More Than Eyes Alone Can See | By : Psnoo17 Category: M through R > Once Upon A Time In Mexico Views: 1450 -:- 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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Sands had been hoping that Tess was going to be able to convince
him that it had been the cartel staking out his motel – but no luck. If what she
was saying was true, then it had probably been CIA taking shots at her. The CIA really liked their silencers; they
liked being able to pretend that they melted into the shadows everywhere they
went. He had always preferred to blend
in with his surroundings. Or to appear
so foolish that no one gave him a second look.
He let these thoughts occupy him until he heard another hiss of pain
come from the woman in the room. “You
seem to be making an awful lot of noise for someone who claims that they aren’t
seriously hurt.”
“While I realize
that you’re doing your best to be helpful, you still haven’t managed to point
out anything that I didn’t already know for myself. Since that’s the case, I’d appreciate it if
you would kindly return yourself to my bed before you collapse.”
“I can assure you
that if I do collapse, it will be after I’ve been in your bed for some time, chiquita.”
“Mmm. I appreciate your attempt at levity, but what
I’m trying to say is, go away.” Tessa’s voice was tight with pain, her grip
on her temper fraying. She already knew
that she had done something stupid and was well aware that she was paying the
due price for it. She didn’t need smart aleck
commentary as she contemplated the best way to get her shirt off without
breaking her wound open again.
She cursed
silently, wondering if the injury could be more inconveniently placed. It was on the under part of her upper right
arm, and to get the t-shirt off she needed to raise her arms above her
head. There wasn’t a chance of that
happening without causing the wound to start bleeding and throbbing again. Realizing she needed help, Tess started to
grumble under her breath.
“I didn’t quite catch
that, chia But I need help getting my shirt off.
I can’t do it myself without making things worse.
It’s not worth the risk.
Silently, Tess gave way to the voice. Deep inside she feared it was right, but she
knew it was wrong. She needed help. Giving up on the internal conflict, she
swallowed hard and said, “Will you please
go into the other room? I’m not used to
undressing in front of strange men.”
“But you don’t mind
undressing them?” For the first time in
several days, Sands might say that he was actually feeling a bit of
amusement. La chiquita was getting modest about stripping in front of
him. He had no eyes - it wasn’t as if he
was going to be ogling her or
anything.
“That’s
different. I’m a doctor.”
“What are you
suggesting? That only people with a
medical background can be clinically detached when it
comes to the human body?”
Silence. “If that is what you’re suggesting, then let me
just say that I went through several courses of advanced first aid. And I sincerely doubt you’ve got anything I
haven’t seen before.”
“I thought that was
supposed to be my line.”
Sands could still
hear the nervousness and weariness in her voice. “Look señorita,
we could stand here all night and . . . converse . . . or we can get you out of
those bloody clothes so you can keep enough blood in your body to be able to
function tomorrow.”
He was right. That was what it came down
to. It was silly to think that
any man she came across would take advantage of her if she let her guard
down. Her mind was screaming at her to
reconsider, but she had made up the part of her mind that she had control
over. “Ok, but I only need help getting
my arms out of the sleeves. After that I
really do want you to go lie down.”
*******************************************
Tess couldn’t
believe what she was doing as she turned her back to Sands, watching in the mirror
as he stepped up behind her. She had
been in this type of situation before and it had turned out badly for her -
although not as badly as for the man also involved. She’d been traumatized. He’d been killed.
When Sands reached
out a hand and touched her back, she jumped, nervousness getting the best of
her. At
least I didn’t shriek. The thought
dropped like a block of ice and broke on the floor of reality as Sands lightly
ran his hand up her spine to her shoulder.
It was too much, too familiar. There were simply too many unpleasant
memories triggered by the touch. Unable
to stop herself, knowing she either had to protest or
face the memories, she stepped away and said in a shaky voice, “Please
don’t. This was a mistake. The shirt is already ruined. I’ll just cut it off.”
“What’s wrong, niña?
Don’t you trust me?”
