YOU ARE THE REASON
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Today's Document
EXPECTATIONS
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@bookergallagher
“But I’ve got to tell everyone, they need to know about your handsome smile.”
“Hey-- no. Nooo they do not. They hear about my handsome smile and I’ll have ladies lined up outside my house. That is something I do not want nor need.”
Rey would be lying if she said she hadn’t suspected something like this would happen sooner or later - she only hoped it had been under better circumstances. Booker had always made her uncomfortable, though she could never explain what. On the few occasions she’d brought it up to Elena the best she could do to describe it was “a bad feeling”, and that meant absolutely nothing in the police force. Fortunately for her, Elena seemed to agree. Unfortunately, Booker was fairly good at fooling everyone else. When he wanted to, of course.
So as Rey walked up to Booker’s cabin, she had to remind herself that this time it was more than a feeling. The evidence was slim but the probable cause was there - he was the best suspect they had, without question. Suspect enough to bring him in.
Rey was confident when she knocked. Perhaps foolishly so, she realized, out in the woods like this, but she was armed and ready, and she wanted answers.
An alarm was going off in the kitchen, telling Booker that the roast beef stew he had just made was done. It was one of his favourite dishes to cook, never caring about not having someone to share it with. However, eating it would have to wait. Right as he was taking the pot out of the oven, he heard a knock.
Once again, he had no idea who it was. Which made him think about installing cameras for once. These knocks were coming too often for his liking. With a grunt and a toss of the oven mitts, Booker made his way across his kitchen, into the living room, and to the door. One peep out of the hole revealed it was the one and only Rey Rogers. And the look on her face could only mean one thing.
She thought it was him. A smile pulled at his lips, but he quickly erased it when he opened the door. Instead, he wore a look of interest. “Detective Rogers. I don’t suppose you were driving by and caught a whiff of my roast beef stew.”
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
He felt like nothing. He felt helpless. Torture was a unique sort of cruelty – it chips away at a person little by little. It breaks them and then takes away the pieces one by one until it’s impossible to put them back together again. There were pieces missing. They would never be the same. Bucky knew. He remembered.
He was losing.
James Stephenson. The name was barely a whisper.
Nothing was much louder.
James’ body felt as though it were on fire, but he didn’t want to scream. If he started screaming he was afraid he wouldn’t stop. He tried to look at the source of the voice but his vision blurred as his eyes watered until finally the pain became too much. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, a strangled and pained scream tearing at the back of his throat.
You should have died in the war.
NOTHING. Who are you?
You should have died in the war.
Jack’s voice, distant but loud, poignant – a memory. “I thought you were dead, Buck.”
Sergeant James Stephenson. Nothing. Bucky.
Jack was a reason. Grainger was a reason. Toni was a reason. He needed to live. But you’re a coward. Nothing. Until the day you die.
Bucky.
He spoke through clenched teeth and a dry, strained throat. “Kill me.”
A smile began to creep its way onto Booker’s lips, slowly spreading across. Not that he could see it behind the mask he wore.. The response was phenomenal. Had he been a scientist, had he really been studying James’ reaction and the effect it had on his psyche, he would probably win some kind of award. That is.... if human experimentation were legal.
Scream for me, the thought surfaced. Scream.
What came out of James’ throat would have to do. But that was okay. Booker would get the man screaming at the top of his lungs soon enough. His eyes gleamed, watching James’ expressions shift from this to that all in a matter of seconds. No doubt, memories were being remembered, maybe even altered. It was time he stopped watching, though. Booker had other plans that day for James.
Back turned towards the pained man in the chair, he began to prep for some shock torture. Flipping this switch and that, he made sure it was enough to hurt him, but not enough to kill him. No, he still needed him. What he heard next stopped him, his head turning around slightly. Another smile. Death would be too sweet for him. He ignored his request for the time being, turning back around and finishing the prep work. Then, walking toward him with a switch in his hand, he peered down at him, head tilted only slightly as he observed him before answering his request.
“You don’t deserve death.”
And thus Booker pressed the big red button.
“You’re not so scary now that I’ve seen you smile.”
“..Don’t tell anyone you saw me smile. I gotta keep the bad boy appearance up, y’know.”
Mark entered, putting his badge away. He blinked twice involuntarily, his little tic - the glitch, as he took in his surroundings. “I’m investigating the disappearance of a man by the name of James Stephenson. Have you see this man?” In place of his badge, he held out a photograph. “He went missing around the time of Halloween.”
Booker’s brows pulled together, frowning at the news. He took the picture in his hands, letting out a small sigh. Poor Jack, missing his friend. “Last time I saw him was at the harvest festival, with Jack....” Chris stopped, looking as if his heart just dropped. Eyes closed for a moment before they opened and raised to meet the detective’s. “That same night. Halloween. They were.. I don’t know. Having a good time, probably. That’s all I remember.”
