words.�

�Do you even know where you are? You�re tied to a bed with a
quartet of armed guards standing outside the door just waiting for you to make
a wrong move. Trust me, you�re not going anywhere.�

�I escaped this fucking place once already and I was drugged
to the fucking gills while I did it. What makes you think I can�t do it again,
sweetness?�

The intern�s dark denim-blue eyes narrowed at the name but
she didn�t comment upon it. �We�ve learned from our mistakes. You�re not
leaving this hospital until it�s time for you to be thrown down into whatever hole they come up with for a cockroach like you and
forgotten about. Either that or they execute you. I wonder if they�ll let me
watch.�

�No death penalty in this state, sugar. Sorry to
disappoint,� Jeffrey drawled with a smirk, clearly enjoying the banter he was
having with her.

�Pity,� she murmured with a frown, flipping her chin-length
black hair in an irritated gesture.

�Well I tell you what hon, if they
decide to do whatever it is they do to people like me because of what I did in
Maryland, I�ll be sure to have them send you an invitation, savvy?�

�Oh I�ll be there with bells on,� the intern said coldly.
�Maybe I�ll even wave to you before the do it.�

Jeffrey smirked. �You�re a real bitch, you know that? I
think I like you.�

�Gee, my day is now complete. I have gotten a psychopath and
a murderer to like me. I think I�ll write home to mom.�

�I�d do that, but Sands killed his mother so my letters
wouldn�t get anywhere,� Jeffrey said wryly.

�Can you send letters to hell? I bet that�s where the bitch
ended up,� Sands muttered under his breath.

Jeffrey tsked. �Such
language. And about your mother, too. She would
be so ashamed.�

�Oh shut the fuck up. This is all your fucking fault, you
know. If you hadn�t stopped to chat with the fucking CIA we might have gotten
out of here,� Sands growled.

�What? Fuck you. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Get
fucking shot? They had the goddamned place surrounded, Sands! You want to blame
someone; blame fucking Rivers for throwing that fucking knife.�

�I am going to kill that son of a bitch anyway, don�t you
worry. Look at what he fucking did to us!�

Jeffrey rolled his eyes. �Yeah, I was there, Sands. I don�t
know about you but I had fucking fun getting be beat up by a little prick like
him. It was exactly how I wanted to finish up the day,� he said dryly.

�He�s not going to get away with it. I mean, how the fuck can he? This is a hospital, for fuck�s sake! Why didn�t
anyone fucking stop him?� Sands yelled, his hands balling into fists despite
the dull pain that threatened to break through the blanket of painkillers he
was currently under. �No. You know what? I�m fucking glad they didn�t stop him.
I�m glad they didn�t do a goddamned thing to him. I hope they don�t. I really
do. That just leaves them all to me. And I will make them all pay,� he hissed.

�We�re fucking tied to a bed, Sands. Just how are you going
to make him pay, exactly?� Jeffrey asked sardonically.

�Patience is a virtue, Jeffrey. I can wait. I�ll let him
think I�ve forgotten how he�s wronged us. I�ll let him think that poor, crazy
Sands is too fucked up and scared to do anything about it. That�s fine. Let him
have his moments of superiority. I�ll make him scream in the end.�

�You�re fucking insane,� Jeffrey muttered with a gentle
shake of his head, not wanting to tempt the pain.

�Yes, I am,� Sands agreed without hesitation. �But that
doesn�t mean that I won�t get him.�

�Yes, it does,� the intern spoke up from her silent corner
of the room, startling both men. They had forgotten she was even there
listening to them. �You�re never going to get free.�

�Oh really? And what makes you so
fucking sure?� Sands asked with a sneer. �I�ve done it once, halfway drugged to
the gills and tied up. What makes you think I can�t do it again?�

�Because I won�t let you,� she answered with authority.

Jeffrey snorted before Sands could reply. �What�s your name,
sweetness?� he asked.