“Don’t you trust me?” The touches grew rough, making her gasp in
pain . . . . Slamming what was left
of her shaky control over the can of worms this had
opened up, she said, “No. Not
particularly.”
Sands realized that
he had reached the limit of how far he could push her before things turned
unpredictable. He wasn’t in any state to
handle unpredictability right now. Maybe
in a few days . . . . “Smart girl,” he
murmured. pan>pan>“Relax. I’m not going to bite.” Remembering that she had said that the gun
shot was on her right arm, he decided to free her left arm first.
Holding in a sigh
of relief as the touch turned from a light brush to a no-nonsense, impersonal
guide, Tessa turned her left side towards Sands as he pushed on her right
side. Sands gripped her left sleeve with
both hands as she withdrew her arm through the hole. Easy part done. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Are you
sure I can’t just cut the shirt off?”
The comforting
reply was, “Stop being a baby.” Sands
slid a hand across her shoulders to her right arm with determination. “Ready?”
“If I said ‘no’
would it matter?” Gritting her teeth,
Tess slowly pulled her right arm inside her t-shirt exhaling abruptly as the
skin around the injury stretched and pulled at the seared edges of the
wound. She hated gun wounds with a passion.
Whoever had invented them ought to be taken out into the street and
trampled by horses. No, better yet, whoever had invented gunpowder
ought to be thrown over the side of a ship located right over the Mariana
Trench. Yes, that would be good. Too bad
such a fate is improbable since gunpowder has been around for several thousand
years or something like that.
Hey,
a girl’s gotta dream. Her arm was all the way inside her
shirt. They were done, although she was
not. “Thank you. I think I can handle everything from here.”
“An expert at tying
bandages one handed, are we?”
She was never going
to get rid of him. That was it. She had made some unspeakable mistake by
taking this man in, and now the cosmos, the very Fates themselves, were
aligning to punish her. There was no other explanation.
You’re
absolutely right. Someone is clearly out
to get you. Perhaps he’s just waiting
until you let your guard down, doing what he can to make you lower your
defenses. And then tonight, while you’re
sleeping, he’ll come out into the hall and . . . .
“Shut up,” Tess growled under her breath. Glancing at her patient, who was obviously
taking that comment as a reply to his sardonic statement, she continued the
thought silently. No one is out to get me. I have nothing
to be paranoid about.
Once he’s asleep he won’t stir until morning. It’s late and his body is still recovering
from yesterday. There’s no reason to
think that I won’t be perfectly safe tonight.
Especially
if you give him something to make him sleep.
He’s blind. He’d never know. Get him before he gets you.
I will not give in to paranoia!
I won’t give in to you.
But it’s tempting, isn’t it?
No. God help her, but it
was. Pulling her shirt over her head
faster than was wise, Tess opened her medicine cabinet and pulled out several
bottles and her booster. Quickly opening
the tops, she swallowed the pills without any water, and then gave herself the
injection. It might not have been the
wisest thing to do since she had already given herself one that morning, but
the thought of having a schizophrenic episode terrified her. She was willing to risk the migraine and
nausea she’d have in the morning, if only she could stay in control of
herself.
“Something wrong, señorita?”
Oh God, please don’t let him suspect
anything. Please. “No.
Nothing’s wrong. I just thought
that I would take some Ibuprofen before cleaning and wrapping this. The sooner it kicks in the better.” Turning from the mirror, she realized that
her patient had reached his limit. He
was pale and his face was sweaty – clearly
‘Giovanni’ had overexerted himself. “Sit
down before you pass out. And if you
would be so kind as to contain your arguments?”
She ushered him over to the toilet, making sure the lid was down before
he took a seat. Amazingly enough, he did
as she directed without any resistance or smart comments, which worried
her. She checked for fever by laying her
good hand on his forehead. He was hotter
than she thought safe. Tess doubted that
his body had anything left with which to fight a fever.
Don’t be an alarmist. Take his temperature first. “Stay here.”