The world seemed to flicker in and out of existence. When James slipped he found himself back in Ukraine, teasing death with every breath he drew - realizing that death would probably have been an escape, a reprieve. He fought to keep his consciousness but found little solace in it - it was met only with stale air and the smell of blood and when he was very unlucky, the worst pain he’d ever felt.
But he couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure if he was strapped down or drugged, but the most movement he could manage was his head, and even then it was mostly reliant on gravity. He tried to take in his surroundings whenever he was of a sound enough mind to consider it, but his vision blurred and whatever he may have seen he never registered long enough to remember. It flashed between a bare room and the cave in Ukraine and all he was really aware of was pain.
The only thing he knew was absolutely sure of was that someone was responsible.
Taken. He knew that. Jack. They had been together. No. Jack had left. Just briefly, Jack had left. And that’s when it had to have happened. Remember. Remember. Who was it? You’re in Aldyria. You’re a prisoner. This isn’t the war. This isn’t the war.
Isn’t it?
“Sergeant… James Stephenson... 324457…”
Another wave of pain washed over him and he felt as though he were on fire. He wanted to scream and writhe but could do neither - he couldn’t even be sure if he was clenching his fists, but he knew he was clenching his teeth.
James had emptied his stomach earlier that morning so all he tasted in the back of his throat was bile, driven there by physical agony.
Kill me. Let me die. Please.
Who would ever think that a lumberjack of all people would have a degree in biomechanics? That’s right. No one. For all anyone even knew, the only mechanics Booker knew were about cars, and that was only very little. He still took his car to the auto shop. Still called an electrician when his oven went out. Not that he really knew how to take care of a car, anyway. All he knew was how to change his oil.
So when it came to replacing a human arm with a metal one that the patient could control, one that worked exactly like flesh and not like some shit prosthetic limb. No, this was no prosthetic. This was more. It was of his own design, not found anywhere else. His most prized possession that he was about to bless the man lying on the reclined chair with.
Booker had already had his fun with James, testing his limits to see how long he would stay alive. Almost a month in already and he wasn’t dead-- which Booker found incredible, but not surprising considering he was a soldier.
Fingers tapped on the syringe before he put the contents into James’ IV drip. Something to increase the pain he felt. And there it was again, he was repeating his rank, name, and ID number. It was as if he was trying to ground himself. A valiant effort that only made Booker smile underneath the mask he wore.
“Wrong.” He said when the pain hit James. Then he repeated what he recently started telling him out of curiosity that he could change the way he thought. “You aren’t Sergeant James Stephenson, ID 324457. You are nothing. And you will continue to be nothing until the day that you die.”
Knuckles rapped wood. Mark was doing his usual door to door questionning in light of james’ disappearance. He spoke as the door opened and he flashed his badge. “Detective Bailey here. I only need a few moments of your time.”
Booker had just finished washing his hands of James’ blood when he heard the knock. No one came to his door. Ever. Not even the one night stands he had. After drying his hands, he opened his door expecting it to be a package that arrived or something-- instead, he got the detective, much to his surprise. “Detective,” he nodded. “Sure, sure. Come in, make yourself at home. What can I do for you?”
“Saint Bernard. He’s really fat for a dog. Like, probably more than a hundred pounds.”
“Big enough. Jesus, how do you live with a big dog like that?”
“I have a puppy, too. His name is Beans and he’s bigger than me.”
“What is he, a fuckin Great Dane?”
“I think you should’ve gotten real puppies, to be quite honest with you.”
“I actually do have a real puppy. His name is James.”
“At least you’re honest about it.”
“I try to be honest as much as I can.”
“I mean, I was trying to avoid saying it, but y’know. Muscles are kinda gross sometimes.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. C’mon, now. I work hard for these puppies.”
“I think I’d look fat. All the lipo daddy did on me would go to waste if I did that.”
“Are you trying to say something about muscles?”
“Are you saying it’s your name because it’s a good name, or it’s a good name because it’s your name?”
“A little bit of both, to be honest with you.”
“Can you even imagine what I’d look like if I got any bigger? I’d cry.”
“You definitely wouldn’t look the same, but hey. It might look good on you. You never know.”
“It is. But you don’t need to have a bigger body for the illusion to work. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a big queen, but I personally prefer to stay how I am now.”
“Alright, alright. To each their own.”
“Yes there is stuff wrong with a man body. That shit doesn’t fly when you make a living on dressing up like a woman.”
“I thought the trick to the allusions was bigger everything. Bigger hair, clothes, more make-up.”
