‹ Prequel: Monster
Sequel: From Darkness

Hell Bound

Thirty-Five

When I returned home, I found Graham attempting to bake something in the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what he was baking so early in the morning, but he was wearing a mysterious apron and oven mitts for some reason. I didn’t own an apron, so I wasn’t sure where it had come from, but I wasn’t going to judge.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asked from the hallway after I let myself in.

“Um—I just had a meeting. Where’s Bucky?”

“I think he’s in the shower. Mostly because he came down here, got the plastic wrap, and then disappeared again. At least, I hope that’s what he meant to use it for. He didn’t say anything to me. But he glared a few times.” I laughed and rolled my eyes. Then I headed up the stairs to find him.

Graham’s assumption was correct. The shower was still going when I reached the top floor, so I followed the sound to the bathroom. I wondered if I should go in and let him know I was there. Or if I should just take a few minutes to gather my thoughts. I decided on the latter. I went back to my room, kicked off my shoes, and faceplanted onto my bed.

I didn’t know what to do. There was still a possibility it wasn’t real. My mind could just be trying to process things. Maybe I really was just working through guilt. But it felt so real. Just as real as the dreams about killing my friends. I didn’t know what to think anymore. I didn’t want them to be real. I didn’t know if I had what it would take to deal with it. Bucky probably wouldn’t take it very well, but maybe honesty was the right choice. I had to say something. If he remembered it without my help, he’d probably panic and leave. At least this would give me a chance to talk to him about it.

But he could also tell me it wasn’t real at all, and I’d be able to know for sure if my mind was playing tricks on me.

The shower shut off, and I groaned. I didn’t want to talk about it yet. I could easily avoid it again, but Bucky was right about that too. Honesty could lead to a resolution. I just didn’t want it to put more distance between us.

I sat up and pulled a pillow onto my lap. Then I waited for him to come back to my room. He’d left his backpack full of notebooks on the floor. So I knew he wouldn’t start the day downstairs without them.

The door opened, and he stepped into my room. “Jo,” he said softly.

He was dressed, but his hair was wet. He shut the door and sat on the bed before me. He didn’t look anything like the man in my dream. There was too much vibrancy and warmth in his eyes and expression. He looked concerned. I pushed a strand of wet hair out of his face, taking in the subtle shift of his features. They softened, but he still seemed concerned. He knew something had happened during the night. And that it had to do with him.

“What did you see?” he asked. I shook my head and dropped my hand back to my lap.

“You know, the usual,” I said with a shrug.

Then I could no longer resist the urge to wrap my arms around him. I dropped my head onto his shoulder, and he gripped me tight. He smelled like my soap and shampoo. His body was warm, even with the metal under his shirt. The dream wasn’t really Bucky. Even if it actually happened. It wasn’t him. I sighed deeply and shut my eyes.

“What did you see?” he repeated, sliding his fingers over my back to tangle in my hair.

“You were digging up information on me before you knew who I was, right?” He nodded. “So you know I was almost discharged?”

“I saw something.”

“Do you know what I did?”

“Assault. With a knife. Earned you a nickname.”

“It didn’t say why?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

“I figured he deserved it.” I took another deep breath. His shirt was damp, and his chest was warm. His heart was beating steadily. I didn’t feel afraid. I just felt safe. And cared for. “What did he do, Johanna?”

“I was a woman in the army, James.” His body stiffened, and I moved my head to the crook of his neck. “I was cleaning the floor. He held my head in the bucket of mop water. I can still taste it sometimes. Soap. Dirt. Blood.”

“Why did he do it?” he asked.

“I fought back.” He was still, but his heart beat steadily. “I stabbed him in the leg.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I would have gotten away with it if I just stopped there. But I didn’t. Once I got him down, I tied him to an exposed pipe and cut him open. I wanted him to know what it felt like to be afraid.” He gripped my shoulder with his metal hand. He was trying to comfort me. It was gentle as if he feared applying too much pressure. He never wanted to hurt me. “It was a fear that never went away. I still dream about it sometimes.”

“Dream about what?”

“Drowning.”

“Is that what you saw?” he asked.

“It was just a dream,” I whispered.

“What kind of dream?”

“I saw you this time. Holding my head underwater.” He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His body had relaxed, but he wasn’t moving.

“Why?” he asked after a while.

“They were asking about Russell—in the dream.”

“They never used me for that. Not for questioning. As far as I know.”

“I know. You’re right. It was just a dream.” I wanted to be relieved, but my voice didn’t sound convinced. He slid his arms back to my shoulders and put space between us. His eyes were narrowed as he examined my face for doubt.

“What did they ask you? Do you know who it was?”

“I didn’t see his face. The light was behind him. First, he wanted Russell’s name. His real name. It’s been on my mind a lot lately, so it’s no surprise that I’m dreaming about it.”