Going out into the bedroom, Tessa dug her thermometer out of her
medicine case. She walked back into the
bathroom, holding her right arm against her body to avoid jostling it as much
as possible, and said, “Open your mouth.
I need to take your temperature.
I think you’re running a fever.”
Again Sands obeyed without protest.
Seconds after placing the instrument in his mouth, the thermometer let
out a small beep. Tess removed it and
checked it to see just how hot her patient was.
100.8 °F. Ah, crap.
“So, how bad is it
doc?”
“Mmm . . . you’re
running a temp, 100.8 to be specific.”
Thoughtfully she said, “It’s not bad enough that I’m worried yet . . .
but I would like to give you some Ibuprofen to bring it down, and I want to
check all your injuriesmakemake sure that none of them are infected.” She scratched her head with her good
hand. “I have some of the more common
antibiotics with me, but they’re most effective if infection is caught early.”
*******************************************
It turned out that Tessa had needed Sands’
help to tie a bandage around her arm after
all. To give her credit, she had tried
for some time to do it herself as Sands sat on the toilet and listened to her
mumbles of frustration and muffled exclamations of pain. Finally he had tired of her obstinacy and had
called her by name. Surprised, she had
submitted silently as he had wrapped a bandage around her wound – even though she thought that he
wrapped it a bit tighter than was necessary.
“Thank you,” she mumbled
under her breath. Sands ignored this and
tried to stand up, his legs not quite supporting him. Darting an arm around his waist, Tess managed
to get hold of him before he fell to the ground. They both let out hisses of pain; Sands
because his head was throbbing in pain again, Tess because in catching Sands
she had slammed the burn on her left side into her patient. Once she could speak with a voice clear of
pain, Tess observed, “We make quite a pair, don’t we? Both of us shot up, and neither quite able to
walk confidently on our own.”
Irritated at having
to be forced to depend on someone else for support, Sands said in a bored
voice, “I’m sure you tried to inject some humor in that statement, but I’m
afraid it escaped me. Why don’t you
stick to saying that you can do things on your own? That joke seems to be working for youp>
p>
And
you thought he was finally working his way out of that funk. The thought feebly pushed it’s
way into her mind and rang just as faintly in her ears. The medication was taking hold, putting it to
sleep. Giving a silent prayer of thanks,
Tess kept her mouth shut and slowly maneuvered Sands out of the bathroom and
over to the bed.
Ignoring his
weakening protests, Tess efficiently unwrapped all of Sands injuries, starting
with his eyes. She had horrible visions
of infection getting a decent hold there and spreading through the rest of his
body and into his bloodstream until she could do nothing more than watch him
die. As she removed the gauze, she could
tell that he was finding this to be an unpleasant experience by the faint red flags of either
embarrassment or anger highlighting his cheekbones. Knowing there was nothing she could say to
comfort or console him, she merely conducted an examination as quickly as she
could.
Nothing. There was nothing; no sign of infection, no
sign of current bleeding. Dropping her
head in relief, Tessa said, “Well, the good news is that if there is infection,
it’s in one of your other wounds.” No
reply. Taking time to rewrap his eyes in
a fresh layer of cotton, Tess composed herself.
It was no more fun to have to examine those wounds than it could be to
have someone examine them. They were
obscene; a perversion of what had most likely been a beautiful face – what was
still a deeply attractive face. Tess
sincerely hoped that wherever Guevera was, he was paying for this and every
other thing he’d ever done.
Deciding to simply
work her way down his body, Tess next looked at the bullet wound in his left
arm. Ah, here was the culprit. The skin around the stitches was pink,
stretched, and oozing a clear liquid.
Laying a gentle finger to the side of it, she could feel that it was
hot. Reaching into her case, Tessa pulled
out two bottles – one of antibacterial ointment and one of penicillin. Cleaning the wound, she wrapped it again and
then managed to convince Sands to take one of the pills.
