#20 Lost - Caillte

I collided with Lyle's strained frame as she pulled me onto the narrow balcony. My momentum led us to fall to the hard metal ground of the caboose as the high pings of bullets hitting metal rang in my ears.

Lyle rolled her body over mine, shielding me. I could feel her uneven breaths as her chest rose and fell against my back. My cheek pressed harshly against the dirty floor, her forearm covered all of my face but my right eye. From my limited view I could see Smith and Jones growing smaller and smaller in the distance as our train sped away.

I heaved a tentative breath. The sharp clink of bullets subsided moments later, but we didn't dare move.

Lyle's voice was no louder than a whisper when she finally broke the silence. "You okay?"

I nodded numbly before realizing she couldn't see me as she was still positioned over me. I mumbled that I didn't think I was hurt, but still we didn't move.

The moon cast a glow over the tracks that passed by us in quick succession. Every track the same save for a few worn down ones that glinted in the brief light.

After a few more minutes Lyle withdrew her body from mine, rolling over onto her back so she lay next to me. We stayed like this in silent thought for what seemed like hours. My mind was completely blank, and I allowed it to be, pushing out any and every thought of the nights events.

I turned away from the roof of the caboose and looked to my right. I was closest to edge of the rails. As I studied the guard railing, I gave silent thanks they held because upon further inspection they were much more rusted than I thought.

What if they'd broke?

I pushed the nasty thought out of my head. No. I was safe now - we were safe now.

Was it appropriate to be thinking about this in terms of 'we'?

My hair tickled my face as I met a gentle breeze when turning to look at Lyle. Her eyes were closed and she lay sprawled on the caboose floor as if she were absorbing the solid ground. I watched her chest rise and fall easily, I wondered how she had been so calm.

She'd saved me. There was no doubt in my mind that I would've... I don't know what I would've done.

Lyle stirred from her spot next to me and with her eyes still closed she came to a seated position. Opening them slowly she stared into the darkness before her, unaware of my watchful presence. Absent mindedly she reached up to run her fingers through her hair but stopped herself. Her entire face contorted in pain as the opposite hand flew to the source of her torment.

I followed her movement to her right sleeve that faced me. Blood stained the dark green material and ran freely down her bicep.

"Shit, you're bleeding." I observed quietly as I rose slowly to sit cross legged next to her. My own body was numb and I felt as if I was underwater, unable to respond quickly, mentally or physically.

I didn't - couldn't - react in the way I knew I typically would have at the sight of blood. I felt not only that I didn't want to but that I was unable to take in the events that unfolded just moments before. My mind was utterly empty as I stumbled to my feet.

The door at the back of the caboose was covered in graffiti and I ran my hands over it blindly until I felt the rough surface of a handle.

The betrayal and anger I'd felt to Lyle when she confessed her true reason for staying at White Pine melted away. I blinked several times but couldn't shake the feeling - or lack of. Even my curiosity was void.

"Thanks Sherlock." Lyle replied managing a pained grin as she rose to her feet.

I pulled with my entire body weight until the door groaned, opening just far enough for me to slip inside and use my legs to push it open the rest of the way. It was obvious the door was rarely used, but at least it wasn't locked. Lyle followed me inside and collapsed into the first seat she saw while I took stock of the car.

I wasn't surprised to find it empty. In years previous when I'd taken the train to Unit #16 there were never more than five people to a car. Only a few people used it for commuting, and tourism was popular during the day, not the dead of night.

"Come on." I said gently taking her good arm in my hand. She said nothing and followed me obediently past the neat rows of burgundy seats to the end of the car where the matchbox sized bathroom sat.

I slid the rickety door open revealing a toilet and sink with a medicine cabinet packed neatly against the wall. I moved Lyle to sit on the closed toilet seat while I rifled through the cabinet above the sink. The cabinet was sparsely stocked with little in the way of first aid supplies, only a small plastic box bearing a red cross.

