#24 Three - Tri

Warmth radiated on my cheek as my eyes opened to meet the dizzyingly bright light that shone through the window. I reached up to run my hands through my hair as I turned away and refocused. An inescapable groan left my lips. Every muscle in my body ached as if they'd stretched twice their size before being shoved back beneath my skin.

I swear even my pinky toe was stiff.

Clenching my teeth I forced myself to extend my arms in front of me before gingerly rotating my shoulders backwards. I continued my conscious movements through my entire body ending with a complete forward fold that triggered a light spasm in my scrunched lower back.

I was still on the train in a velvety cushion that appeared much more plush than it actually was. The pair of seats across from me were vacant. I twisted my neck uncomfortably to look behind me, no sign of the girl who had hauled me onto the train the night before.

Where was she?

My heart jumped into my throat recalling what she said the night before.

Did she double cross me?

I rose quicker than I meant to bumping my head into the overhead compartment. A string of expletives left my mouth but I continued, venturing into the open aisle. I was completely alone in the car.

What had I done? I told her where I kept Mo Soileireacht, I hadn't given her the unit number but she could figure that out easily enough. The storage facility wasn't exactly Fort Knox and she was a thief after all.

A thief.

I'd made a deal with a thief. One who'd been in dangerous situations who knew how many times. I was useless, dead weight that would just slow her down. It'd be idiotic not to leave me, hell I was even considering leaving her.

There was no way I could question Monroe with Lyle around. She wanted the money, she didn't know what else was at stake for me in this absurd plan.

My sore legs hobbled to the end of the car. I would ask Betsy and Ingrid to use their phone again. Maybe I could call the facility and warn them not to let anyone into Unit #16 without my identification. But I didn't have my identification either. My mind raced faster than the scenery speeding past along the train tracks, I could call Grace and have her overnight it to me, there had to be a post office-

Suddenly the sliding door before me opened and Lyle appeared. She nearly ran into me and I managed to step back. The rush of air that came from the cracks in the makeshift walls blew strands of her hair forward and tickled my cheek before she neatly tucked them behind her ears.

I stuttered in response to her entrance. In her hands she held a few more bottles of water and two bowls of wrapped fruit. The green of her irises were sharper than the night before as she watched me. I froze instantly feeling guilt for my doubt. She hadn't left me, she'd been out getting breakfast.

Giving me a quick once over she nodded. "Good to see you're finally up." She acknowledged casually before returning to our seats. If she noticed my agitated state she wasn't letting on.

Dumbly I followed her, lowering myself gently onto the material. Lyle was untangling the overabundant plastic wrap from her fruit bowl. Loose waves that'd escaped their place behind her ear fell in front of her face shielding it from me.

"You were out for a while, I didn't know if you wanted me to wake you or-" Lyle mused running her hands through her hair before stopping awkwardly. There was an element of humor in her voice and I realized she too understood the odd juxtaposition we were in.

"What time is it?" I rubbed my right side becoming more acutely aware of how sore it was. Most likely because it'd made contact with the harsh ground more than once the night before. First, from my not so smooth car exit and then from my jump onto a moving train.

I really needed to rethink how I went about arriving and exiting moving vehicles - maybe I should stick to my bike.

"Little after eight-thirty." Lyle answered stabbing a grape before examining and eating it.

Spring scenery flew past us, distant groves of trees among barren fields stood like a miniature oasis. A sign welcoming us to the town of Augusta faded from my view.

A wave of memories flooded my mind. I lived in and around Augusta until I turned eighteen and moved to Marbeth and met Grace. It was a sleepy town, much like where I lived now, yet despite its homely aesthetic it never resembled or felt like a home to me.

All empty memories and confusion, folks who tried to give me something I didn't need. I don't mean to blame anyone. On the outside I was like any other child, I needed love. I don't think I was deprived of it, it just wasn't in the way I wanted - or maybe from the person I wanted.

"You alright?" Lyle asked with a mouthful of cantaloupe.

I nodded, unable to tear myself away from the window. A thicket of trees faded out revealing the main square. It was just as I remembered, a three tiered fountain bubbled in the middle of a carefully landscaped pots. Surrounding it brick streets that resembled spider legs extended from all angels of the square with small shops and offices sandwiched in between. The wide sidewalks were sparsely occupied with only a few folks leisurely strolling along the roads.

Augusta was an old town, in grade school we spent a whole section on local history with an acute focus on our towns layout and specifically the choice to keep the brick roads as we modernized. Augusta was further inland than most fishing towns but it still worked as a hub for seafood transfer and packing, and this only intensified as the railway connected us to bigger cities – like the one where Monroe's office building is. Wide roads were necessary for the large containers to be able to pass side by side, sometimes three at a time. As for the charm of the brick, I suppose the town just couldn't bear to relinquish that bit of its history to modern asphalt.