“One of those three
times of day, and soon you’ll be feeling a bit more like normal/p>
/p>
*******************************************
“Why are you doing
this? What’s the point?” It was nearing three in the morning and Sands
condition had worsened. The fever was no
longer a concern for Tessa; now, it was managing to lower her patient’s amount
of pain to the point where he could rest.
Tess knew that she needed sleep too
– that she was nearing the point where she was going to start making
fatigue induced mistakes. Mistakes that
could not be afforded now. “What are you
trying to do?”
Make the pain go away. That’s all.
Make your pain go away. Make my
pain go away. Too many people hurt, too
many left in pain. Too many left
dead. Too much blood left on my family’s
account. “What am I trying to
do?” She couldn’t remember any
more. “I’m trying to make you well
again.”
“Why?” The question was accompanied by a gasp of
pain. Tess reached down and took Sands’
hand, hoping to reassure and calm
him. To comfort a man who in all
likelihood would have smacked her for the effort had he been in control of
himself. But he wasn’t. His pain was riding him, controlling him like falconer controls his falcon. By using blindness and bindings. In this state he could grasp her hand and
cling to this pale example of human closeness.
Unfortunately though, comfort does not always drive away fear and
suspicion. “What are you planning? To hand me over to what’s left of the
cartel?”
“No. You may find this hard to believe, but I’m
not planning anything. I just want to
see you well, out of reach of death’s shadow.”
“Why?”
The question was
anguished, tormented. Tess couldn’t tell
if this was because of the pain or due to other internal demons. Demons she
knew all too intimately herself.
“Because you didn’t deserve this.
No one deserves this.”
“You might be
surprised. I’m quite the bastard. Arrogant, insulting, shot men just to watch
them die, that sort of thing.”
Tess was quiet,
unsure of how to respond to such an admission.
She’d known too many men who could say the same to take his words
lightly. She wasn’t a priest who could
offer him advice on spiritual matters – she could offer no absolution. But neither could she condemn him without
condemning herself. Ignoring his words
would not make them go away, but accepting them seemed wrong as well. As if there was no hope left for him. No hope of change, no hope of redemption, no hope of tomorrow’s dawn, which would come whether he
could see it or not.
“What’s wrong, chiquita? You don’t have an answer for that?”
“That’s not the
sort of statement that requires an answer.”
His grip on her hand loosened as the latest wave of pain became bearable
once again. He would drop off into sleep and she would
doze until the next one awoke them both.
The night couldn’t go on like this.
She needed sleep to face the coming day.
He needed sleep to speed his recovery.
“Señor, are you sure you want
nothing to help with the pain? To help
you sleep?”
“No.”
“Why not? Sleep will help your body heal itself.”
As if he were
explaining things to a young child, he patiently said, “Because my mind will be able to run unchecked
if you drug me into unconsciousness.
That’s not something I’m willing to put up with.”
This she knew. The dreams that made sleep a living nightmare. The terror that came when you realized that
you couldn’t wake up . . . that the dream would continue for all eternity until
you went mad with it. If you weren’t
already. “The dreams?”
With a bitter
smirk, Sands recited:
“‘To die, to sleep -
To sleep, perchance to dream, aye
there’s the rub,
For in that sleep
of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal
coil,
Must give us pause; there’s the
respect
That makes calamity of so long life.’
What say you to that, chiquita?”
Tess smiled.
“I say, ‘Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and
safely insane every night of the week.’
Although, I’m not sure that William Dement was right about that. There’s no such thing as a safe
madness.” It was true. Or maybe it was only true for those who were
already mad. Maybe for those who were
sane, madness was indeed safe in dreams.
“Go to sleep. You’ll be awake
again all too soon. We’ll deal with the
pain as it comes.”
Sands shook his
head, the side to side motion barely discernable. He was probably afraid that any real motion
would set off another round of pain.
“You should go into another room and get some sleep. Those kids are going to be up in the
morning. I don’t have to deal with them,
or at least not politely. There’s no
reason you should suffer alongside me.”
“Nobody deserves to
suffer alone.”
