The Painting

#43 Black Out - Dubh Amach

I remember growing up and thinking that nails on a chalk board, or the squeak of a metal chair on tile were the worst my ears could experience. That all changed as a quick click -like one you'd hear from a screen door that'd finally closed - followed by a only slightly louder thwack as Smith fired his gun sounded.

Only not at me. My eyes shot open just as Lyle dragged me around the corner of the kitchen. Smith stood with his back to us, his arm angled down. His pressed pant legs did a good job of concealing the two women who lay a foot from his feet, but I knew. There was no movement from Ivy or Beth and although I was not the one whose finger pulled the trigger I felt the weight of two lives. As if they were tiny pieces of paper I'd carried in an open palm, and without knowing a large gust of wind was coming I'd let them set out in the open without worry. Now the gust of wind had come, and I didn't know if they'd survive his power.

Two hands planted themselves on my shoulders giving them a quick shake. I snapped my eyes open, not realizing I'd closed them after witnessing Smiths soulless form standing over my new friends. Lyle stood before me her mouth drawn into a tight line as she moved me so my back was to the wall. With a hand to her lips she scanned the room.

Through the bay window the sun's morning rays shone timidly as if worried they would wake the city before their time. The hallway entrance divided the kitchen unevenly with us on the lone third. I stood next to the kitchen table adorned with a simple floral runner and a pot of jelly beans. Nothing to use for protection.

All of the kitchen utensils, knives, pots, and pans and even more important the back door, were stowed across form us. The rusted screen door sat directly diagonal from us requiring a dangerous venture over the hallways line of sight where Smith was surely waiting.

"Where's the book girl?" Smith's voice was smooth but pointed puncturing a hole in my lungs and all the air I'd been so steadily breathing rushed out. "There's nowhere to run."

Lyle locked eyes with me before shifting her own gaze back to the door. I nodded conveying that I too saw it as our only way out. It was just a matter of getting there.

Floorboards creaked under Smith's strong build as he advanced toward our hiding place. Lyle moved me along the wall so that I was further away from the door then grabbed the pot of jellybeans. Puzzled I reached out to touch her arm but she offered no explanation, instead pointed at the ground directing me to stay put.

Giving me no time to rebuke her command she edged close enough to the open doorway until she was centimeters away from exposing her right arm. In one motion she flicked her arm into the doorway and with it the entire contents of the mason jar. The sound of jelly beans scattering to the floor of the hallway accompanied by Smith's inventive string of curses even distracted me. For a second I thought Lyle had gone into the hallway but as my head swiveled around the room I located her on the opposite side pulling a knife form the wooden stand.

Immediately I shook my head no, but then caught myself and the motion faded. What were my other choices? But did I want Smith dead, or even more for Lyle to kill him? Was that the only way he would stop coming after us?

Lyle sensed my concern, not only for our lives but for the possibility that tonight she would have another mans blood on her hands. There was nothing we could do, and I closed my eyes again, wishing helplessly that I'd done something different. Anything that could've stopped me from dragging Lyle, Beth, and Ivy down this path.

Had my curiosity been selfish? There was no way I could've known, but –

My thoughts cut off as a sickening laugh tore our attention back.

"You must think your smart," He laughed through his nose. "First you steal our job, now you're trying to protect it?"

With each step the squeals of the floorboards were subdued with the squashed jelly beans. "Tell you what thief, why don't you give me the book and the girl and I'll let you off this time."

Lyle's light eyes locked with my own and I felt my chest tighten.

"I'll even put my gun away, you can trust me honey. You and I aren't so different," His voice grew louder and I guessed he couldn't be more than six feet from the wall. "We look out for ourselves." He stood at the entrance only the tips of his black shoes inched into the kitchen. "So what do you say?"

Without warning he lunged around the corner reaching at me. I screamed in fear and backtracked around the table where I attempted to grab a heavy wooden chair. His expensive looking black suit held flecks of blood on the arm as he yanked me by the wrist, pulling me away from the table. I kicked his shins but did little damage with my bare feet. I screamed again hoping that the neighbors would hear.

Suddenly Lyle appeared, without a sound she jumped on Smith's back knife in hand. Smith railed backwards releasing my arm. He stumbled as Lyle struggled to keep hold around his neck with her free hand. Smith backed Lyle into a row of cabinets and she yelped in pain. Inadvertently the knife fumbled in her hands cutting a slice into Smith's cheek.

Enraged Smith slammed Lyle into the cabinets again using his full body weight to press her weakened frame into the uneven wood. In a quick motion he undid Lyle's hand from around his thick neck and poached the knife from her unsteady grip.

With the knife in hand he turned his back to me as Lyle collapsed to the floor from the beating. Anger emanated off his broad shoulders covered by a suit jacket that was now ripped in the arms. He loomed over Lyle with the knife.

I'd heard of people on the radio or in a sensationalized news story describe an out of body experience. One where they couldn't recall their actions entirely, or moreover who controlled those actions. I'd always thought how scary that would be - to loose control over your entire self - and in part I never believed them. Because if you weren't in control, then who the hell was? A dormant self that you lock in the proverbial cellar of your mind, and only comes out in times of extreme panic?

Never until now had I wished that upon myself. 

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