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When I was a little girl I had an imaginary friend; her name was Charlie, short for Charlotte. My mom would always laugh at the stories I would share about Charlie and me, and the adventures we went on in the small dimensions of my room because she knew it was all fake. She let me continue to believe the Charlie was real until she got married to Kurt. Even then she still wanted me to believe because she wanted me to keep my innocence until she couldn't - she wanted me to have a friend.
I heard her argue with Kurt because of my imagination and how she shouldn't let it take it too far. She had no response, I just heard her sigh and close the door. After that night, I wasn't allowed to believe in anything, imaginary friends, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and any other hoaxes that brought kids undoubtful innocence.
Now, I still had imaginations in my head but this time they were demons, but no matter the amount of persuasion, they were never going to leave.
I tried to cancel my appointments with Sam because I wanted to relieve the stress he was feeling because of me and my ability to never be fixed. Instead of having sessions, he wanted to talk like old friends; talk about the weather and what's happening in the news.
"When we were removing you from that house, who were those people? Where they other prisoners from the facility?" I nodded at his question. Their existence had seemed to slip my mind every second I wasn't around the crowded house. He handed me a paper and pen for my convenience, watching me write every word.
'They were all like me. Stuck in a place that they would never want to talk about again and then saved.' I wrote on the paper, sliding it in his direction. Before he read a word I wrote, he stared at me, hesitant to look at it but I didn't know why.
He stared at the paper, trying to find the deeper meaning behind my words, although, there were none. I didn't know what he was looking for, what he was trying to get out of the statement.
"Who saved them?" He asked passing the paper back to me. Sam had never asked so many questions about what had happened to me, he said he didn't want to invade my privacy but he didn't try to stop himself this time.
'Dee Dee and George' I handed him the paper, again, sliding down in my seat. He looked up at me after he finished reading the names. "You mean the girl we have locked up right now?" I nodded at his question with a small smile.
He stood up harshly, walking to the door, I quickly scribbled words on the paper running after to him. I stood in front of him, stopping him in his tracks, holding the paper in his eyesight. 'What is going on?'
He sighed, reluctant to respond, he massaged his temples trying to soothe the ache he had. "We have a lead on Lucius, we are trying to get all of the information we have on him and I tried to leave you out of it, I didn't want to tangle you in this mess."
I sighed, turning away from him. This was the first time in a while where there had been any traffic on Lucius. I was supposed to be happy about this, the more we knew about him and where he was located, the more chances we had at catching him, although, I wasn't - I was scared.
I had always thought where the prisoners would go. Would they return home to their family like nothing happened or would they be scared to even breathe in the outside air?
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you and I might have pushed you back there but I don't want you in this" Sam mumbled, rubbing the crook of his neck but that wasn't his decision. I was already in it from day one, six feet under.
I held my hand out in front of him, he groaned placing his cold, unlocked phone in my palm. I typed the sentence slowly, still trying to understand the complexity of his phone.
'I'm in it, already. You're not pushing me out' I shoved the phone against his chest, walking in the direction he was going in.
"Eliza! Jesus, wait up!" Sam yelled at me, running to catch up to me. "I'm just warning you, this might be hard for you to process."
A lot of things were hard for me to process: the hell I had lived in, my freedom, and the friendships I had gotten but Lucius Tyrell wasn't one of them. I knew the devil that lived inside of him, I knew the acts that he did was solely his fault. It takes crazy to understand crazy.
I nodded at his words, pushing the door open to a room filled with endless tech, Lucius' ghastly face enlarged on one of the screens next to a grouping of text that had his information.
Natasha and another man stopped in their tracks looking dead at me with stacks of papers in their hands. "One rule, Sam. One rule." Nat spoke, walking over to us with an odd expression, the man followed standing behind her.
"Hey, Eliza, I guess this whole thing doesn't need an introduction," She said standing awkwardly next to me.
"I'm Clint, nice to me you" The man held his hand out with a warm smile, I shook it slowly, retracting my hand timidly. He walked me over to a pile of papers, wanting to confirm the information that they had.
"I thought we didn't want to involve her, Sam." I heard Nat whisper to Sam, crossing her arms with an inset tone. Sam pulled her away, causing her to roll her eyes.
He held his hands out in defense, trying to explain his situation. "She didn't give me a choice. We could take advantage of her want to help, she can give us information that can be the missing puzzle piece to this case."
"Eliza, Eliza" Clint waved his hands in front of my eyes, taking me out of my distraction. "Is this, if at all, true?" He asked, handing me a piece of paper with paragraphs of information stacked on top of each other. I scanned through the repetitive sentences, nodding my head. He thanked me, attaching the paper with other papers and stapling it precisely.
"Hey, Eliza, odd question, have you ever trained in combat?" Yes. I wasn't the best at it but I knew how to defend myself for a certain amount of time. In Lucius' plans to destroy the world with his deprived assassins, he had wanted us to be able to fight our way to victory. The more casualties, the better. My specialty, though it wasn't special at all, was throwing knives because I didn't actually have to fight the victims to death and I could do it from a far distance.
Natasha had filled with joy, pushing me to another room, Clint had been calling from the distance for Nat to return me, of course in her style, she didn't listen.
The room had been filled with other agents throwing each other to the ground, some taking the softer approach of just the punching bag. Steve Rogers had his own arena filled with punching bags that had fallen to the floor.
"This is where the real fun happens - well that depends on what kind of person you are but fun nonetheless." I guess I hadn't been that person to enjoy this scene, I felt out of place.
"Steve, you've met Eliza before."
I nodded at him, smiling slightly. "Yea, our newest addition"
Natasha pushed me to a mat, Steve trailing behind us. "This is merely a test."