“But some of us
prefer it.” There was silence, then the
woman let go of his hand. More
silence. If she was trying to make him
think she had left the room, she definitely needed sleep. “I don’t hear you leaving, chiquita. I’m serious.
Buzz off.” Steps echoed weakly
through the roo she she left. He wasn’t
sure if she ever made it past the doorway – sleep claimed him before he could
be certain. As he drifted off, though,
he thought he heard the song that he had heard her singing earlier. For the rest of the night, his dreams were
filled not with the sound of drills, but with the sight of a mournful Ajedrez
singing, Pray for us sinners.
*******************************************
Tess, asleep on the
hallway floor and wrapped in a tattered blanket, was awoken rudely the next
morning. She had been deeply
asleep, too exhausted to even dream, when the ringing of a cell phone
broke into hend, nd, drilling relentlessly at her conscious.
She moaned, and
tried to ignore the sound, begging whatever deity was in control of her fate
for a few more minutes of sleep.
Useless. With every ring of the
phone, Tess became more aware of the hard floor beneath her, of the irritating
throbbing of her arm and side, and of the sun shining in her eyes.
Cursing to herself,
she stumbled to her feet, seeing through blurry, barely open eyes. Cell phone . . . cell phone. Hadn’t she smashed it yesterday? No, that was another phone. As she rose, her head started pounding and
her stomach rolled – unpleasant reminders of the lengths she had been driven to
the night before to subdue her voice. Cell phone.
Where’s the cell phone? My cell
phone? Yes, my cell phone. Oh god, my head hurts. I’ll skin whoever is calling at this time of the morning. No, that’s too
pleasant. I’ll give them my
headache. No . . . I’ll give them my
voice, and then I can be normal and will feel like calling people in the
morning.
Stumble, stumble,
catch balance, stumble. Reach out, pull open desk drawer in the
living room. Patient? Did he wake up? No.
Asleep in the bedroom. Push
button, hold to ear. “Hóla?” Her voice was rough with sleep, pain, and yet
more weariness. Sit on couch before
passing out.
“T?”
“Yes, this is
Tessa.”
“Oh, I wasn’t
sure. You sound horrible. Are you sick?” The voice on the other end of the line was
cheerful. Tess immediately took a strong
dislike to whoever it belonged to.
“Who is this and what
the hell are you doing calling so early?” Tess demanded irritably. If she had to talk on the phone this early,
the least her caller could do was make sense.
“T, I’m hurt. Don’t you recognize old friends?”
“What time is it?”
“Umm . . .” there
was a pause, as if whoever it was was checking a
watch or clock. “It’s a little after
eight.”
“Your time or my
time?”
“Our time. I think.
This is Logan.”
Oh.
That explained it. “Well, to
answer your question: yes, I usually talk to ‘old friends’ like that after less
than five hours of sleep and what was surely an overdose of
anti-hallucinogens.” Logan
was one of the few people she had let in on her little secret. It had been kind of
hard to hide after he had been there for her one and only breakdown.
“Rough night?”
“Rough week, it
seems like.” She sighed. Logan
didn’t call often, so if he was calling now, then it was probably
important. “But I have it under
control. Why did you feel the sudden
uncontrollable urge to call me? Thinking
about dating someone new and want me to give my opinion of her based on what
you say? I think we’re both smart enough
to agree that that didn’t help you so much the last time we tried it.” Logan
had been one of her best friends at med school.
It had all started out because she had been the one in their study group
willing to try anything at least once
(after finally being free of her father’s overbearing scrutiny), and he had
been the guy who had suggested
anything. Tess preferred to think about
their “escapades” as “bonding experiences.”
“No. Nothing like that.” The excitement was creeping back into his
voice. “You know the experiments that
I’ve been running?”
“The ones on that
new transplant technique that everyone but your employer said was crazy?”
“Yeah, that
one. Guess what?”
“You’ve either been
fired for daydreaming or spending all of your department’s funds.”
“No. I’ve gotten permission from the FDA to start
human trials.”
Suddenly, Tess saw how
she could repay the rest of her debt.
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