From Darkness

There weren't any dreams. For the first time in a very long time. There was nothing but Darkness. It just wasn't a blank empty darkness. It was a living, moving thing. And the moment I suspected it of being alive—I woke up.

To the sound of garbled voices. Like a language I didn't understand being spoken through water. No—not water—a radio. I could feel the gentle rock of a vehicle and hear the engine humming as we moved. The seat was pulled back far enough so that I was leaning. My feet were bare and sore but warming up beneath a heater. Every time the car moved, I jerked to the side, held back by the seatbelt around my waist.

I groaned as the Darkness began to fade. My head was still searing, but now my stomach felt sick and nauseous. The haze made it difficult to pry my heavy eyelids open. When I did, there was nothing but darkness beyond the windows and the passing trees illuminated by headlights.

I got my head to move and turned to the man behind the wheel. He was concentrating hard on the road as he pushed the car to its limit. There was a handheld radio on the dashboard. He seemed to be making sense of the words.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked.

He shot me a glance and looked mildly surprised before returning to the road. The sun was long gone, so all I could see were the trees.

"Someplace safe," he told me. I tried to sit up to shake off the dizziness, but my stomach rolled, and I only flopped over onto the door. My hands moved for the handle.

"Let me out," I whispered.

"What?"

"I said let me out. Stop the car. I need to get out."

"I can't stop the car. Not here. They won't be too far behind."

I pulled uselessly at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. So I fumbled in the dark and felt for the lock. But he'd been expecting that. By the time I went to open it again, he'd flipped the switch on the other side. The lock clicked back into place.

"He'll bleed out if we don't get him someplace safe, Jo," he said.

I spun back around. I hadn't even noticed the body in the backseat. The man had his legs up so he could lie down. His hands were draped over his stomach, and a jacket was tied tightly around his waist. It was already soaked through with blood.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You don't remember?"

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

My heart was racing, and my stomach felt sick. I had to get out. I had to escape. I had to throw up. So I put my hands on his shoulder and shoved him as hard as I could. He hit the door on the other side with a solid thump, and the car swerved again.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, pushing me back with one hand.

"Let me out!"

"Where are you gonna go? The woods?"

"I'm gonna throw up!"

He finally listened. The car slowed, and when I turned back around to unlock it, he didn't try to stop me. I yanked the seatbelt off and jumped out before we even came to a complete halt. I made it to the bank on the side of the road when the dizziness overwhelmed me. I knelt with my hands on my knees. I heaved, but my stomach was empty.

The door opened behind me. I could hear the shift of his clothes and the tap of his boots on the cement. He was at my side a moment later, patting my back as I gripped my knees.

"It's the tranquilizer dart," he told me. "They make you sick."

"You shot him," I replied.

"I didn't."

Panic was coursing through my body. My mind was still dizzy and hazy. All I knew for sure was that bad things happened when I wasn't in control. I had to take control. It was winter, so the trees alongside the road were bare of leaves. Many of them had shed branches and leaves that were buried under a dusting of snow. There was a branch not far from me. Long and heavy and sturdy. The next thing I knew, I was scrambling for it. I swung it back, feeling it connect with the side of his head. He hit the ground and lifted his arms to block my next strike.

There was something inside of me telling me to stop. But I had to do it. I had people to protect, and I couldn't trust my gut to guide me anymore. I had to do what was right. So I pressed the tip of the branch against his chest and forced him back onto the road before he could get back up.

"It's me," he said as I lifted the branch back over my head. "It's Bucky. You know me. You know I won't hurt you."

I brought the branch back down, and he jumped out of the way before it could touch him. It struck the cement just inches from his face. I could feel it crack against the pavement, sending a shock of pain through my bandaged hands.

"Jo," he continued. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"You're a liar," I replied, twisting the branch in my hand so that the sharp, broken end pointed downward. I lifted it above my head again and brought it back down with all my weight. It narrowly missed his head. The end of the branch snapped against the ground.

"Jo, listen to me," he said when I lifted it again. "I understand if you hate me. I don't blame you, but you need to trust me. At least for now. Until both of you are safe."

"You think I don't know who you are," I realized. I lifted the branch again. It was starting to break apart now but still thick enough to cause damage if I really wanted to. I swung again, but this time he lifted his hand to catch it. The branch slammed against his hand and sent a shock through my arms. His fingers wrapped around the wood, and I paused to breathe. This wasn't right. "Let it go," I demanded.

"You know who I am?" he asked.

It was nearly pitch black except for the lights from the car. I could still make him out, lying on the road, and he didn't look the least bit threatened by me. There was a scrape on his chin from where I'd first hit him. A cut on his lip that seemed fresh. But—he didn't seem terrifying to me now. Not like I remembered.

"Of course I know who you are," I admitted, sliding the branch out of his fingers. I lifted it over my head again. "I'm not like you. They wanted me to remember everything." I swung, and he barely moved out of the way before the branch splintered against the cement beside his left ear. He was strong enough to fight me. I knew that. He'd have me on the ground in a second if he really wanted to.

"I remember Tran," I told him, swinging again. "He had a family. Twin sons. You shot him in the head." I swung, and he dodged it. "Carlson. He was going to propose to his girlfriend when we were on leave. I helped him pick out the ring. You shot him in the throat." I swung again.

