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The Lost

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"I'm not fond of convenience stores," Jesse said as he was looking through binoculars. He and Fiona were parked across a convenience store.

"I know how you feel. I can't find anything I can use in a Molotov cocktail or a bomb."

"It's not like that."

Fiona bit her tongue and looked at Jesse. "What's wrong?"

Jesse put down his binoculars. "My mother used to work in a convenience store."

"What happened to her?"

Jesse looked at his feet. "She was killed in a robbery. It was the graveyard shift. The robber shot her and left her to die on the floor. She died for less than 50 dollars. There were witnesses, but they didn't say or do anything. I was nine years old."

"I know how you feel, Jesse."

"You just said that about cheap booze."

"No, I really know how you feel. My sister was killed in the Troubles."

"I never got the sense you were Irish."

Fiona cleared her throat. "I am. I decided to adapt an American voice to fit in with the locals. I wanted to hide out from some people who were looking for me."

"Are they still out there?"

"Yes. If I go back to Ireland, they'll harm me because they know I was an asset to an American spy."

"You have family there?"

"I can never see them again."

"Oh." Jesse took a breath. "What happened with your sister?"

"We got in a fight. It was nasty. I spilled cranberry juice on her sweater and we ended up going back and forth. She got up and decided to buy a new one. She never came back. An English solider shot her in the throat. She died trying to breathe."

"I'm sorry."

Fiona grabbed Jesse's hand. "You don't have to say that. We've both lost someone. That's made us stronger. It's made us who we are."

"We both seek revenge and justice."

"Those aren't bad things to seek." Fiona took the binoculars from Jesse. "Now, who were we looking for again?"

"A Christina Hemphill. Mid-30s, about 5'6" and 145 pounds. I think I can grab her once she comes out the store."

Jesse looked at Fiona. "Really?"

Fiona nodded.

Jesse continued to stare and shake his head.