Chapter 6: Spooks in White

Sands was sitting upright in his hospital bed, listening to the buzz of all the typical hospital sounds that surrounded him. Hurried footsteps, grieving relatives, no-nonsense doctors, beeps, whirs and rolling stretchers.

Goddamn, he was bored as hell.

Just sitting around doing nothing had never been Sands’ style, and being forced to do so now irritated him no end. He hated sitting around… it left his mind free to do too much thinking. He’d think about the past, the present, and most frightening of all, the future. On the outside he showed the world his normal demeanor. Officer Sands, always cool as a cucumber and able to handle any shapes thrown his way, even in the direst of situations.

Inside however, he was threatening to crumble. Actually, he always had been, but now more than ever.

The darkness, his fears, his mental instability, all rising up and attempting to eat him alive.

It didn’t help that he was now blind.

It didn’t help that the door to his mind had always been slightly unhinged.

And it really didn’t help that the last time he’d paid OMS a little ‘visit’ was when he’d had his mental breakdown after…

As part of his therapy OMS had assigned him a psychotherapist at the beginning of the week. Sands didn’t know exactly how long he’d been at OMS, but imagined it was nearing a month, and as far as Sands was concerned this new ‘therapist’ of his was a first class moron. Every day he’d sit there for two hours and listen, while the therapist asked him in a hundred and fifty different ways ‘how he felt’.

He’d been transferred out of intensive care about two weeks ago. The bullets removed and all injuries sanitized, stitched and wrapped tight. He’d been told when he was finally aware again, and not too drugged up on meds by his assigned spook in white, that nothing could be done for his eyes. He recalled sitting silently for a moment after being given the news, before biting back a bitter reply. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

The simple fact was that Sands had already known that… he’d have been an idiot not to know it. Sands knew from the moment that the no doubt self-proclaimed Doctor Guevara revealed his instrument of torture and moved toward Sands with that insane gleam in his eye, that there would be no going back from what happened there in that dank, dark room with only his enemies as witnesses.

No three strikes and you’re out.

No second chance, no do-over, no re-take.

No encores for this Broadway performance. The curtain was down and the seats were empty. Critics proclaim, this show is not groovy, happenin’ or hip and should be avoided at all costs.

He would have to agree with that last statement.

Still, even though Sands knew what had happened, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it, not yet, not ever.

‘No. Don’t think about it.’

He supposed that’s what the nosy, pipsqueak therapist was trying to do, get him to accept, but Officer Sands wouldn’t bite. Besides, it was fun to string the man along, to bait him, and he got a perverse pleasure out of playing with his therapist’s mind. Sands was not ignorant when it came to psychology, especially mind games and psychological warfare. After all, Sands had a Masters in the subject and he put his well-honed skills to use every day.

Sands knew the man must dread his sessions with Officer Sands.

Which meant that Sands loved every minute of it, and fucking with the man was, at the very least, a break from the boring humdrum OMS life.

Of course, mind games had always been one of his specialties, a specialty he once proudly admitted to Cam that he frequently used and abused.

Sands sighed as the hospital racket continued. He didn’t think it was normal for him to hear it so well. His hearing had to have been heightened since… that day.

Sands fingers began to tap against his thigh with impatience. He recalled one of the nurses telling him earlier that a TV was in the room if he wanted to use it, and he decided that now would be the perfect time. His hand groped around on the nightstand beside him until his fingers brushed the remote control for the TV. It then took two more minutes to figure out which way it needed to point and another minute for him to push every top and bottom button until he heard the TV click on.

At the sound Sands threw the remote back onto the nightstand with a grunt of frustration then turned his head towards the source.

After listening intently to the TV for a few minutes, as he tried to stop his mind from racing, he came to the upsetting conclusion that it was on SoapNet.

It was at that moment that Sands realized he was truly in hell. His head fell back in a gesture of defeat, until it hit the wall and pain shot through his skull.

Sands heard the door to his room open, accompanied by the sound of light footsteps walking towards him and he quickly lifted his head back up straight. No sense in looking even more pathetic than he already did. Judging by the sound of the footsteps he could tell they belonged to a female… it was a nurse. Sands turned his bandaged face towards the sound. He could hear a slight clattering as she walked in and surmised she was probably bringing him some food.

"Ah, Officer Sands. I see you’ve discovered the TV. Your lunch is on the table here," she paused and patted the table to make sure he knew where it was, then continued "and I’ve been told to inform you that you’ll be having a visitor today, in about an hour."

This must have been the first time she’d cared for him because he didn’t recognize her voice from before. It was soft, feminine, almost musical.

For the millionth time he damned the darkness. He wished he could see her. Still, it didn’t stop his mind’s eye from picturing what she might look like, and he was pleased with the results that his imagination came up with.

"Visitor?" Sands repeated questioningly. He wasn’t really surprised; he was actually more shocked that he hadn’t had one yet. He could think of several officers from the Company who were probably dying to talk to him, and the only explanation for such a long reprieve must have been OMS forbidding visitors. Sands hadn’t minded. The delay gave him plenty of time to concoct a believable story to tell. Hell, he’d thought up several believable stories. He also had a debrief to go through, that much he was certain of, and whatever else happened would decidedly rest on just how much the Company knew.

However Sands did wonder just who, out of the many people who no doubt wanted or needed to see him, would be the first to take a crack at it.

"Director Douglas," she answered, before leaving him to his meal, and his thoughts.

Douglas was the Director of Security. For him to come in person, he must really have been concerned by what went down, wrong and side-ways with Sands’ operation. It was that, or Sands was going to be prosecuted. He sincerely hoped it was the former; it would make his already difficult life much easier.

Sands straightened up a little bit in determination.

He wasn’t worried.

After all, he was Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands, and he could bullshit his way out of just about anything.

~*~

Vae - Damn