�I didn�t know you were blind as well as insane and
arrogant,� she said with a smirk as her clearly obvious nametag flashed in the
garish fluorescent light of the room.

�Ha, ha very funny. I can�t exactly
turn to get a better fucking look, now can I sweetie pie?� Jeffrey responded
with a mixture of a smirk and a scowl.

�My name is Ms. Drasden. And I�d
appreciate if you called me that, Mr. Sands,� she said evenly.

�Oh come on. What�s your first name? I won�t tell anyone, I
promise,� Jeffrey asked with good-humored levity.

�We�re tied to a fucking bed and you�re trying to flirt with
one of the jailers? What the fuck is wrong with you?� Sands asked
incredulously.

�I�m bored and I don�t want to talk to you. That leaves�well
let�s see�no, no one in that corner, no one on the fucking ceiling, oh wait
that only leaves her,� Jeffrey said with a scowl. �It�s either make
conversation with them or go crazy by having to listen to your ranting. I
choose them.�

�You shouldn�t. They�re just out to get us,� Sands insisted,
giving the intern a suspicious glance.

�They�ve already gotten us, Sands. Now stop being so fucking
paranoid. And stop interrupting. She hasn�t told me her name yet,� Jeffrey said
pointedly.

�Well she�s not going to now. She sees that were fucking��

Sands was cut off by the intern�s
crisp, no-nonsense voice. �I would appreciate it if you didn�t curse so much,
Mr. Sands. And my name is Lauren if you really must know,� she said in even
tones.

�Lauren. My new favorite name,� Jeffrey said with a smirk.

�What gives you the fucking right to tell me how to talk? I
can say whatever the fuck I want,� Sands groused, glaring daggers at her.

�The fact that I can decide to put you on so many
anti-psychotics that you can�t even hold a coherent thought let alone speak,
Mr. Sands. Now if you remain civil and do what I and Dr. Harrington tell you,
we won�t have to resort to that.�

�She�s a hard-ass, Sands. I�d listen to her. Oh. Whoops.
Sorry, Lauren. Slip of the tongue, you see,� Jeffrey said, feigning all the
innocence of a silver-tongued devil as he did so.

�Naturally,� Lauren said drolly. �This goes for�both of
you,� she said hesitantly, seeming to accept the fact that there were indeed
two of them when many others in her position had not. �These are the rules: no
cursing, no using of pet names, no yelling, no assaulting the staff, no biting
the hand that feeds you. I�m sure there will be more added, but this is my
prerogative. If any of these rules are ignored or broken, there will be
consequences. Some worse than others. If on the other
hand, you�re cooperative I promise that this,�
she gestured towards his bloodied and bruised face, �will never happen again.�

Sands snorted. �And why should I believe you? I didn�t see any
of you or your boss stepping in to stop him last time.�

�That�s because you weren�t cooperating last time,� she said
as if it should have been intuitively obvious. �Cooperate with us, and that
will change.�

�So, what? If I behave like the
good little boy I�m clearly not you won�t condone members of this nation�s law
enforcement agency practicing their abusing techniques on my face?�

�In essence, that is correct,� she said with a nod.

�And you won�t drug me into oblivion again? That was a whole
lot of no fun,� Jeffrey muttered.

�You will be given antipsychotics to keep you calm. There is
no negotiating around that. However, if you do what we ask of you when we ask
it, I will insure that you�re never given enough that you don�t retrain some
form of lucidity.�

��Some form of
lucidity,�� Sands repeated dryly. �That�s very reassuring.�

�It�s all you�re going to get. Now, do we have a deal or
not?�

Sands grunted.

�Do you really have any other choice, Mr. Sands?�

No. He didn�t. Fuck. �We have a deal, Ms. Drasden.�

TBC

A/N: Well this certainly took a long time to write. Sorry
about that. Sands and Jeffrey kept telling me to go bug someone else, and
Roland just locked himself away in a guilty corner. It makes it difficult to
write under those circumstances, let me tell you.
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Darkness Rising