Hell Bound

My breathing halted. Choked off by something in my throat. Water. I could feel it in my nose, leaking into my lungs and burning. It was icy against my skin as I struggled to escape it. Strong fingers were in my hair, forcing my head still as I thrashed and fought. I heard a voice speaking from far off.

“Enough,” they said. The hand yanked me back out by my hair.

I choked and sputtered above the basin of blood-tinged water. I coughed and spit it back up as I tried to remember how to breathe again. My hands were cuffed behind my back. My shoulder felt like it was being ripped apart, and the blood was dripping from my own wounds. The pain was almost unbearable. But I couldn’t focus on anything other than the water. I just couldn’t go back into the water.

A figure stepped before me. His boots were the first thing I saw on the other side of the basin. My eyes regained focus, and I looked up at the shadowy figure. The only light was coming from directly behind him, disfiguring his features. I couldn’t see much else of the room. Just cinderblock walls and a matching concrete floor.

“The man,” he said. “Your captain. You can start by telling me his name.”

“Russell,” I told him, still wheezing from the water in my throat. “Daryl Russell.”

“His real name.”

“That’s the only name I know.”

“When we questioned you before, it was evident that you knew more than you were telling. I can see that you’re loyal to your captain, and loyalty is a trait we find honorable. But your captain is not as loyal to you as you are to him. His team has been causing us trouble, killing our men, for years. And yet you still have no idea who we are. Are you so loyal that you’ll kill blindly for a man who keeps secrets from you?”

“Considering how you treat your prisoners, I can’t say I regret it,” I snapped. The man behind me gripped my hair again and yanked me back. I gasped sharply from the pain but held my tongue.

“I sent my soldier on a task. If he could not bring back the captain himself, I wanted someone else. Not just a soldier. Someone close to the captain. Someone he trusts. Cares for. My soldier chose you. Why?”

“Well. I’m obviously the prettiest member of my unit.” He forced a laugh.

“You are indeed.” He moved his hands around his back and began to pace along the length of the basin. It was long enough to be used like a feeding trough. Like I was nothing more than an animal. I could make out the features of his profile when the light caught him just the right way, but I still couldn’t recognize him.

“That’s why it will be such a shame to drown you. It’s my least favorite way to kill someone, you know? It makes such a mess. Bodies become,” he motioned toward his face, “bloated. Ugly. We could always cut you open again. But—you fainted so quickly last time. Like a poor little butterfly who got a taste of real war.”

I gritted my teeth and struggled to be free again. But with my hands behind my back, I could barely move. I was sitting on my knees, and he was holding me up by my hair. All I could do was shift my feet. The man stopped again, and I could tell he was smiling.

“Easy, Soldier,” he said to the one holding me. The grip on my hair loosened. I could rest on my legs again. “Perhaps not a butterfly,” he continued. “Your captain does not collect butterflies. He collects killers.” I struggled to move again, but fighting was useless, and I knew it. The person behind me still had my hair in his hand, and I couldn’t move my head more than an inch in any direction. I knew it was hopeless to try, but I didn’t want them to think they’d won.

My captor just laughed and resumed pacing. “The man. Your captain. He has something that I want. Something that was stolen from us. He’s hidden it very well. You are going to tell me everything you know about him. And perhaps you are correct. Perhaps he has never told you his true name. But you are the soldier he holds the closest to him. He separated you from the others. Not because you are the pretty, delicate butterfly. But because he would not see any harm come to you. So it would be a shame if I were to return your body to him, bloated and ugly from all the water in your lungs.”

“I don’t know anything about him. I do my job. I don’t make friends.” He stopped before the basin again.

“Do you know why we chose this method, even though it’s my least favorite?” he asked, kicking the basin and making icy water splash onto my knees. I didn’t answer. “I told my men to find out as much about you as they could. They said you were almost discharged once.” I gritted my teeth again. “No, no. Don’t be angry. I still think of you honorably.”

“Thanks for your support. It means a lot to me,” I replied dryly.

