Page 86 of Sky Song
With no other recourse but to wait for Zaron, Cricket left the bar and made her way back to her table. She had to stop Lyle from making a punching bag out of himself. She’d find a way to pay Ren. She would dip into her mama savings. She could request to borrow against future earnings and hope to get approved. She could take on a side hustle, illegal if she must.
Paloma was nursing her ale. She was alone.
Cricket’s heart sank. “Where’s Lyle?”
“He went to take a leak.”
“Which way is the bathroom?”
“That way.” Paloma pointed to the bathroom sign, a puzzled frown between her brows. “Do you now monitor his bodily functions?”
“He doesn’t have that function.”
“Cricket, chill. He isn’t going in blind. You’re not seeing him for what he is. Look at his scars!”
Yes, she had seen the scars. And Paloma hadn’t seen Lyle as she had, fuzzy and disoriented upon waking. She hadn’t watched him struggle with balance.
Weaving in between the tables, she zeroed in on the bathroom sign. It led her to swinging doors, which in turn led into a shadowed corridor. Here, the music wasn’t as loud, a relief.
Cricket checked the bathrooms, just in case. One was busy, and she could hear someone yabbying on the phone while doing their business. Definitely not Lyle.
She kept walking down the shadowy corridor until it dead-ended into a door with a sign proclaiming it to be a mechanical room. She tried the handle and the handle fell into her hand, broken.
Pushing the door, she went in.
It was well lit, and the sounds of the music grew more distant. He was standing with her back to her, contemplating furnaces, pipes, and electrical panels.
“Is there a way outside from this room?” she asked quietly.
“Did you think I was going to bolt?” He sounded amused.
She was anything but. “Let’s leave,” she said with all seriousness. “We can simply walk out. Who’s going to stop us?” Mark, probably, but she was willing to take him on.
Lyle turned back to the electric panels, and her spirits sank. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
“Seems like the best course of action.” He sounded serious but not concerned.
“The Dainty Red guy? Do you know anything about him?”
“Probably someone red-haired or red-skinned and not at all dainty.” Lyle pivoted to her, a small smile hovering over his mouth. “Easy, my hearts. You heard the bartender - no bloodshed is allowed.”
“It will hurt,” she argued. “I don’t know if I can stomach seeing you get hurt.”
His hands slowly grasped her shoulders. Those fathomless eyes, a shiny sea of black, appeared radiant in the bright lights of the room. A surge of energy, warm and enveloping, flowed over Cricket. “I’ve been hurt a hundred times before. A thousand. Every day, Cricket.” His lips touched her forehead. “I’ve lived a violent life. I don’t deserve your compassion.”
His confession rattled Cricket. She truly knew so little of him. “Lyle, but it was before. It doesn’t have to repeat now.”
“It’s my life, sky song.” He let go of her. “I’m strong enough to fight, but my reaction time needs a boost. Stand back, my lovely.”
“What?”
“Stand back.” He lightly pushed her aside.
She fell back, anguished, trying to understand what he meant, what was going on, when he reached for the electrical panel.
“Do not touch me now!” Lyle barked as he gripped a handful of cables and yanked them out with his bare hand. Electricity cracked. He groaned and cursed. There was a popping sound and the lights went out. In the darkness, her nose filled with the acrid smells of melting wires and overheated flesh.
In the next instant, the lights flickered and came back on, courtesy of a sophisticated backup system, and she could see him, arms braced against the wall, head hanging low. He was breathing like a sprinter after a race, heaving and shuddering.
