Knives in My Heart

Brookyln, NYC


I want you to count backwards from ten.

Breath.

Can you do that for me?

Yes.

Breath.

Close your eyes and clear your mind. Go ahead.

Ten. Nine. Eight… seven… six…

Breath.

Five… four… thr…

GODDAMMIT BREATH!

The first breathe is like fire, shuddering with the force to suck blackened air into swollen lungs. She tries not retch against the coppery rancid taste that splatters her lips in red flakes and runs down her soiled uniform in muddy red streaks. The second breathe is just as rough and she nearly blacks out, the ground of thick mud swaying in her hazy vision as her palms slid in it to keep her from kissing it. Keep breathing, soldier. It’s not her voice she hears but she obeys and forces herself to take another. It was still raining, somewhere between a drizzle and a downpour and her clothes are sodden and heavy, weighing her down and she smells like gasoline and earth, heady and rich and poisoning. Her hand slides in the mud, clawing fingers through and leaving gouges in the wet earth as her boots find purchase and she prepares to stand. It’s a big deal as it takes three tries, the second resulting in her half her face covered in mud and the chinstrap of her helmet digging into her flesh. She wants to tear it off and leave it behind, clear her head from the comfortable darkness creeping into her vision. You can’t heal from a bullet to the brain. A part of her laughs and she can hear the slight hysteria in her voice, too heavy and too deep. Tipping her head back, the world comes into focus and she wishes she didn’t.

It is a battlefield, an old military munitions base hidden within an ancient forest, long defunct and taken over. At least what’s left of it. There’s a giant hole in the side of a building, carved out by the blast of a tank that was currently careening across the open space in fire, it’s driver already dead. The night sky is light up by the occasional spray of automatic fire, racing fireflies against the darkness and the white blast of a grenade that’s way too close and sends her toppling over to her knees. Her side burns with the buried shrapnel accompanying the already present bullet lodged between her ribs. She can’t hear the man shouting at her, brown hair wild and messy as he slings a rifle over his shoulder and dashes toward her away from the safety of the tree line. There are others around her, German soldiers by their uniform and that’s as much as she can distinguish from the circle of black masks and eyeless goggles. They’re staring, surrounding, one screams something in German, telling her to put her weapon down and all raise their guns.

The shield in is in her hand before she registers it, familiar and foreign, it’s new and old and confusing but like muscle memory, she tosses it with little effort and the circular shield goes spinning, slamming into the first soldier, crushing his mask and splintering bones. There is barely time for the others to realize what’s happened before the shield ricochets back to her awaiting hand and she moves. Digging a knee into the mud, she spins like a top using herself to dodge and aim, curling the shield to her body to deflect the ringing shots all around her and send it flying to take down another enemy. But, it’s not enough. She jerks forward at the bullet through her shoulder and collapses at the second through her thigh. A sound tears from her, a wounded animal growl and a choked sob and the rain is roaring around her, filling her senses as she fights to get up even when a heavy boot is brought down between her shoulder blades. She refuses and earns a swift kick to her ribs and that sends her spinning to her back.

For a moment she drowns in her blood, gasping wetly against the liquid shifting in her lungs and for a moment the fear is there, crawling up her spine in cold waves, threatening to devour her in stifling darkness. Her vision wanes and her heartbeat pounds in her ears, drowning out the rain and voices and she can’t move, finding her limbs numb and fingers useless as it grasps for the lip of her shield just out of reach. A soldier bends to look at her, black goggles large and expansive and reflective. Her reflection stares back, wide eyed and hollow, mouth parted gasping for air but it’s wrong. Everything’s too big, too angular and strong and it takes her a moment to realize the build of a man’s face in the blurry echo. It’s not her looking back.

There is a zing of air, something cutting through it sharply and a second later the side of the soldier’s mask explodes in a spray of red and he collapses atop her as the others spin around to see who’s firing on them. Two more go down and she’s moving without thinking, shoving the body off her and pulling the muddied shield and hurling it with her other arm, sending it spinning low to clip at the legs of the few soldiers still standing. The cracking and splintering of bones are like nails being driven in her head as the shield returns from the gentle flick of her wrist to guide it. The man with the rifle is standing over her. He grins and he’s missing a tooth, his cheek and eye are swollen and black but he smiles anyway as he offers a hand to her to stand. She smiles back and can’t help but the swell of relief and gratitude at her friend, he was always there for her when she needed him. Thick streaks of crimson splatter her face and there’s suddenly a hole in the man’s chest, big enough for the moonlight to shine through and dead, empty eyes are staring down at her before the man drops boneless. It builds like a crescendo, disbelief racing into horror and it tears from her lips and she can’t stop herself from screaming.

The screams echo around the small apartment when she wakes, body and clothing drenched in sweat and the sheets tangle around her legs like a serpent from thrashing. For a moment she’s restrained, held down against her will and the panic of nightmares transfers to the real world and she fights back, the sound of material ripping as she claws at it. Darkness greets her save for a flittering of light from underneath a tightly drawn curtain and the stark red numbers of her alarm blaring. The woman swung her fist, fighting off the last dredges of the scene and slams it atop the offending light, crushing the small clock with a crunch of metal and plastic and the red numbers are snuffed out. There isn’t the register of pain as the hand swings again to fight off the invisible and hits open air before a part of her finally grabs hold and she recoils to gasp for air. It takes her awhile to remember where she is and even longer to regain control over her breathing, forcing herself to take deep breaths. Drawing knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and sat in the middle of her bed to stare into the dark through sweat soaked blonde bangs.

