Lyle passed the time by holding different pieces of his clothing up to the heater vents, drying them out. Although she hadn't spoken to him since he'd turned the dome light off, the girl in the back seat had handed him a bag of snack mix and a bottle of Yoo-hoo, which Lyle devoured as though they were the prime rib back at the Cattleman's Steakhouse in Oklahoma. The whistling of the wind against the window told Lyle the weather had still not improved outside, but he wasn't worried; the fuel gauge showed more than half a tank so he knew they'd be safe there for the rest of the night and into the morning when help would arrive. With all his clothes dry, Lyle put his socks back on and started to fold his coat into a pillow. It was very late and with all the walking he'd done after a full day's work, he could barely keep his eyes open any longer.
"Hey, I'm going to try to catch some shuteye for awhile," he said to the girl in the backseat. "You got a blanket back there to cover up with or something? You want my coveralls?"
"No, I'm fine," she replied.
"You don't have some kind emergency snow kit in the trunk with a blanket in it? You know, just in case something like this happens?" Even with the heater on, she had to be chilly as little as she was wearing.
"Haven't looked in the trunk."
"Didn't figure this was your car." Lyle laughed. "Nobody drives a Crown Vic but cops and old people. You boost this off whoever did that to your face?"
"Nah, some old guy. Poor guy was dumb enough to leave his car running when he went into a motel to see if they had a room. I was hiding in the bushes, freezing my ass off. When I jumped in the car there was a little dog sitting up there in the passenger seat, one of those wiener dogs. It started yipping at me. I didn't want to take the guy's dog so I opened the door back up and chunked the dog out and hit the gas. He came running out screaming and yelling at me as I drove off. Last thing I saw in the rear-view was the old guy picking up his dog and kissing it. Thought I could beat the storm if I hauled ass headed east, but I slid off the road and hit a fence post. Tried to get back on but I was stuck. Figured I'd just wait here until the cops show up in the morning."
"I'll do my best to vouch for you when the cops show up," Lyle said. "You've been awful good to me."
"Don't matter to me none. Jail's a hell of a lot better than where I've been."
"I'll do my best to vouch for you when the cops show up," Lyle said. "You've been awful good to me."
"Don't matter to me none. Jail's a hell of a lot better than where I've been."
Lyle wanted so badly to ask her exactly where that was, but he changed the subject instead. "So after you wrecked it, you never looked in the trunk?"
"Just the glove box. That's where I found the gun. Old guy probably just had it for protection, I guess. He didn't look like a cop or a gangster or anything like that."
Lyle started to reach for his boots. "Well, before I go to sleep I'm going to get out and look in the trunk. See if there's a blanket for you. There's got to be a suitcase back there too. Might be some stuff we could use, something you could cover up with." The few number of threads covering the girl's body combined with the few number of years in her age was making Lyle very nervous.
"Nah, don't mess with the guy's stuff. Less I do to the car the less trouble I'll be in tomorrow. I don't have nothing against that guy. I just needed his car."
"You must've needed to get out of town in a hurry," Lyle said. Although he could no longer see her face in the dark, the bruises and blood were burned into his mind.
"You have no idea."
"You must've needed to get out of town in a hurry," Lyle said. Although he could no longer see her face in the dark, the bruises and blood were burned into his mind.
"You have no idea."
"Alright then, suit yourself. I won't mess with it," Lyle said before lying back down on the front seat. He started to roll over on his side, to curl up and let the sleep take him, but instead he sat back up. "Hey, thanks... I mean for everything, for letting me in the car, for the snacks, you know, the whole deal. Thank you."
"I didn't do it for you, Cowboy. I did it for your girlfriend and her boy. Mostly though I did it for your little girl. She didn't do nothing to nobody to deserve what she got. Your surviving just might be what gives her a chance." She paused for a moment. "But you're welcome for whatever it's worth."
Lyle lay back down and was about to close his eyes when the girl added in a calm voice, "I don't think you would, but I've been wrong before. So I'm just going to say it. Don't you even think of trying something on me after I fall asleep. I'm going to have this gun right here just in case. Just because I listened to your story and we've shared some food and cigarettes don't mean I won't unload this gun into you if you try to feel me up or something."
"You don't have to worry about me," Lyle assured her. "I won't harm you. I'm just going to get some sleep. Good night..."
"Amanda. My name's Amanda."
"Good night Amanda."
"Good night Lyle."
After a moment of silence, Lyle added, "Hey, Amanda? Whatever music you got to face in the morning, I'll face it with you, alright. I promise you that." With that, Lyle closed his eyes, and didn't so much drift into sleep like a kite in the breeze as he plunged into it like a skydiver without a parachute.
The screams from within the car yanked Lyle out of a mundane, yet strange, dream about shoveling out horse stalls and spreading straw alongside Mrs. Arbuckle, his ninth grade Algebra teacher, and a guy named Stan from AA. From the pitch and volume of the screams, Lyle expected to see a wild animal attacking the girl or maybe whoever had beaten her up earlier forcing himself on her or trying to finish the beating he'd started. But there was no one else there. Amanda flailed and kicked, alternating between shrieking unintelligibly and crying out with a mumbled, "No. No. No." It reminded him of his Uncle Willie, Lyle's father's younger brother, who had stayed with Lyle's family for a time after he returned from Vietnam. Lyle tried to wake her by calling out her name softly, but he knew she was somewhere else, somewhere so terrifying she couldn't hear anything but her own screams and her own pounding heart. He called out to her louder, but still no luck. Lyle was, himself, a little foggy so it took him a minute to realize that not only was she flailing her hands in her sleep but in one of those hands she was holding the .38.
