Hell Bound

The only thing marking the passage of time was the temperature. Sometimes my cell was so cold that my body ached. I would curl up on the floor and hold back tears. I had to be strong. Even if it was just to piss them off. But sometimes, the cold was a bit more bearable. Still freezing, but not painfully so. Or maybe I was just getting used to it.

The light never seemed to change. The hall stayed dark and silent except for the single light down the tunnel that gave me just enough to make out my surroundings. Just like before, I didn’t hear him when he approached. He walked right up to my cell and slid a cup of water through the bars at the bottom. I leaped for it. I’d had enough water to last me, but since most of it ended up in my lungs, I was dehydrated. I reached for the cup as he stood back and watched.

“Why are you bringing me this?” I asked.

“Why do you ask so many questions?” he retorted.

“You’re the first person I’ve seen in probably days. What else did you expect?”

“You talk too much.” I gulped down the water, trying not to waste any by spilling it all over my face.

“Never heard that before.” He stayed where he was, watching me silently through the bars. I emptied the cup and set it back down. The water tasted metallic and stagnant, but it was better than nothing at all. He made no move to pick it up. “They send you here, or did you come on your own?”

“They sent me,” he replied in that same flat tone.

“Why?”

“You’re no use to anyone dead.”

“Well, great. Now I can look forward to freezing to death instead of dying of dehydration.”

“You’re cold.” I nodded sarcastically.

“Just a bit. But you know, I’m also starving, in a lot of pain, uncomfortable, and still bleeding. So you have to pick and choose, right?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?” He kicked the bars, barely nudging the cup with the tip of his boot.

“They’ve never asked me to do this before.”

“What makes me so special?” He looked at me like he was trying to figure that out too.

“I don’t know. I did what I was supposed to do. I’ve been awake too long. I thought they would have….” He trailed off and didn’t finish his thought, but he was clearly thinking. “Why do you talk to me and no one else?” he finally asked.

“Voice maybe. You’re the only American I’ve encountered so far.” He moved his head just slightly to the side as if I’d said something odd. I’d heard him speak to them, but not in English. He spoke Russian to them, sometimes German. But when the conversations switched to English, for my benefit, they spoke with thick accents. Just not him.

“That’s not it,” he said. “They cut you open, held you underwater, and made me watch. You still didn’t give them what they wanted. But you told me without question.”

“Now, look who’s asking the right questions. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He took a step back and looked into a dark corner of my cell. It was too dark for me to see, but I was pretty sure I knew what he was looking at. They were watching us, and he wasn’t supposed to be asking questions. I leaned forward on my knees and gripped a bar with my only good hand.

“You don’t want to be here either,” I stated. He looked back at me. His eyebrows knitted. His expression was dark. “I can see it on your face. I saw it before—when you were holding me by my hair.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned to walk off, but I pressed my face to the bars.

“I think you do, Sergeant Barnes.” He froze and turned sharply.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“You think I’m just giving information away for free? To the man who helped torture me? What makes you think I’m not exactly where I want to be?” He didn’t move. “I wanted to hear you say your name. It’s James, in case you were telling the truth about not knowing. James Barnes. No, they called you something else. Bucky.” He was in the shadows now, but I could still make out the form of him. The set of his shoulders was tense and imposing. He looked dangerous again. As if he would lash out at me if I continued.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“A few decades ago, you watched my mother throw herself off a bridge. You never wondered what they wanted her for, and you probably don’t even remember her. I can only imagine what you see when you close your eyes. I know that they made you kill. My mother knew about you too, James. So you want to know why I’m asking so many questions or why I chose to talk to you after what you did to my squad and me? I needed to confirm you were really him. James Barnes. Steve Rogers called you Bucky. Do you remember him?”

He finally marched forward, knelt to my level, reached through the bars, and yanked me forward. My face slammed against the bars.

“You’re lying,” he growled. I smiled.

“Am I?” I asked.

“You’re a spy.”

“They didn’t just send you after her because she had something they wanted. She had the ability to tell the whole world about you. Do you want to know why she jumped? So you didn’t have her death on your hands. Because James Barnes was a good man.” He gripped my shirt harder and pressed my face against the bars. I’d lost my balance, so my wounded shoulder stung on contact with the cold, rusted bars. I winced, and he seemed to like that.

“I’m not him,” he insisted.

“Not anymore,” I agreed. “But you could be.”

“Why did you need to confirm who I was?”

“I needed to prove that you have no memory.”

“Why?”

“To set you free.” He released my shirt, and I righted myself.

“Why?” he repeated.

“Because it’s what my mother wanted,” I explained. “Don’t think my Captain wants to do this because he likes you.” He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around the bars.

“They’ll never let you walk out of here with that information. Even if it’s true. Neither of us will remember this.”

“Unless you get me out of here,” I suggested. He stood up.

“What makes you think I’m not exactly where I want to be?” he asked.

Then someone started clapping from the hall where the light came from. Barnes stood back as the other man approached. The one who’d instructed him to hold my head underwater.

“Bravo,” the man said, clapping his hands together. “Excellent work, Corporal. Not a butterfly, after all. A sly little fox.” He turned to Barnes, who was now standing still and silent as he waited for further instructions. “You’ve done well, Soldier. Your talents never cease to surprise me. You can leave.” Barnes turned to leave, following orders without question.

I didn’t believe for a second he was acting. He was a soldier, an assassin. He wasn’t made to play mind games with his targets. He was trained to get a job done quickly and quietly. And nothing more. My words got through to him, but I didn’t know how long he’d be able to hold onto them.

“You can still go free, James,” I said as he retreated. “Remember what I said. James Barnes is a good man. He’s still in there. I know it.” He didn’t return from the darkness.