Turning to Lyle I took in a deep breath. Grace and I experienced accidents at the B&B before where we had to treat ourselves. But they were always nothing more than a small cut. Never had I ever thought I'd be standing in a cramped train restroom about to attempt to treat a bullet wound.

My hands trembled as I reached out to touch Lyle's hand that covered her wound. She didn't resist me as I removed it gently.

It was worse than I expected. The material of her sleeve was ripped where the bullet struck the flesh of her upper arm. My head lulled and I could feel the blood drain from my face. I sucked in a deep breath and turned back to the sink. Steadying myself on the cheap plastic counter I took a moment.

What in the hell was I doing?

A question that had come up more than a few times this evening. My curiosity led me to this point. Hadn't it? It was the one that pushed me to get involved with Lyle in the first place.

Could blame this all on that one character flaw?

I shook my head now was not the time to get in an argument with myself, especially one I wasn't sure which side I wanted to win.

I washed my hands thoroughly before grabbing a washcloth, iodine and the small scissors from the box.

Lyle had shifted her position to lean her good shoulder against the wall of the cramped bathroom. Her eyes widened as she stared at the scissors. "I'm hoping those are for one of your other patients." She deadpanned trying her best to put out a care free attitude though I could tell from her controlled short breaths she was in pain.

The forced smile on her face was quickly replaced with a grimace as I put the scissors to use, cutting away her sleeve and then peeling it back from the wound. The material of her shirt had been pressed so tightly to the wound that it stuck slightly to the ripped flesh and as I removed it the clots that formed from the pressure opened again. New streams of blood stained her arm and I hurriedly applied the iodine soaked washcloth to the open wound.

Thank god the bullet only grazed her. The blood made it seem much worse than it was but the cut couldn't have been more than a quarter an inch deep.

Still I'd never seen this much blood before. I looked to Lyle, she flinched lightly at the uncomfortable pressure then relaxed and allowed her eyes to close as I worked. Color was evident in her cheeks and I pressed tighter on the cloth.

I stood with her, my body crammed between the sink and her slumped posture. We were both struggling to breath evenly as the smell of blood and sweat filled the small room. Tastes of stomach acid welled in my throat and I clamped my mouth shut, struggling to prevent myself from puking.

Soon the washcloth took on a deep red color and I removed it, replacing it with snow white gauze. Rapidly it took on a matching appearance, but I held it in place as I wrapped all of the material around the gash before closing it with some fabric. The bandage was simple, but it would do.

"All done." I breathed a sigh of relief, the first one of the night that lasted for more than a few seconds.

My weary arms lifted my body up to sit precariously on the sink, my feet resting beside Lyle's knees. I was angled slightly above her body that contorted to fit more comfortably into the corner of the bathroom.

"Do I get a sticker?" She joked dryly while her eyes stayed closed.

I let out an airy laugh in response though it was more from nervousness than amusement.

We allowed a moment to pass as I swung my legs aimlessly from my perch on the narrow sink.

Finally Lyle broke the silence. She swallowed before opening her eyes to meet mine in sincere apology. "Thank you."

I bit my lip and sighed loudly. I nodded unable to come up with a reply. My exhausted mind struggled to land on one question that would help me definitively make sense of the situation.

"I can't figure you out." My words were pained. "I can't figure any of this out." I looked away to the fake linoleum floor below me.

The rational side of my brain screamed for me to run through the train until I found another soul and order them to call the police. I'd been shot at for crying out loud, running away would be the logical decision.

Then why couldn't I seem to allow myself to move? It wasn't entirely fatigue. It was my mind, curiosity had crept back into it - maybe it was never gone. I couldn't leave without finding her motive to steal Mo Soileireacht.

Unconsciously my grip on the counter harshened until my knuckles turned white. I took in another intentional breath and tried to relax my muscles.

"You owe me an explanation."

"I-" Lyle began lamely but I cut her off.

"Don't you dare say that it's none of my business." I managed a dark chuckle. "Your fucking thief friends just shot you. I can't afford to be kept in the dark." My voice no longer trembled, the adrenaline left me feeling completely wiped out. My words had no emotion to them, they fell lifelessly from my mouth as I locked eyes with the injured girl before me. I had no more time nor effort to beat around the bush.

