Games of Deception (Hawkeye/Avengers)

Chapter 3 - The Escape

-Jacqueline's P.O.V-

"Damn it!"

I had been walking to the bathroom to take a shower after resting for another half hour or so, but suddenly the stupidity of what I had done welled up inside of me. I threw my recently recovered phone on the floor and pressed my head against the wall. I knew better than to trust anyone, for all I knew he could've been one of them. But if that were true, why hadn't he killed me when I fainted? It was a perfect opportunity...that was the last time I was getting drunk.

I tried to rationalize with myself. Maybe you're just overthinking, he was just trying to be nice? That didn't seem entirely true to me, but at the time my main focus was on removing the smell of alcohol from my body. I sighed and walked into the bathroom, slowly undressed, and let the hot water wash over me and give me a chance to calm down. I wasn't nearly as disoriented and exhausted as I had been earlier that morning, but I still felt groggy. My mind went back to the dream I'd had, the replaying of my parents death that I had gone through so many times before. It wasn't always the same; sometimes I saw it through my mother's eyes, or my father's, and once through the killers' point of view. Sometimes the scene was even twisted so that I was able to save them.

If only. If only I had been older, stronger, I really could have saved them. Each time I relived that afternoon, I became more angry, more confused, more lonely.

After my shower, I'd changed into a clean set of pajamas and made myself something to eat for the first time since the evening before. I sure as hell didn't plan on going anywhere. I turned on the tv for some background noise while I finished my meal and sorted out my thoughts.

Why was I so worried? It had been years and they'd never been able to track me down. They were too afraid, and, as far as I was concerned, too stupid to find me anyways. Before long I would be on the hunt again. At the time however, I was taking a few weeks to sit back and wait for prime opportunity. There was no rush; I was perfectly fine with dragging the process out for as long as needed.

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"You can do this," I whispered shakily. I could do this. I had planned and rehearsed in my mind over and over again. Today was it. I was going to kill someone.

Actually, I was going to ATTEMPT to kill someone, someone who could easily overpower me. I had stolen, one at a time as to not cause a noticeable difference, a gun loaded with bullets and a knife. I had gathered my few real possessions back into the same bag I had brought into this prison with me along with the addition of some food, a blanket, a map, and a box of matches.

After my parents had been shot, the men responsible came out into the backyard, calling my name, taunting me. I was sure I was going to die. There was no way for me to escape the storage shed I was still hiding inside of, and eventually they had found me. They covered my mouth before I could scream and despite my fighting back carried me to their vehicle, laying me down in the backseat and smiling down on me with mock kindness, as if they thought that they were being compassionate by not killing me on the spot. I instead had thought they were driving me away to have me killed somwhere else, but I was wrong. By the time we had arrived at our destination, my mind and body were completely numb. The tape was yanked off of my mouth, my arms unrestrained and I was dropped off at a children's home, miles away from where I belonged, in a neighborhood I didn't recognize. The men, with a promise that they would put a bullet through my head if I said a word, gave some sort of sob story about how they had found me by myself on a roadside and that I needed a place to go, and I was graciously accepted into the home and a few days later put into the care of foster parents whom I had never even met before.