House of Cards: Chapter Four Added!

[BrokenHalo]

Finally, I finished the prologue of my fic. This is my first Red Eye fic, and I know that the beginning's going to be horribly cliqued...heck, I'm not even sure if it's that good or not. But feedback is most appreciated. Maybe you guys can tell me what I'm doing wrong. This fic's something tricky...it's going to be easy to say a lot of the same stuff over and over again. Therefore, updates might be slow, until I get a better grasp on where this is going.

Enjoy!

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House of Cards
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Summary: When Jackson took the Keefe assassination job, he broke the first major rules of the organization. Don't get involved. Don't get attached. And never, ever, fall in love. JxL
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She knew she should have hated him. Logically, she had every right to hate him. Even now, nearly two months after red eye flight 1019, Lisa Reisert would find herself lying in her bed in the early hours of the morning, trying to discern every reason why she was clearly justified to hate him – to hate Jackson Rippner – over and over again.

It seemed perfectly reasonable to hate someone who held her hostage on a plane. It should have been easy for her to hate someone who threatened to kill her father if she refused to take place in his plot of terrorism. She had every God-given right to hate the man who chased her through her father’s house, hell-bent on slitting her throat.

But, heaven help her, all the excuses in the world couldn’t spark enough animosity for her to feel the burning hatred for Jackson Rippner like she should have.

Maybe that was what kept her wake, hour after hour, night after night, in the two months following that faithful flight. Not thoughts on why she should hate Jackson Rippner, but rather the reasons why she didn’t hate him. Was it because of his eyes? Those pools of frozen crystal that held her captivated in the check-in line and terrorized her in that small, cramped airplane bathroom? Or had it been the faded memory of the man who invited her to the airport’s Tex-Mex restaurant, the one who had smiled at her when she realized that she would be sitting next to him during the flight to Miami?

Lies, Lisa told herself as she kept her eyes forward on the long stretch of crowded freeway before her. It had all been lies, just an elaborate web of lies to snare me and use me in his plot of death and destruction. And I fell right into his trap, charmed by his false pretenses.

Some would have argued that it was love at first sight. Lisa snorted dryly, flipping on her turn signal as her car coasted down the exit off I-95, down to the 14th Street intersection below the freeway. Lisa had never believed in the notion of love at first sight. It was just a ridiculous idea that only gawky teenaged girls and desperate middle-aged women believed in. Oh sure, she could not deny that there had been some attraction when she first laid eyes her eyes on him. She had found herself ensnared by those incredible eyes, his irresistible charm, and it only ended up getting her into a world of trouble. That image of a kind, caring man has been shattered, smashed like crystal on a hard, cold floor the moment he revealed that he was holding her father’s life ransom in exchange for that one damned call. But, still, the ghost of the man lingered on, those eyes a haunting memory of the first man she had trusted since her traumatic rape in the parking lot more than two years ago.

If Lisa could not make herself hate him for any other reason, she should have at least hated him for that. She had been hurt and betrayed after conjuring the courage to forget her scars and join him at the bar in the airport in Dallas, not wanting to give up what might have been, hoping that maybe her luck was finally taking a turn for the better. Their meeting had seemed to be fated, and that the seemingly perfect gentleman was too good to be true.

Turned out, he had been.

Of course. Should she have possibly expected anything more?

Lisa drove into the parking complex of Cedar Medical Center, pulling into an isolated stall and shutting off the engine. Before getting out of the car, though, she took a deep breath, resting her forehead against the steering wheel and exhaling slowly. Why am I here? What can I possibly accomplish by coming here? The question had been playing on her mind since she made the decision to make this little escapade. No one else knew she was here. Her father would have done everything in his power to keep her from going, regardless that she was a grown woman and was able to make these kind of grown-up decisions, and Cynthia simply would have never understood.

You can always go back. Turn around, go back, never look back. No one’s making you do this, you hold no obligations.

But she did have an obligation. Her job had driven that frame of mind into her, cementing it into her conscious and locking it into place with iron deadbolts. People pleaser, twenty four-seven, regardless of how rude, how infuriating…

Even if that person was Jackson Rippner.