"I don't work with those men." She assured me, her voice was quiet in between her tempered breaths.

"That was pretty obvious when they shot you." One of my swinging feet made contact with her knee. I grimaced at my unintentional action and placed my hands on top of my own knees to stop their nervous movement. "You and they are after Mo Soileireacht." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes."

I bobbed my head and broke our eye contact staring up at the dirty tiled ceiling. "So then how did three different thief's end up at my B&B? You all don't have a message board or something to make sure you're not double dipping?"

"It's a long story."

Throwing my hands up in the air I gave her an exhausted look. "I think if I weren't interested I would've already left Lyle."

She laughed at my directness but avoided my gaze shifting to check her new bandage. For a moment I thought she was going to ignore me or pawn off my answer with some bullshit saying, but this time things were different.

The mood was different, I was different. I wasn't just mildly interested in her, I was attached to her and the answers she held.

After toying aimlessly with the bandage she began. "I was at a bar and I hear these guys talking. They were quite drunk at this point and were going on and on talking about how they just scored the easiest job in town."

"Jones and Smith?"

Lyle nodded her confirmation.

It was hard to imagine either of the men getting drunk enough to be so loose lipped. Jones maybe, he definitely seemed like the bragging type. Always sneering down his nose in distaste at anyone who so much as looked at him. Smith, however, seemed so incredibly uptight with his pushed out chest and sharp remarks. The way he spoke was calculated and never above a conversational tone, making his words all the more menacing.

Huh.

My mind flew to Lyle. She and Smith were of course vastly different, one had shot and me and one saved me. But in their mannerisms the two were undeniably similar. The way they squared their shoulders conveying strength and authority. The way they spoke, short and to the point, and of course the way that they watched. Both had entered the B&B, and although they saw me, they seemed to look right past my body, taking in their entire surroundings instead of focusing on one item, or person in my case. A shiver ran down my spine, was I an idiot to even consider trusting Lyle?

"So there they are going on and on about how easy this job is, and I start listening. They're trying to talk up the waitress so they let it spill that the mark is a painting in some old bed and breakfast." She laughed again. This time more genuine as if she was recalling a night with old friends. "Men, they just have to brag don't they?"

"What happened next?" I pressed.

"Well, when they got up to leave I saw my chance. I walked over, bumped into Smith and lifted the paper." She shrugged as if it were the most natural thing to do. The movement triggered my makeshift bandage to contract around her wound, constricting more blood from flowing out. She grimaced and placed her free hand over the wrap instinctively.

It was odd seeing her in pain. Odd not only because the pain originated from a gunshot - which wasn't a typical Saturday night for me - but because it was a pure emotion. Unbridled, she didn't bother to keep it from me. I could see plainly that she was hurt physically where I couldn't tell if she was mentally in pain from fear or otherwise.

"What paper?"

"At some point in the conversation the smaller guy - Smith - pulled this piece of paper from his jacket pocket and tells the waitress that he might as well call the man now, because the painting is as good as his."

"And that's how you found White Pine?" Anger dripped back into my voice. I felt instant protection over my place of business that doubled as my home. How could she or anyone else bring their bad intentions past the thick oak door? "What were you going to do? I mean you had to know they'd figure it out."

For the past few days I viewed Lyle as smart, but to steal, the job was so impulsive. Though I suppose I had no way of knowing if this was something she did everyday. Still the impulsiveness was unlike her, everything I knew up to this point was purposeful. The way she watched me, the way she analyzed her surroundings. She was careful and maybe a bit reckless, but not impulsive.

"I was going to leverage it."

I stared blankly at her simple statement.

She waved her hand dismissively and shifted in her seat. "Smith and Jones were hired to steal it for a fixed price. But, if I get it before them then I set my own price." There was a sort of pride in her voice as she recounted her plan, meanwhile my face contorted in disgust.

"Price?" I repeated.

