Not The Only One - A Winter Soldier Story

Chapter 17

     I opened my eyes to a tall, muscular, blond man with broad shoulders sitting before me. He wore jeans and a blue shirt with a black jacket over top. I felt like I had seen him before.

     "Hey!" His face lit up, and he seemed pleased that I was awake. He then introduced himself, saying, "My name is Steve Rogers. What's your name?"

     I stared back at him blankly.

     "It's okay if you don't know the answer." He smiled comfortingly.

     I made no response.

     "I'm here to help you." His face was soft, and his eyes kind, but they were likely not genuine or trustworthy.

     "Do you understand English?" Steve asked. "Maybe you only know Russian?"

     When I did not answer, he pulled out a device and looked worried as he spoke into it. "She's awake."

     "How is she?" a muffled voice asked anxiously.

     "She looks alright. I've tried talking to her in English, but she doesn't seem to understand..." Steve's voice trailed off.

     "So you want me to come over and speak Russian with her?"

     "No, not really."

     "Why not?"

     Steve clenched his jaw tightly together. "The last time she saw you, she nearly killed you. That's not a chance I'm willing to take."

     "This is my choice, not yours. Besides, unless you speak Russian, how else are we going to find out if she understands it?"

     Steve's facial expression showed that he knew that whoever was on the other side of the device was right, but he was still not happy about it. "Okay. I'll text you directions. See you in a few."

     While Steve was typing away at his device, I began to analyze my surroundings. It was some kind of abandoned industrial building. My metal arm was held tightly in a huge piece of machinery that smelled of fish, and I sat on an old wooden slat crate. After a few attempts to pull my limb free, I realized it was futile.

     Several minutes later a man with shoulder length brown hair came in. This man was missing his left arm. He wore jeans and a maroon shirt with a flannel on top, which were all a little too small for him. I knew him. From the shape of his face to the lilt of his voice to the way he moved, I knew him.

     "Меня зовут Баки. Баки Барнс," he introduced himself with a sad smile.

     I did not know him by this name. So he is using an alias, a wise decision on his part.

     "Я знаю, ты умеешь говорить."

     My silence challenged his claim.

     He leaned in closer to me. "Я знаю, ты тоже знаешь английский."

     The fact that he knew both of the languages I spoke disturbed me, but I did not give him the pleasure of seeing my discomfort.

     "Вы помните меня?" he asked inquisitively.

     I wondered what angle he was trying to work by, seeing if I remembered him.

     "Тебе сложно вспомнить, не так ли? Это просто кусочки и кусочки, разбросанные тут и там, и вы не знаете, что реально, а что нет?"