The Painting

#14 Marshmallows - Marshmallows

As I neared the side door and paused, maybe Lyle had to go to the bathroom. Would she think I was following her or didn't trust her? I turned the knob slowly in thought. Once the door opened half an inch voices flowed through the crack. I leaned on the door keeping it partially closed as I eavesdropped.

I don't know why this was my automatic reaction.

The voices were muddled at first, but soon one caught my attention as Lyle's calm annunciation trickled through the slim door opening.

I peered through the crack. From my angle she was the only body I could see with her back to the door that led up the back staircase. Her usually perfect posture even more rigid as she listened to the voice across from her. A man's voice.

"You trying to cash in on our payday girl?" The voice addressing her was deep and impatient. I vaguely recognized it. Was someone at the B&B angry with Lyle? And for what?

Lyle feigned understanding as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "I don't know what you're talking about." She shrugged waving off the question as though she'd never heard something so ridiculous, still she never broke eye contact with the man behind the voice. Clearly, she was standing her ground.

"We followed you here the other night, did you think we wouldn't notice you snatched the address from us?" The unidentified man began again. His words trickled out as if he were talking to a child and I could see Lyle's jaw clench from his patronizing question.

"We knew you recognized you from somewhere." Another male voice added so distastefully I imagined he spit on the ground.

Two men? Who were they? My mind spun. Was Lyle in trouble? I froze unable to move. What was one to do in this situation? Or was it a situation at all?

I had to be overreacting, but then why couldn't I will myself to move?

"I'm sorry gentlemen you must have the wrong girl." Lyle laughed dismissively and turned toward the door. I panicked afraid she would spot me, but suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks as the man she'd been talking to blocked her way.

His back was to me and in the dim light it was difficult to make out any features. A light jacket covered his broad shoulders that rose a few inches above Lyle's line of sight. My mind flipped through all of our guests comparing the build of the man that stood between Lyle and the door.

Mr. Smith?

Would that make Mr. Jones the other man?

"You aren't going anywhere until you show us where it is." He threatened placing his hand on Lyle's arm, preventing her from moving past.

My stomach tightened at his movement. She was definitely in trouble. I needed to do something, call Grace, the police. But before my spastic mind could make a decision Lyle snatched her hand away from Smith's grip. At her action Smith punched her.

She staggered back, and for a moment her body was completely hidden from me behind Smith's frame. His violence surprised me. My unfocused mind inhibited my balance causing me to stumbled forward forcing the door to slam into the adjacent wall.

I caught myself on the counter to my left, but not after the crash of the door caught all three people's attention.

I was the queen of smooth entries.

"Fuck." I swore as I regained my balance squaring my shoulders as best I could to meet the gaze of a confused Mr Jones and Lyle.

Smith who blocked Lyle's exit hardly bothered to turn his head at my timely entrance.

"You're the artist, aren't you?" He addressed me in a cool voice that made my blood run cold.

"Excuse me?" I managed to get out as my mind raced. My heart was beating so fast it was hard to breath. My fight or flight instinct was kicking in, yet I stood still.

I locked eyes with Lyle. She'd regained her confident stance, fists clenched at either side and a cut rested on her cheekbone where a bruise was soon to follow. She was clearly alarmed at my presence and shook her head subtly. The fiery look she pinned Smith with softened when transferred to me, and I caught something I hadn't seen in her before. Fear. My heart quickened at the realization, she was in danger, and now so was I.

"We heard you this afternoon talking with your boss." Smith motioned to Jones who stood to his right. Jones nodded and advanced to me abruptly grabbing my arm and dragging me next to Lyle in front of the staircase door.

"Now where is the painting?" Smith ordered reaching into the waistband of his trousers to produce a gun. I'd never seen a gun in person before and my first reaction was the laugh. Surely, I was being pranked. No one would pull a gun in a B&B, but his deep brown eyes said otherwise as they burned holes into my own and I felt my energy melt under them.

"What is going on?" I looked desperately from Lyle to Smith to Jones and back to Smith again as he grumbled under his breath.

Jones crossed his arms over his broad chest and took a menacing step closer to me. His solid body blocked my view of the door frame leading to the outside and I looked around the room. We were backed into a wall - not exactly the ideal place – to the side of Jones's menacing frame was the cabinet which held all my extra baking supplies. I frowned at the piece of furniture that had always come in handy with giant bags of flour and sugar, but now it stood in our way, locking us into the corner.

Both men were beyond impatient but my mind didn't seem to fully grasp their anger as I opened my mouth to speak.

"I mean I can't help if I - Why are you questioning her? I-" I babbled on my body jerking in odd positions as I spoke. My adrenaline coming out in odd spurts forcing my limbs in crooked motions. The men seemed confounded by my odd reaction. Smith lowered his gun an inch as he glanced to his partner who watched in utter disgust as I writhed uncomfortably.

I closed my eyes - it couldn't have been for more than a half second - but when I opened them a cloud of white surrounded me. Was this a dream? I clawed at the air but a hand grabbed mine before I could get far.

"Go." Lyle whispered urgently in my ear just loud enough so that I could hear above the agitated coughs of our assailants. The cloud was so thick that only their shadows could be made out as they tucked their heads into their elbows. Smith's gun wielding hand hung casually by his shoulder as if it were a notebook rather than a deadly weapon.

"What is this? Poison?" I shrieked as she pushed me into the staircase behind us and shut the door. She messed with the knob looking for a locking mechanism – anything that could slow the men down.

"It's flour. Calm down." She grumbled giving up with the door and pushing me further up the stairs.

I stumbled as I dusted the cloud of flour from my shirt. Judging from the sheer amount of it Lyle must have kicked over an open bag that I'd sat next to the cabinet for easy access the morning before.

That was going to be hellish to clean up.

"Where are we going? What's going on?" My tongue tasted chalky as I choked out my questions.

Lyle took the stairs two at a time and I marveled at how the flour had somehow missed her all together. There were minute splotches of white that covered her dark jeans and forearms, but other than that she looked completely normal. That is except for the nervous look in her eyes that she tried to conceal under her calm voice.

"Be quiet please." Lyle muttered as we reached the top and she pushed our way into room #9 slamming and locking it quickly behind us. 

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SO ... this is where shit starts to get interesting!! Thanks for sticking through the exposition(: 

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