Chapter 2
February 14th
Another great day Steve thinks, full of sarcasm. Not only is it Valentine Day and he is, not so subtly, reminded that he's once again alone but work was way overstaffed. He was one of the ones asked to leave early. Guess he had the most hours already but he was planning on working all day to keep his mind occupied from the idea that he'll be forever alone.
He leaves through the doors of the hospital with an aggressive push on the handle. He's not sure why he opted for walking instead of calling a cab but he soon regrets his decision a few minutes in as the cold New York air freezes his face into place. The subway it'll have to be as he's now in an inconvenient place to catch a cab, if they would even stop here. Even though he does have a truck, parking is impossible in the city so he always chooses public transportation on his work days. Saves hospital parking for those that need it anyways.
He walks further along to the station he's most familiar with. He's about to cross the street to get there when he sees a group gathered near where he needed to cross. He sighs Was it one of those Valentines scavenger hunts and they managed to get a group of strangers to help?
Then he hears screaming and then someone yelling for help, and not the scavenger hunt type of help. Steve runs quickly toward the crowd now, if they did end up being assholes that screamed for no reason well he'll take that chance and at least he got some exercise out of it.
"Let me through, let me through," He says pushing through the crowd. "I'm a doctor!" He yells finally when he gets resistance from the crowd. They seem to clear from him after that. It really does disturb Steve how a crowd gathers when something happens especially if someone was actually hurt. Sure some want to help but guarantee other's just want to see something shocking. He hates that, it reminds him how people used to voluntarily watch executions or men fighting each other to the death. They should go in for a night shift in the ER they'll see plenty of shocking things.
As the crowd moves, slightly, apart Steve sees a figure hunched over the pavement.
"Are they breathing?" He asks, to no one in particular. The person next to him just shrugs.
"What happened?"
"Car." One lady choked out. "Hit him, I saw the whole thing. They just took off."
Alright, witness number one. He doesn't turn to her but he's sure the woman is crying now. He scoots down next to what was now his patient. He gently talks to the person on the ground, letting him know what he was going to do before he does it. He moves the hair from around the man's head and accesses the damage as he reaches for his wrist to check for a pulse.
There is one there but very faintly. He yells orders to the onlookers for help and it's as if he never left work. Unfortunately the faint pulse doesn't last long and by the time Steve hears the sirens of the ambulance there's nothing more he could do. He doesn't tell the crowd though he doesn't need to deal with them possibly experiencing death for the first time despite their initial curiosity. All he says is sorry and that it's in the EMT's hands now. He leaves his information with the EMT and the firemen. They insist he wait for the police but he lies and says he's already late for a dinner but leaves them his number just in case.
He decides to walk the rest of the way home despite the cold air.
With that check mark three on his terrible day checklist he decides to go by the Lakehouse. So as soon as he gets home he takes off in his truck. He hasn't gotten any forwarded mail so maybe it was still there, plus he'll admit he misses the damn place. It was far removed from everything, from this city, from people.
It takes him a while, or maybe it just seems so. He has to change almost every other radio station from sappy love songs. It's still too difficult for him. He settles on some talk radio but then that gets lovey dovey so he plugs in his phone and finds whatever angry playlist he made the past week.
Eventually he pulls on the street the house rests on, and puts the car in park by the property before the walkway and in front of the mailbox. He notices the flag is up on the box indicating mail to be sent out. He looks around not noticing anyone around and the lights in the house are all off. Probably out for the "Holiday" Steve thinks. He opens the box and finds a small envelope. He turns it over to the address side and see's it's made out to him from the property his feet were currently on. Odd. He said forward the mail not send him mail. Unless it was his that the renters had opened not realizing it was for him? Steve opens the envelope and sees its a letter written to him.
Dear Steve,
Thank you for the letter welcoming me to this beautiful house. It really is ...quaint but I like that. My job is too loud sometimes anyways. It's also a good place to write without any disturbances. Not sure why I'm telling you all of this or if you'll even get this letter but there was one thing I thought was curious about your letter. In it you indicated something about a box in the attic, which I have yet to find... The attic also seemed very bare and I'm not sure if it was you or the other renters but it seems like no one has been up here in quite some time. Or maybe the attic is just very prone to dust and dirt? Disregarding the mysterious box...how did you know about the paw print? You see when I got here, hell when I was looking at the house, I didn't see one paw print. The other day I noticed the handrails needed a paint job so today I decided to run out and get paint for that. Mid way through though I hear this noise in the bushes and out of nowhere this dog runs out, and runs into my paint spreading black pawprints like you wrote about all over the walkway. Did you know about this dog? Is this a common occurrence? The wood doesn't show a paint job and I doubt someone would replace the whole walkway for this. Not sure why I'm writing you all this I just thought it was odd. I know you gave me your address only for forwarding mail so I'm sorry if this is a bother and I understand if you just throw this out and don't write back (although I could use the "company").
- James "Bucky" Barnes
Steve puts the letter on his passenger seat, his brows furrowing. Not only was he most certain there were pawprints from not only his stay but they were worn before he got there. He also knew how impossible it was to the clean the paint off or replace the wood. Even if someone had come and painted over it from the time Steve left to when this new person got there, the walkway, which was made almost completely from wood, would've looked...well...painted. Plus James said he would've noticed a paint job. Even looking out at it now Steve could see it was still the same old wood and he's sure if he got out of the truck and walked on it he would see the paw prints.
After checking behind and in front of him that no one was driving down the road toward him he does just that. He hears the old creak as his shoes touch the walkway. It also shows as an indicator that indeed someone didn't replace it from when Steve left. He looks down and sure enough sees the same exact paw prints in the same exact spot he saw them in everyday for months. And the wood still had it's same natural color, not a drip of paint on it besides the animal's decoration. Even if by some miracle they had painted the wood or had replaced it all but kept that creak in, how did, not only the dog land in the same exact spots, but how would they have made it look just as faded as when he left it. If the dog had just done it recently the prints would still be a dark black.
He wants to write a letter back but all he has with him is a notebook of paper, no envelopes and no stamps. Granted he was delivering it to the address right in front of him so he probably didn't need those formalities anyways and if what's in the far back of his head is telling him is right, he wouldn't need them regardless. He thinks for a moment and quickly grabs a pen from his cup holder and the notepad on the bottom of his passenger side floor. He puts pen to paper quickly before he can change his mind (or convince himself he's lost it).
Dear James
...Or Bucky..Do you prefer Bucky? You're right your inquiry is definitely curious. I am currently in front of the house and don't see anyone home. I checked out the prints (hope that's okay). And I am also very confused. The walkway has no hints of being painted and the prints don't' look new. The wood on the walkway is definitely not replaced either. The spots are also exactly where I remember. Even the handrails seem to be chipping once again (unless you just did a very bad job haha). I'm not sure how they could be there one day and not the next and then somehow appear back when I get here? If I knew any tricksters I'd say it was them but since I doubt someone is playing some elaborate strange trick on both of us I hope you don't mind me asking this really out there question but uh.....what year is it there?
Reluctantly (and I swear I'm not crazy),
-Steve
Steve rips the paper out of the book and folds it trifold. He writes James' name and the Lake House address (because he's honestly not sure how this shit works) then puts his name and current address on the return address line. He shakes his head as he opens the mailbox to put the letter in. He takes one last look in and sighs as he closes the lid and puts the flag up.