Hell Bound

I didn’t really know any places to eat, and I had groceries in the trunk, so I decided to stick to something close and quick. Or maybe it was just a wave of nostalgia and a pathetic excuse to retrace my steps. But as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, my stomach twisted up in knots, and nausea replaced the nostalgia. Absence had not made the heart grow fonder. I hated that damn diner. So I told Graham so.

“Then why’d you bring me here?” he asked as we got out. He looked perplexed.

“It’s close, cheap, and we can get out of here quickly,” I explained.

He followed me in, and I groaned as the memories washed over me. In retrospect, I hadn’t spent a lot of time there. But it was a liminal space where the minutes felt like hours but still seemed to blur. It all rushed back as I stood there, taking in the scent of greasy food and hearing the malt machine whir violently on the counter. Everything looked exactly the same. From the cheap Elvis posters to the noisy machine.

The servers were different, though. I half expected to see Marion (if that was even her name) bustling around the place. But after a moment, I remembered she was really working for Talbot. We got the attention of a waiter and put in a to-go order. Then we sat in the booth in the back to wait.

“So, can I ask you a question now?” I asked, crossing my arms over the table. I had my back to the wall this time. In the place Sam always sat. And Bucky once. But I wasn’t pretending to be someone else anymore. I hated sitting with my back to the door.

Graham was sitting with his hands in his lap, looking like he was trying to appear smaller than he was. Which was why it was so hard to believe he was military at first. He had the posture down, but he looked like he was fifteen.

“Sure, I guess,” he replied nervously as he picked at the bottom of a dessert menu.

“Where do you live?” He sighed heavily and poked at a container of coffee creamer packets instead.

“When I got home, I stayed with my mom for a few months,” he told me. “But that didn’t work out.”

“So, where are you staying now?” He shrugged.

“I have buddies who let me crash once in a while.”

“How often?”

“Just whenever.”

“Do you have a job?” He sighed again and didn’t answer. “So, what do you do when you’re not at meetings?”

“Read. Usually.”

“The same book you’ve been reading since we met.”

“Yeah, so? I like it.”

“I have a bookshelf, you know.” He turned back to me, looking more like a petulant teenager than a grown twenty-three-year-old with a military background.

“Does it have books in it?” he asked. I nodded slowly.

“Usually, that’s what people put on bookshelves.”

“But you said you don’t like to read.”

“I never said that. I just don’t do it as much anymore. But I used to read a lot, and I’ve never been able to part with them. It’s a pretty big shelf too. I also have a futon. And a spare bedroom. And I could probably help you find a job.”

“You’d really let me stay with you?” Now he looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His lip curled up and everything.

“Where else are you gonna go?”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m homeless or anything. I usually always find a place to spend the night.”

“Usually.”

“But you didn’t even ask why it didn’t work out with my mom.”

“I lived with my parents for a few months when I got home too. They drove me crazy, and I ran away. I don’t need to know what happened.”

“And Stark said they were after you. Those Hydra people.” I glanced around the diner just to make sure no one could overhear. But hardly anyone ever chose that back booth.

“Last I heard, they wanted me alive. But they haven’t made a move since—Either way, I don’t think it’s something you’ll have to worry about. I think it was just a threat. The alternative is whatever you’re doing now. Reading the same book every day, going to meetings three days a week. You can stay long enough to get on your feet. But no pressure.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“You already help me at meetings. You can pay me rent once you get working. In the meantime, you could give me a hand around the house. I won’t ask for much. Just don’t be a slob and do your own laundry.”

“So Hydra wants you alive, your last boyfriend shot you, and you’re going to let some random kid off the street live in your house?”

I shrugged again. I knew it sounded crazy, and he could read into that whatever he wanted. But I hated being in that house by myself and helping people made me feel at least slightly less dead inside. He was just a kid, and I didn’t think he had malicious intentions. The worst he could do was prove me wrong. If Hydra really was after me, they’d get me anyway. As far as fatal flaws went, compassion wasn’t so bad.

“If they come after me, they’re going to get me. Doesn’t matter if it’s through a kid who’s pretending to need a place to stay or with guns blazing. I don’t really care as long as no one else gets hurt. And I trust you’re smart enough to duck when the shit hits the fan.”

“You don’t really seem to care much for your own safety, you know.”

“I guess not.” My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I was grateful for the distraction. I pulled it out and focused my attention on that. Graham went back to playing with packets of creamer.

“The kid seems clean,” the text said. “Navy brat. Went Marines for some reason. Took some shrapnel to the knee that almost severed his leg. Been at the VA ever since. Fired from his last job. No address.” Goddamn, he was fast.

“I’m letting him take my spare room,” I replied. I looked back up at Graham as I waited for Tony’s answer. He was now deeply engrossed in the back of the dessert menu like it was a secret chapter of the Silmarillion he’d never read before. My phone buzzed again.

“You think that’s a good idea? I said he ‘seems’ clean. Doesn’t mean Hydra hasn’t or won’t get to him.”

“He’s okay. Leave him alone.”

“You have a thing for him? I got a picture here. I guess he’s cute in a boyband sort of way. If you’re into that kind of thing. A little on the young side. But I didn’t think it was your style, judging by your track record. Your last guy was a ninety-six-year-old man, you pervert.”

“Tony, shut up.”

“Fine, I’ll stop.” I set the phone back down and looked at the kid.

“Stark says you’re clean.” He glanced at me.

“I’ve never done drugs in my life,” he told me. “Except this one time I smoked weed at a party, and I threw up.” I smiled.

“He meant that you don’t seem to be Hydra. At the moment.” He nodded slowly.

“Right. Never been one of those either.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. I hope it sticks.”

“So while you were talking to Stark, I was thinking about your offer,” he said, moving onto the sugar packets now.

“Oh yeah?”

“How big is the bookshelf?”

“It doubles as an entertainment center, and I have a very small TV. Hardly any movies or pictures or anything. The rest is all books, maybe like one plant. It’s not real, though. I’m not really good at keeping plants alive.”

“Okay. Well, if you promise me that you’re not a serial killer, then maybe I’ll try it out. But only because of the bookshelf.”

“Naturally. And I promise I won’t murder you. I don’t do that anymore.” He gave me a blank look, knowing that I was just joking.