“What else? Did he say anything concrete or unique?”

“He said I had to tell him everything I knew about him or….”

“Or what?”

“He called me a butterfly. He said he’d rip off my wings.”

He looked away and repeated the word, “Butterfly.”

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“No.” He let me go and moved off of the bed. “But I should leave.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know. I just—I should go.”

“Please don’t?” He paused with his backpack in his hands. His eyes met mine again.

“What if it was real?”

“It was a dream.”

“So were the others.” I looked down at the pillow in my lap and twisted my fingers.

“Maybe they aren’t real either. I don’t know anymore.”

“It was a very detailed, very specific dream, Jo.”

“So maybe parts of it were real. That doesn’t mean it was you. It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt about you, you know.” His lips were pinched in a straight line. He hadn’t shaved since he’d been there, so he looked scruffy. Moments ago, I thought he looked vibrant and alive. But now, he looked tired.

“You were quick to believe you murdered your own squad, but not that I could have hurt you. Only one of those things is likely.”

“So what if it was real, Bucky?” His eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“Then it means I hurt you.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“Yes, it was.” I sighed heavily and rubbed my eyes. My mother would have called this our first “lovers quarrel.” “I just find it—incredible—that you can even look me in the eye.”

“Because I didn’t see you. I saw them.”

“You’re not afraid of me,” he stated. I shook my head and looked back at him.

“Do you want me to be?”

“It would make a lot more sense to me, honestly. Especially if you have dreams about me holding your head underwater. After you admitted it was your deepest fear.”

“It’s not my deepest fear. I’m more afraid of losing the people that I love. Which is why I don’t….” I’d said too much. But it was too far to stop. I gestured toward him and finished the sentence, “… blame you.”

I couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was getting much easier to read his expressions. And part of me still wanted to avoid it. I examined the sheets we’d messed up the night before. The pillowcase had been gripped so tightly in his hand that it felt lumpy and deformed.

“Even if you knew what you were doing,” I continued, “you were following orders. That’s what I saw. And I was scared, yes. But—looking at you now.” I finally looked at him, but I couldn’t read his expression. He was wearing the mask again. “You don’t look anything like him. I can see that you’re not the same.”

“Jo,” he started, dropping the backpack. He took a deep breath, preparing to launch into an argument.

“Bucky—please?”

“You know someday it’s all going to come out. I’ve destroyed so many lives. Innocent lives, Johanna. You’ll see their names, and you’ll know it was me.”

“But it wasn’t. It was them. If this was real, it means I know that better than anyone. I’ll defend you as long as I can.” He turned his back on me, no longer able to hide behind a mask. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His voice was calm and calculated.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” he muttered to himself. “From you, of all people.” He turned back around and made another move for the backpack. But I slid to the edge of the bed and reached out to stop him. I wrapped my hand around his metal wrist. I wasn’t very good with words, and I didn’t know how to make him believe that he deserved to be cared for. But I had to say something.

“No one gets to decide that but me,” I told him, running my thumb along the metal plates. I didn’t even know if he could feel it. “You deserve to have people care about you. Even if you don’t think you do. You deserve to have a chance to live your life your way. You don’t deserve to pay for what they made you do. You didn’t hurt me. They did.” His other hand came out, and he pressed the pad of his thumb to my chin. The touch shot electricity through my body. Even now, in the middle of this conversation, I wanted him more than I ever remembered wanting anyone else.

“I don’t deserve you, Johanna,” he said. I held onto his hand, and he laid his palm against my cheek.

“That’s not for you to decide either. It doesn’t matter what you think you deserve. You have me.” His thumb traced my lower lip, and I shut my eyes. “Don’t go?” I whispered. He opened his mouth to speak but nodded once instead. “And don’t go downstairs either? Not yet?” He smiled and shook his head again. “Just stay with me for a while, please?”

“You know he’s making breakfast, right?” He moved closer to me anyway and dropped the backpack. He touched his forehead to mine, and my breathing had already picked up. His heart was already beating faster.

“He can wait a while,” I said. He nudged my knees apart and laid me back, coming to rest on top of me. His hand moved my hair out of my face, but he shut his eyes as if he just wanted to take a moment to feel me. That was what I wanted. Just to hold him and be close to him again. Maybe it wasn’t love yet, but it was the closest thing I’d ever felt to that.

“It’s not going to last, you know,” he reminded me. I shook my head again, clutching his shoulders and moving my lips across his cheek.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from this whole ordeal, it’s that you have to take advantage of what you have while it’s in front of you.”

“Mm,” he agreed. “You’re right. The kid can wait.” Then his lips found mine, and he kissed me more fiercely than he had the night before.