The Kind You Save

Chapter 6

"Did Mr. Pierce send you?" I ask hesitantly, my voice trembling along with my body. This must be why he strangely sent me home. He planned to have his assassin waiting on me here. Surely, he wouldn't change his mind about keeping me alive so abruptly. Then again, maybe he would.

"No." He shakes his head once. "I'm here on my own, no one knows. I'm supposed to be scouting for an assignment."  

I'm taken aback by his being here of his own free will. "What could you possibly need my help for?"

"You asked me who I was like you already knew the answer. No one has ever asked me that before, but when you did, something clicked in my mind. I should know that answer but when I look for it, it's not there." He stands up and walks toward me slowly. He's still in the same, leather tactical clothing as before but this time the mask is gone, leaving his entire face visible. He looks at me a little desperately, his unused voice gravelly and low. "Do you know who I am?"

This is the first time I've been this close to him and it's a bit unnerving how much he towers over me. He has to be six feet tall, at the very least, which dwarfs my petite, five-foot-two frame, causing me to have to crane my neck up to look at him. Should I tell him? Is this a test or some sort of setup? 

"You truly don't know anything?" I prod gently.

"I don't remember anything outside of what I've done these last few days. Images keep flashing in my mind that should mean something or make sense but they don't and I know that's wrong but I don't know why," he looks at me, sad blue eyes resembling that of a lost child. "Can you help me?" he repeats his question from earlier.

I search his face, weighing my options, not knowing how smart it would be to reveal my hand to an assassin working for Hydra. Yet something in his eyes and the openness of his face gives me my answer. He really is searching for answers and I might be the only one who can help him. The fact of how badly I want to help him, however, takes me by surprise.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You were born in Shelbyville, Indiana in 1917 before moving to and growing up in Brooklyn, New York," I say gently. The basic facts will probably be the best route for now. "Do you recall any of that?" Deep concentration furrows his brow over downcast eyes, trying to recall anything about those facts but all he does is shake his head. 

How does this happen? How does someone just lose all sense of self and awareness and identity? Surely this is all at the hands of Hydra and, judging by the way my instincts are screaming right now, it can't be anything good.

I skirt past him toward the kitchen table, gesturing to the chairs. "Why don't we sit down?" I suggest in an attempt to make him, as well as myself, a little more comfortable. He makes his way to the chair he was first sitting in, back to the wall, making sure he's facing any entrances into the room. With that move alone his training and instinct as an assassin, and soldier, are immediately apparent. He's making sure he has views of any possible threat and the way out.

"Why don't you tell me about some of those images you said you see? Maybe I can help you figure those out," I prod gently, painting a small smile on my lips. It takes every effort to seem calm and collected sitting across from him, knowing what he's capable of.

He's concentrating hard again. Whatever had happened to him had to be horrible to leave him so obviously a shell of a man.

"I see a middle-aged woman a lot. She's cooking something and always smiling at me." He looks up at me with pleading eyes, hoping that I'll have the answer.

"Do you think that could be your mother?" I ask, going with the most logical assumption.

"I think you're right." His eyes light a little. "Do you know her name?"

Something about the hopeful way he looks at me makes my heart squeeze. I give him a sympathetic smile. "No, but I can try and find out for you." Surely there have to be birth records, censuses, or death records I could find that would give me more information to help him. "Is there anything else you see?"

"I sometimes see glimpses of a jacket and hat, green with gold buttons but they fade into ice and snow...," he trails off, lost in thought. His brow is furrowed again underneath the curtain of his dark hair. 

I perk up enthusiastically. "Yes, you were in the United States Army in 1943. I think you're remembering your uniform." But the ice and snow...that must be when he fell from the train, leaving everyone to believe he'd died in action. I didn't miss the way his eyes darkened as he trailed off there. What had happened to him? The gratefulness filling his eyes is heartwrenching as he looks at me again.

"I should go," he says as he stands from my table, quickly snapping back into that cold assassin. "I've already been here too long." I follow his lead, pushing my chair back to stand with him.

"You're welcome to come back any time you're able. I'll help as much as I can. But, I promise I will find your mother's name." I smile up at him, trying to assure him the best I can. His eyes are still haunted, the ghosts of those memories still looming behind them, but there's also a hint of light in them that wasn't there before.

"What's your name?" he asks tentatively. "I should probably know that too if I'm going to be seeing you again."

"It's Kelsey." I give him a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you."

He gives me what seems to be the semblance of a smile before he turns to go. "Thank you." 

And with that, he vanishes into the shadows again.