Lyle ducked down as low as he could in the front seat. If her dream kept up like this there was a pretty good chance she was either going to shoot Lyle or shoot herself. Nothing was going to wake her up, but he had to get the gun from her somehow without it going off. He reached up and quickly turned on the dome light so he could see better to grab her wrist with one hand and to pry the revolver out of her hand with the other before she could pull the trigger. He peeked into the back seat and then quickly looked away. In her thrashing, Lyle had inadvertently seen that the poor thing didn't even have anything on under her skirt. Whatever had happened to her was bad enough that, if she woke up while he was holding onto her arm, she was likely to shoot him anyway just out of fear.
He had to get the gun fast, but it was in her right hand, the farthest away from Lyle. He was going to have to reach over her body to get to it. He watched for a few moments to see if there was any kind of pattern to her movements. She seemed to be trying to push someone off of her. He decided that when she pushed her hands up he would lunge across her, doing his best to keep his pelvis and legs in the front seat, while grabbing onto her wrist with his right hand and ripping the gun from her hand with the left. Whatever he did he couldn't jump too far and land on top of her.
The next few times she pushed up he couldn't make himself move. "Next time," he kept saying to himself. But she was growing more and more agitated so he finally just did it. He thrust his upper body into the back seat and grabbed her wrist just as he'd planned, and she struggled against him, still asleep. He immediately reached out to grasp the gun, but with her struggle he lost balance and fell toward the back seat, his face landing on her bare stomach. As soon as the skin of his cheek touched the skin of her abdomen, she jerked up and he saw her eyes open in terror before she released the sound of an animal caught in the jagged teeth of a rusted trap.
"What the f..." is all he heard before the gun started firing.
Lyle lay back down and was about to close his eyes when the girl added in a calm voice, "I don't think you would, but I've been wrong before. So I'm just going to say it. Don't you even think of trying something on me after I fall asleep. I'm going to have this gun right here just in case. Just because I listened to your story and we've shared some food and cigarettes don't mean I won't unload this gun into you if you try to feel me up or something."
"You don't have to worry about me," Lyle assured her. "I won't harm you. I'm just going to get some sleep. Good night..."
"Amanda. My name's Amanda."
"Good night Amanda."
"Good night Lyle."
After a moment of silence, Lyle added, "Hey, Amanda? Whatever music you got to face in the morning, I'll face it with you, alright. I promise you that." With that, Lyle closed his eyes, and didn't so much drift into sleep like a kite in the breeze as he plunged into it like a skydiver without a parachute.
***
The screams from within the car yanked Lyle out of a mundane, yet strange, dream about shoveling out horse stalls and spreading straw alongside Mrs. Arbuckle, his ninth grade Algebra teacher, and a guy named Stan from AA. From the pitch and volume of the screams, Lyle expected to see a wild animal attacking the girl or maybe whoever had beaten her up earlier forcing himself on her or trying to finish the beating he'd started. But there was no one else there. Amanda flailed and kicked, alternating between shrieking unintelligibly and crying out with a mumbled, "No. No. No." It reminded him of his Uncle Willie, Lyle's father's younger brother, who had stayed with Lyle's family for a time after he returned from Vietnam. Lyle tried to wake her by calling out her name softly, but he knew she was somewhere else, somewhere so terrifying she couldn't hear anything but her own screams and her own pounding heart. He called out to her louder, but still no luck. Lyle was, himself, a little foggy so it took him a minute to realize that not only was she flailing her hands in her sleep but in one of those hands she was holding the .38.
Lyle ducked down as low as he could in the front seat. If her dream kept up like this there was a pretty good chance she was either going to shoot Lyle or shoot herself. Nothing was going to wake her up, but he had to get the gun from her somehow without it going off. He reached up and quickly turned on the dome light so he could see better to grab her wrist with one hand and to pry the revolver out of her hand with the other before she could pull the trigger. He peeked into the back seat and then quickly looked away. In her thrashing, Lyle had inadvertently seen that the poor thing didn't even have anything on under her skirt. Whatever had happened to her was bad enough that, if she woke up while he was holding onto her arm, she was likely to shoot him anyway just out of fear.
He had to get the gun fast, but it was in her right hand, the farthest away from Lyle. He was going to have to reach over her body to get to it. He watched for a few moments to see if there was any kind of pattern to her movements. She seemed to be trying to push someone off of her. He decided that when she pushed her hands up he would lunge across her, doing his best to keep his pelvis and legs in the front seat, while grabbing onto her wrist with his right hand and ripping the gun from her hand with the left. Whatever he did he couldn't jump too far and land on top of her.
The next few times she pushed up he couldn't make himself move. "Next time," he kept saying to himself. But she was growing more and more agitated so he finally just did it. He thrust his upper body into the back seat and grabbed her wrist just as he'd planned, and she struggled against him, still asleep. He immediately reached out to grasp the gun, but with her struggle he lost balance and fell toward the back seat, his face landing on her bare stomach. As soon as the skin of his cheek touched the skin of her abdomen, she jerked up and he saw her eyes open in terror before she released the sound of an animal caught in the jagged teeth of a rusted trap.
"What the f..." is all he heard before the gun started firing.
