Status: work in progress
Till the End of the Line
twenty-seven
'WHAT THE HELL?!'
Sarah was panting hard as she felt the cold metal mouth of the gun pressing into the side of her head. For a moment she could barely breathe, her mind seemed to fill with faded images; memories of a white room and people holding her while a metal rod beat down on her spine. She expected someone to hold her head while someone else barked questions at her. But she only felt one hand cradling her head as the other put a gun to her.
'No more funny stuff, now. I'm done with you kicking me in the shins.'
'Let go of me!'
'Calm down!'
The man behind her gave her a firm shake and she settled down, still breathing heavily.
'Okay,' she heard him say with a resigned sort of sigh, 'let's do this calmly. No one needs to get hurt.' And with a hint of irritation he added, 'Or kicked. So, who are you? What are you doing here?'
'I could ask you the same thing, but it's pretty clear that you're a burglar or some other-…' He cut across her with some indignation: 'A burglar? Seriously, lady? You've got to be ki-…'
'Well, you broke into a house that isn't yours, and you're holding a fucking gun to my head. Not that weird a deduction.'
'So, you're saying this is your house?'
'I-I didn't…'
'That means you're trespassing too, lady. Care to elaborate?'
'What the hell makes you think I'm going to tell you anything?'
'I'm holding the gun, remember?'
Sarah growled as he demonstrated this fact by pushing the gun a little harder into her temple. 'Now, I'm gonna ask you nicely one more time… Who are you?'
'I-I'm… Sarah.'
'Sarah…?'
'Sarah Jones.'
'And how come you're here?'
Sarah didn't know what to do. She didn't want to tell the guy anything, since she had no idea who he was or what he was after. But she couldn't think of what to tell him.
'Look, I don't know what your deal is, but I haven't come here to kill anyone, if I can help it.' The man said, when he noticed Sarah's hesitance.
'That still doesn't mean I can trust you.'
She heard him give another sigh, after which he slowly withdrew the gun and stepped aside to face her. By the weak light of the flashlight that he had dropped earlier, when he had tackled her upon entering the house, she could discern his face. He was a tall, dark man. He was slim and wore a dark brown leather jacket. Somehow, he seemed oddly familiar, although Sarah was sure she'd never met him before in her life. He looked at her intently. His face seemed kind, but that didn't mean anything.
'Have we met?' she found herself whispering, without actually realising what she was saying.
'I don't think so.'
She frowned at him. She was still unable to shake the feeling that she had seen him before.
'I'm Sam. And you can trust me, as long as you help me out, okay?' He gave her a deliberating look. 'I'm looking for someone. I haven't had much luck until now, but I recently found a few clues that led me to… well, here.' He looked at her steadily and paused, clearly hoping that she might give some sort of response. But when none came, he continued: 'What are you doing here? You're not American, clearly. And this cabin used to belong to Joseph Paxton, who is now dead. And, according to my research, he has no British relatives.'
He gave her another intent look. This time, she had no choice but to answer.
'I've been hiking around here, and I got really ill one night, so I went looking for a place with better facilities than my tent and I came across this house, and since there was no one here, I… let myself in. Just for the night.'
He pursed his lips.
'That's a really good story, lady,' he began slowly, fingering his gun, 'Except that I don't believe any of it. You look like you've just escaped from a homeless shelter, or an asylum or…' he halted at the indignant look she was giving him, and added, quietly, 'Sorry. Besides, the house looks and smells like it hasn't been lived in for quite some time. And you clearly arrived here only hours before me, without any luggage…'
Sarah gulped nervously. He was right, of course. She sighed.
'Who are you after?' she asked quietly. He continued to stare at her for another moment, then he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
'His name is James Barnes. Sometimes he goes by Bucky.' He searched Sarah's face for some sign of recognition, but she knew better than to give him even so much as a blink. She'd learned the hard way.
'Who's he?' she inquired innocently. He pursed his lips again. Apparently, he was doubting whether to believe her or not.
'He's dangerous.' Sam finally said. 'But a friend of mine is looking for him.'
'Why?'