Of course, how could I have been so blind? This was all about money. It wasn't compulsion, it was greed. That was why Lyle chatted me up, to make a payday. I was collateral.

Outrage welled in my chest and I let out a forced breath in an attempt to clear my system. Now was strangely not the time to become upset, especially if I were to avoid becoming so overwrought that it impaired my ability to think straight.

But that's easier said than done.

"You used me." I bit back the brunt of my anger. "You flirted with me so you could make a few bucks? That's why you kept showing up, it wasn't because you-"

I tried my best not to blame myself, I'd been trying with all my might since I jumped from the hatchback. I couldn't have seen it, there was no way I could have predicted that I would be sitting on a train in the dead of night across from a thief.

I didn't have the energy to cry or shout anymore so I sat silently, my eyes burning holes into the bandaged girl before me.

She nodded solemnly in acknowledgement of my outrage. Yet instead of looking down in shame she held my gaze. "I wasn't using you," She stated firmly. "At least not on purpose. Look May when I took this job, I didn't count on any of this happening, I didn't count on you. I am sorry for that."

Her gaze wasn't pleading, from a place of pity or wanting omission from guilt, it was sincere. In that instance I felt as if nothing from before held any impact. We were just two women sitting in a bathroom stall as the plain scenery whisked past us in the tiny window above the toilet.

Over the years Grace had forced me to watch countless romantic comedies - 'rom coms' as she fondly referred to them as. In every movie there was always the moment where the main character: a beautiful woman fell for the love interest: a charmingly persistent man. Unlike Grace I never oohed or awed, instead I questioned.

What made the women change their minds so easily?

How did the switch flip from utter annoyance to attraction?

My switch had different settings, this after all was not a typical 'rom com' plot, but never the less I felt my hand go to the switch.

I knew it wasn't her fault - at least not wholly. It was Smith and Jones who decided to shoot at us. Lyle hadn't summoned them there either, maybe made them a bit more angry because she got there first but...

My mind trailed off. She didn't leave me. I replayed the scene of her shielding my body from the gunshots. Was that when she was shot? She protected me as if I was her responsibility. Maybe that was the cause of her guilt toward involving me.

I was nearly to the point where gravity took over and made the last effort to push the switch upwards, towards trust, but something she said continued to nag at me.

"Let me see it." I poked her knee with the toe of my shoe prodding her to give me the paper she'd mentioned earlier.

This time without question she reached under her shirt and produced a simple piece of cardstock.

A business card with a name and address written neatly in gold script.

"Who is he?"

She shrugged. "Some rich schmuck who apparently likes home delivery." She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "Look that's all I know. The painting - your painting - was supposed to be in the lobby and when it wasn't I started to panic. But talking to you- I swear I didn't know you were the artist until you told Grace today." As she spoke her posture straightened and her good hand slid away from my makeshift bandage. Though she didn't say it outright she was apologizing for the second time.

I studied her as her green freckled eyes steadied to stare straight back at me. It was in that moment that I realized what I was missing from my portraits, it was something I recognized in myself at times late at night or early in the morning when I looked in the mirror. Maybe that's why until now I'd refused to see it because I knew I would be labeling myself was well.

It'd been so easy to tuck away while I busied myself enough to push out thoughts of my mother. But now, after what had happened tonight. What new questions revealed themselves to me about the woman I barely knew and her artwork. I could see myself and Lyle clearly.

We were lost.

Unlike me, she concealed it well, in her confident posture and quick quips. Perhaps why she'd never given me much insight or information was because she lacked it herself.

Click. My mental switch flicked into place.

Lyle broke our eye contact as she shifted in her seat to pull my phone from her pocket and hold it out to me. "Call the police. They will protect you, maybe even catch the guys," She hesitated and nervously glanced down at the electronic in her palm. "Just maybe don't include my name in it. I'll get off at the next stop." She finished quickly as if she were ashamed to make her weak appeal to me.

-

I know this was a long chapter, but we've got a lot to get through !! Should May call the police???

Vote & Comment if you please !! xoooxo