“I asked them to tell me more as I waited for them to finish digging that bullet out of your shoulder. Why did the butterfly cause so much trouble when she cut open her comrade? A man who should have been like a brother to her. Family. What makes a butterfly bring harm to its family? What makes a butterfly into a killer? But it’s a simple answer, isn’t it? What happens to butterflies when they’re sent to war?” He waited for me to answer, but I kept my mouth shut. “They told me that the man tried to rip off your wings. What did you do to the man who tried to rip off your wings, Johanna?”

I didn’t like the way he pronounced my name. Like my parents did. Yo-honna. It was too personal. Too close. He waited again but got no answer from me.

“I have a better question. What did the man do to you, Johanna, when he tried to rip off your wings?” He kicked the water basin again. “He held your head underwater, didn’t he?”

He took a deep breath and resumed pacing, apparently preparing to launch into another speech about butterflies and torture.

“I asked myself,” he continued, “if cutting the butterfly open doesn’t break her, perhaps we’ll remind her of the time she almost lost her wings. So here is my proposition for you, Johanna. You tell me everything you know about your captain, and the butterfly will keep her wings. If you don’t, I’ll rip them apart and send you back to him with your lungs full of water and your own blood. How does that sound?” I shook my head slowly but couldn’t move very far.

“I know what you want from him,” I admitted. “I know exactly where to find it too. But I won’t tell you anything. I’ll let you keep my wings.” He tsked quietly.

“Such a shame.” He motioned his hand to the man behind me. “Again.” The fingers gripped my hair again, and I finally figured out what was so unusual about them. They weren’t like fingers at all. They were solid, smooth, and cold. He yanked my head back, and I finally got to see the face of the man behind me. All I could see were his eyes, cold and dead like a monster.

The fingers gripped me tighter when our eyes met. As if he didn’t like me looking at him. “Please?” I whispered, but it was useless. He swung me forward more forcefully than before, plunging me back into the icy water.

I woke up choking. I stumbled out of bed and hardly remembered where I was and who was lying next to me. The bed moved as he shifted. His hand touched my back. Not the hand that was made to torture and kill. Just the hand of a man concerned about the woman lying next to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked. I stood up and searched for something to put on.

“I just need some—fresh air,” I told him.

The sun was starting to rise, and I could make out his shape from the corner of my eye. I could see the shine of his metal arm, and I just couldn’t bring myself to look. I needed to be alone with my thoughts and my memories. I yanked some clothes on and rushed out into the hall.

I wanted to escape again. To find a place far away where I could gather my thoughts, and he couldn’t follow. But it wasn’t distance I wanted, just someone to talk to. Not Graham, the surprisingly insightful smart-ass. Not my overly concerned sister. I didn’t want to talk to Bucky about it because I knew it would make him want to run. It had to be someone who could listen without judging. Someone just to be there to let me spill my thoughts and not question me.

Unfortunately, the only two people who came to mind were Steve and Sam. Maybe even Natasha, even though I wouldn’t dare call us friends. But they were all in New York. Sam was looking for Bucky the last time I talked to him. Steve was busy working with his Avenger pals on taking down Hydra bases. Which took Natasha out of the equation too. I couldn’t tell any of them that I knew where Bucky was. They’d figure it out even if I tried to hide it.

That left my therapist. So I took my phone out into the backyard, where I couldn’t be overheard.

The grass was overgrown and starting to turn brown. The table Natasha had set up was long gone. So the yard was empty except for a few scattered pieces of garbage that had apparently been dragged over the fence by the raccoon. I sat on the back steps where Steve used to sit and talk to the shadows. It was early, and I didn’t want to disturb her if she wasn’t working. But she did tell me to call if I needed to. The worst that could happen is that she didn’t answer.

I found the number on my phone and put it to my ear.

“Hi,” I said once she’d answered. “This is Corporal Hayes.”

“Johanna, is everything okay?” she asked.

“Everything is fine. I just—needed someone to talk to. I don’t know. It’s stupid. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t wake me up. I’m on my way into the office right now. I don’t have a meeting until nine. I always leave my mornings open. Would you like to come sit with me for a bit?”

“Are you sure it’s not too much to ask?”

“It’s what I’m here for, Johanna. Please come.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon.”