He fixed his eyes on her with an inscrutable look on his face. 'I've been asking myself that same question for some time now…'
Sarah was panting hard as she felt the cold metal mouth of the gun pressing into the side of her head. For a moment she could barely breathe, her mind seemed to fill with faded images; memories of a white room and people holding her while a metal rod beat down on her spine. She expected someone to hold her head while someone else barked questions at her. But she only felt one hand cradling her head as the other put a gun to her.
'No more funny stuff, now. I'm done with you kicking me in the shins.'
'Let go of me!'
'Calm down!'
The man behind her gave her a firm shake and she settled down, still breathing heavily.
'Okay,' she heard him say with a resigned sort of sigh, 'let's do this calmly. No one needs to get hurt.' And with a hint of irritation he added, 'Or kicked. So, who are you? What are you doing here?'
'I could ask you the same thing, but it's pretty clear that you're a burglar or some other-…' He cut across her with some indignation: 'A burglar? Seriously, lady? You've got to be ki-…'
'Well, you broke into a house that isn't yours, and you're holding a fucking gun to my head. Not that weird a deduction.'
'So, you're saying this is your house?'
'I-I didn't…'
'That means you're trespassing too, lady. Care to elaborate?'
'What the hell makes you think I'm going to tell you anything?'
'I'm holding the gun, remember?'
Sarah growled as he demonstrated this fact by pushing the gun a little harder into her temple. 'Now, I'm gonna ask you nicely one more time… Who are you?'
'I-I'm… Sarah.'
'Sarah…?'
'Sarah Jones.'
'And how come you're here?'
Sarah didn't know what to do. She didn't want to tell the guy anything, since she had no idea who he was or what he was after. But she couldn't think of what to tell him.
'Look, I don't know what your deal is, but I haven't come here to kill anyone, if I can help it.' The man said, when he noticed Sarah's hesitance.
'That still doesn't mean I can trust you.'
She heard him give another sigh, after which he slowly withdrew the gun and stepped aside to face her. By the weak light of the flashlight that he had dropped earlier, when he had tackled her upon entering the house, she could discern his face. He was a tall, dark man. He was slim and wore a dark brown leather jacket. Somehow, he seemed oddly familiar, although Sarah was sure she'd never met him before in her life. He looked at her intently. His face seemed kind, but that didn't mean anything.
'Have we met?' she found herself whispering, without actually realising what she was saying.
'I don't think so.'
She frowned at him. She was still unable to shake the feeling that she had seen him before.
'I'm Sam. And you can trust me, as long as you help me out, okay?' He gave her a deliberating look. 'I'm looking for someone. I haven't had much luck until now, but I recently found a few clues that led me to… well, here.' He looked at her steadily and paused, clearly hoping that she might give some sort of response. But when none came, he continued: 'What are you doing here? You're not American, clearly. And this cabin used to belong to Joseph Paxton, who is now dead. And, according to my research, he has no British relatives.'
He gave her another intent look. This time, she had no choice but to answer.
'I've been hiking around here, and I got really ill one night, so I went looking for a place with better facilities than my tent and I came across this house, and since there was no one here, I… let myself in. Just for the night.'
He pursed his lips.
'That's a really good story, lady,' he began slowly, fingering his gun, 'Except that I don't believe any of it. You look like you've just escaped from a homeless shelter, or an asylum or…' he halted at the indignant look she was giving him, and added, quietly, 'Sorry. Besides, the house looks and smells like it hasn't been lived in for quite some time. And you clearly arrived here only hours before me, without any luggage…'
Sarah gulped nervously. He was right, of course. She sighed.
'Who are you after?' she asked quietly. He continued to stare at her for another moment, then he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
'His name is James Barnes. Sometimes he goes by Bucky.' He searched Sarah's face for some sign of recognition, but she knew better than to give him even so much as a blink. She'd learned the hard way.
'Who's he?' she inquired innocently. He pursed his lips again. Apparently, he was doubting whether to believe her or not.
'He's dangerous.' Sam finally said. 'But a friend of mine is looking for him.'
'Why?'
He fixed his eyes on her with an inscrutable look on his face. 'I've been asking myself that same question for some time now…'