You are safe, Libby. She can hear Sam’s soothing voice in memory and she latches onto them for comfort, struggling to remember what he told her to do for these certain situations. Slow your breath; unclench your fist. Even in sleep you are ready for war. Her shoulders jerk, a quick laugh to push through the panic as she buried her face into her knees and took another breath. It’s easier now and she forces herself to talk out loud and recite in a shaky whisper, “I’m Liberty Belle. I’m in my apartment in Brooklyn, New York City. I’m an agent of SHIELD and I’m still alive.” Alive. Her heart is no longer pounding in her chest and she can hear past it to the quiet noises of the building around her. There isn’t much, a few bodies moving around and the electric whine of heaters clicking on and off, her next door neighbors thankfully sleep like a rock.

The shrillness of music from her cellphone, something she’s pretty sure she didn’t put on there, cuts through her concentration and it’s almost enough to ramp up the second wave of panic. Liberty grounds herself instead and slowly unfolded herself to reach across the bed and grab the simple looking cell phone. Liberty glanced at the number atop it before flipping it open to set it against her ear.

“You’re needed.”

It’s concise and commanding and the owner of the voice hung up just as quickly as they spoke. There wasn’t accompanying information and she couldn’t help but feel a little grateful she didn’t have to speak, not quite trusting her voice. Snapping the phone shut, Liberty took another moment to gather herself and shifted to the edge of the bed. Setting bare feet flat on the cool wooden floor, she stretched her back a little before resting bent elbows on her knees and let her head flop forward. It didn’t occur to her SHIELD called on her first day off in a long time and only two hours into it. She had gotten home late, almost two in the morning where she stripped off her clothes, ate whatever hadn’t grown a new ecosystem in her fridge and collapsed atop her bed before falling asleep. It was still dark when they called.

Drawing to her feet, Libby stood in a pair of white boy shorts and a loose tank top and knew she needed a shower before she’d return to headquarters. Moving systematically, she padded off to the bathroom, leaving her phone on the kitchen counter as she passed. Twisting the shower handle, the shower sputtered before sending a sharp spray of cool water down. She waited until steam filled the room before shedding her bedclothes and stepped into the welcoming heat. It was always the same, drenched in sweat but freezing, no matter what crazy dreams her mind cooked up. Her bones felt like ice and she nudged the shower handle further, turning her pale skin pink under the unbearable heat and still it wasn’t enough. A stringent schedule kept her from wasting time and try as she might, she was out in seven minutes and running a towel through her clean short hair.

The shower helped and she felt better, more herself by the time she finished dressing. Pulling a well worn leather jacket over her tan slacks and a nice white shirt, she brushed her hair as it dried slowly, curling the tips slightly and stared at the pretty yellow dress hanging in her open closet in the mirror of her bathroom before setting her brush down. Folding her towel, she picked up after herself, closed a door, grabbed her phone and wallet and returned to her room to stare at the mess of her bed. Pursing her lips, she tossed her dirty clothes in the hamper and set to stripping her bedding, throwing the ripped sheets into the trash and pulled out a clean set to remake her bed. She didn’t like to leave things out of place when she left, who knew how long she’d be gone. Scooping the remains of her clock in with her ruined sheets, Libby opened the side drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a new clock and set it down in its brethren’s place. She had a small cut on the side of her hand from cutting it on a sharp edge but it was nearly healed, leaving only a finite line of irritated skin in its wake.

Liberty straightened to scrutinize her military corners and smooth top cover and a smile fluttered across her lips. Sharp enough to bounce a coin off it. Gathering her trash bag, she flipped in a new bag and finished a couple more quick chores before leaving the simple and eerily sterile apartment, closing the door quietly behind her and walked quietly down the hall. It was still really early in the morning and she knew a few of her neighbors didn’t like to be disturbed, especially…

The last door on the right swung open with a bang and a young man dressed in black and smudged eyeliner leaned out as Libby halted a few feet away. Instinctively she pulled the trash bag in front of her as the man smiled tiredly, winked and tossed his long black greasy hair back. “Hey there, babe, thought it was you,” he said, words oozing out unhurriedly and she smelled something odd drifting from his apartment, smoke curling from the top and into the hall. “Kinda early, huh?”

“Uh, not for me, James,” Libby returned and took a step to the left to continue walking. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“Nah, I wasn’t sleeping.” He scratched the side of his jaw and leaned a hip against the doorway, crossing his arms. “Say, why don’t you join me for an early breakfast, I can grab my coat and we can head out to Martha’s. They have killer waffles. My treat?”

“No.” It came out a little rushed, “No, thank you. I have to run to work. Thank you for the offer.” Liberty moved on, not stopping as she knew the man would trap her in an endless conversation as he previously had numerous times before. They usually revolved around food and taking her out to seedy places. She smiled politely though and turned slightly to walk backwards. “You should have your smoke detector tested, I don’t think it’s working properly.”

“Huh?” James glanced up at the smoke wafting from his apartment, trance music playing quietly in the background. “Heh, yeah, sure. Come over and fix it for me.” He grinned this time.

“I’ll buy you some batteries and drop it in your mailbox.” Libby gave a little wave as she turned the corner of the hall and dropped her trash down the garbage chute near the front door. Making sure it actually went down, she exited the building and clipped down the steps to make her way over to parking where her bike was stored.

Tugging keys from her pocket, she threw a long leg over the seat and straddled the bike as she did a quick systems check. Finding everything satisfactory, she pulled the black helmet from off the bars and pushed it over her head, making sure it was a snug fit. Zipping up her jacket, masking her build in the process, she slid a key into the ignition and let it roar to life. It was a mirror build; minus the extra supped up parts, of the bike she used on duty. This one however was straight from the factory with a simple black paint job. Nothing to make her stand out. Letting the engine warm for a few minutes, she nudged back the kickstand with the toe of her boot and eased the bike slowly out of the parking area and onto the main street, heading toward SHIELD headquarters.