"Fuck."

I turned sharply as Lyle swore under her breath. Her agitation was directed at her bicep which she held tightly with her left hand. A trickle of blood led a squiggly line down her arm to her elbow where it dripped to the cushion. I could see only the end of the bandage where it had come undone and hung loosely from under her grasp.

I bit my lip. The thought hadn't crossed my mind as to how Lyle had slept. There were no pain killers in the first aid kit. Was she in pain? She hardly showed it, but now as I looked closer her jaw was clenched as she watched the steady trickle spot her seat.

"Here let me." I rose from my position to extend my hand.

"It's fine." She replied though she didn't flinch away.

Crossing my hands over my chest I shot her an exasperated glance. Why was she trying to hide it? I was the one who patched her up in the first place. "It's obviously not." I replied before jogging back to the bathroom to retrieve the basic first aid kit.

I washed and dressed the wound the same way I had before, taking special care to wash away and streaks of blood that gathered on her arm or subsequently traveled to my fingertips. Lyle watched me the entire time, following each of my movements as they worked around her injury. Her gaze wasn't with the intent to micromanage me, it was simple and childlike. There was interest in her eyes, not necessarily to the process but more towards the why. Why was I so amiable and insistent on helping her? And furthermore why did I enter into a dangerous deal with her?

The trains subtle rocking movement motivated my working rhythm until I finished.

"Three times." Her voice was strong yet soft as she spoke. She did not look me in the eye as she maintained focus on her bandage, tugging a bit at the knot until she was pleased.

"Excuse me?" I made a last pass at my fingernails with the damp cloth before stowing it back in the box.

"Three times," She repeated. "You asked last night how many times I've been shot at." This time she met my gaze. I watched as her attentive green eyes softened and for a brief moment I saw past her dense air of confidence that she stood comfortably behind.

"For poaching other criminal's jobs?"

"The last two yea."

"And the first time?" I pressed eager to dig deeper. It was as if she'd opened a door and instead of simply thrusting my foot into it I'd crammed my entire body into the slim opening.

Lyle tucked her ripped sleeve around the bandage shielding it somewhat from sight. "I got into a fight with a man after I saw him steal a woman's purse."

I shook my head in confusion. "Isn't that what you do?" I ventured. Her last answer confirmed she had experience, what exactly that meant I was yet to learn. But people didn't just start out dropping from cables into a laser protected art museum, they worked their way up. To use Lyle's analogy from the night before Doctors went to med school before opening a private practice, did thieves go through similar more informal channels? Purse stealing would be the equivalent of a first semester of college.

My logical was refuted with a single curtailed response. "Of course not."

Her words were insulted and I felt the door slam shut leaving me bruised. "The people I steal from are either too rich to miss it or scumbags. Not some random middle age woman on a subway platform."

I recoiled a bit. She was clearly angry that I'd questioned her morality. "So you have some type of code then?"

She hesitated, unwilling to give up the entirety of her operation which she kept carefully concealed in her mind. "Listen I do what I can to stay alive and maybe make a little money, but I don't go around fucking people over just because I can." As she spoke she sat up straight while maintaining eye contact with me. I sat to her left only a few inches away, our legs brushed as she turned to face me directly.

"Then why this painting? Shouldn't your 'code' have prevented you from continuing after last night when we almost –" I cut myself off. It was idiotic to start that line of conversation; after all, I was the one who'd made continuing even more enticing.

"I could ask the same of you May." A slight smile pulled at her lips at the challenge.

The question lay in open air waiting for an answer that I would not relinquish. Lyle chuckled to herself at my sudden resolute into silence and continued. "I'm not going to lose any sleep over taking a fat check off of Monroe. And you shouldn't either." She rose from her seat as the train slowed into the station. I opened my mouth to say something more but she cut me off. "You know for a girl with a lot of questions you don't have much empathy for folks in the same boat as you." She said as she made her way to the cars exit.

Turning to the window I watched an attendant mill about on the stations otherwise vacant platform. Betsy and Ingrid departed from the train first, the attendant rushing toward them to help manage their baggage down the narrow train steps. Betsy wore the bright pink blanket around her shoulders.

My focus weakened and shifted until I was looking at my nose in the reflection. Only my features stood out from the patient scene behind it. Loose strands of hair framed my tired face. The face of a girl conspiring with a thief she'd known less than three days to blackmail a CEO with her absent mother's painting.

It was the kind of recap you'd expect to hear at the beginning of a soap opera.

I was insane, surely.

-

Lyle may have a code .. but how does the painting fit into it ?

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