"And Jimenez?" I continued, voice catching in my throat. "He was mine. Or at least—he would have been. Could have been." I stood back, breathing hard. I felt dizzy again. Breathing was difficult. My arms felt weak and shaky. "I saw my mother," I admitted. "My real mother. What was left of her anyway. Do you know what that's like? The only memory I have of my mother—is pictures—of nothing but flesh and blood and bones. Because of you!"

I lifted the branch to swing again, but he'd set his other hand on my thigh just above my knee. He wasn't wearing a glove on that one, so his skin was shockingly warm against mine. I froze and couldn't bring myself to swing the branch again.

Another memory flashed in my mind.

When he'd touched me just like that.

Gently guiding my leg. To fit himself between them.

"If you can remember all that—then you know I won't fight you," he said.

I remembered when he looked like this too. Lying beneath me. Bruised and scraped. But warm. Gentle. Safe.

He dropped his hand, letting his fingers slide over my knee before resting it on the pavement at his side. He was giving up. Showing me that he'd let me kill him if that's what I wanted.

That wasn't right.

I moved the branch into my right hand and held it at my side. He was making this too easy. Now doubt whispered in my mind. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was just trying to help.

Maybe this was real.

I remembered his arms. Wrapped around me. My face in his chest. He wore that exact shirt. He felt like safety and something else. I remembered his words.

"You promised," I reminded him. "I remember."

"You said it yourself. I'm a liar."

I swung again. But this time from the side like a golf club. The branch hit him just above the temple, hard enough to jerk his whole body to the side. Then he lay there motionless. Darkness seeped out of his hair like blood.

He looked so helpless.

I could kill him if I really wanted to.

It's what they wanted.

The memory of his hand still lingered on my skin. I remembered when he'd done that before. Gently pushing my thigh onto the mattress. Replacing his hand with his lips.

Something else churned inside of me. Hope and—something more. Something stronger.

I couldn't do it.

I tossed the branch to the side. I didn't know how long it would be before someone drove down the road. I didn't even know where we were. If someone came down the road, they might not see him until too late. And I couldn't live with myself if I was responsible for that.

I reached down to lift his arm. It was heavy, and I could feel the solid smoothness of metal beneath the fabric of his shirt. I tried to get a good grip on his arm and then dragged him. Barely managing to get him to the edge of the road before I ran out of the strength to continue.

I left him there and stumbled back to the idling car. I didn't know where I'd go or if I could even drive. But I had to put as much distance between us as possible. Before he could hurt anyone again. But first, I squeezed myself into the backseat to check on the man lying there, pale and deathly. His eyes stayed shut as I held his face between my hands. He looked so hollow and worn. Like he hadn't eaten or slept in a long time. He hadn't shaved.

I remembered his voice in the dark. Saying the same words over and over. "It's not real, Jo. It's not real." And then I remembered the feel of my finger slipping over the trigger of a gun. The moment the blast shook through my body. The way he looked when he realized what I'd done. Me.

One of his eyelids parted just slightly, and a smile hinted at the corners of his lips.

"I'm alright, kid," he murmured.

"I'm so sorry," I told him. I wanted to cry. I was supposed to protect them. Not hurt them.

"You didn't mean it. It's alright. I'll be fine."

"I'll get you someplace safe. I promise."

"We're headed to Belarus. I know some people there."

"We?"

"Barnes. I gave him directions. He knows where to go." He shut his eyes again, and I glanced through the door to where I'd left him on the side of the road. But I couldn't make out the form of his body in the darkness.

My heart leaped, but he was quicker than I was. The car jerked, and my arm was yanked back. He had my wrist secured to the handle above the window in a flash.

"We need to talk," he said, leaning in between the two front seats. My wrist was stuck to the handle, and I pulled uselessly at it. I couldn't even squeeze free.

"I can't talk," I whispered.

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Kill them. Like always. It's what they made you for."

"Kill who?" I shook my head and tried to pry my wrist free.

"My family."

"What do you mean by 'like always?'"

"It's what you do. What you're good at."

"I don't do that anymore."

"You will. You won't have a choice. They made sure of that." He climbed back out of the car, and I stopped pulling on my arm. He appeared in the open doorway at my side and peered in. Blood had dripped down his face, but he still didn't look as terrifying as I remembered.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he told me. "I understand if you're afraid of me. If you don't ever want to see me again. But I promised I'd come back for you. Do you remember that?" I pinched my eyes and shook my head.

"I don't—I don't know."

"Well, I did. And I'm going to keep that promise. You're not going to get very far on your own. Let me get you someplace safe, and then we'll talk about it. Can you do that one thing for me, Jo?"

I didn't think I had a choice. Not until I could get free. So I nodded slowly. He shut the door and came back around to the driver's side. The car moved again as he climbed in and turned the engine over.

"Get some rest," he said softly.

"Hurts," I told him.

"What does?" I took a deep breath and adjusted my position so my legs wouldn't cramp under me.

"Everything. All the time. I don't know how to make it stop." He was silent for a moment.

"I'll let you go when I know you're not going to try and bash my head in again."

"I won't."

He didn't say anything. Just reached over the seat to pull it up so I wasn't so pinched in the back. Then he got the car moving again. I leaned against my outstretched arm, and the man in front of me sighed loudly.

"Jo?" he whispered, though he didn't open his eyes. I reached out to pat his arm, letting him know I was there. "You know who I am?"

"Of course I do." He smiled quickly.

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Is this real?"

He was silent for a long moment before he managed to pry his eyes open. He looked around the car before focusing on me. But he didn't smile. He didn't even try.

"It's real, Jo," he said.