The hospital lobby was quiet and virtually empty except for a few blurry-eyed visitors and a couple of doctors speaking over a clipboard in hushed voices. The whole area had a heavy, oppressed feeling to it, as though an invisible weight were baring down on her from all sides, further emphasized by the harsh florescent lights and the bleak white walls. The predominate smell of alcohol and the overwhelming sterile stench made Lisa’s stomach turn over. She hated hospitals.

Turn back, turn back, turn back now before you make a horrible mistake, turn back before it’s too late…

“Excuse me.” Lisa said quietly to the receptionist at the front desk, feeling as though her voice would shatter the delicate status quo of the hospital lobby. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with frazzled blonde hair and inch-long, red lacquered press-on nails, looked up at the younger woman with a bored expression. Lisa cleared her throat before continuing. “I-I’m here to see someone.”

The receptionist sighed, picking up a clipboard laying at her elbow. “Who you visiting?”

Lisa cleared her throat again. “Jackson Rippner.”

The receptionist glanced back up at Lisa with a cynical look, one heavily penciled eyebrow arched. “And your name?”

“Reisert. Lisa Reisert.”

The look of recognition came as no surprise to Lisa. With as much press that she received the weeks following the attempted and failed Keefe assassination, Lisa had become something of a local celebrity until media turned its attention elsewhere. Standing before the face of terrorism and coming out triumphant in the end, the newscasters had said, or some othe r patriotic nonsense along those lines. It would only be a matter of time before some station to make a made-for-TV movie about her ordeal, although she was certain that if that were the case, the story would not be anything like what really happened. No one other than her father or her co-worker Cynthia knew what really took place before the terror on the red eye flight was ever underway, when she was duped by an elaborate act, a pair of blinding blue eyes and a gentle, seemingly genuine smile…

The receptionist regarded Lisa for a moment longer, staring hard at her through horn-rimmed glasses before handing the clipboard and a pen to Lisa through the reception window. “Honey, I don’t know whether to call you brave or insane.”

“Yeah. Me either.” Lisa completed the paperwork quickly, and handed the clipboard back to the woman behind the desk.

“Room 314, take the first immediate right off the elevator. You can’t miss it. There’s a security guard at the door…in case you might need him.”

“Thank you.” Lisa nodded before heading down the empty corridor, towards the stainless steel hospital elevators. Along the way, she passed the hospital gift shop, where an arrangement of flowers and other get-well gifts caught her attention. After a moment’s contemplation, Lisa entered the small shop and purchased a small bouquet of a half-dozen white carnations. It was a pitiful excuse for a get-well gift. When Lisa was sixteen she had her appendix removed, and the mild surgery kept her in the hospital for several days. During that time, she had received a staggering amount of get-well presents, including silly cards, cute little teddy bears with big glass eyes and gorgeous arrangements of brilliantly colored flowers. The carnations she had with her now seemed like a careless after-thought, like buy a meaningless gift in a Hallmark store when you forgot to get something for a friend’s birthday. Besides, how would Jackson react upon seeing them? Would he think she was mocking him? Or would he see them as some pitiful peace offering?

More importantly, how would he regard her when she showed up in his room? There would be a certain amount of animosity, that she could count on. The last time she had seen him was when he lay in the entryway of her father’s home, bleeding from the various wounds she inflicted on him as he looked up at her with eyes that clearly begged, How could this have happened? And she had pitied him then. She didn’t gloat over her victory, that she was still standing while he lay broken on the tile, but she didn’t hate him for the pain and terror that he had inflicted on her. But she was certain that he didn’t feel the same. She had rightfully earned his hatred. Because of her, he had failed his job, been stabbed in the neck with a novelty Frankenstein pen and in the leg with a spike-heeled pump, and shot both by her and her father. It was amazing that neither of them had killed him. Now he was in the hospital, healing from said wounds, facing trial upon his release and, more than likely, a very, very long jail sentence if he was convicted. She deserved his hatred.

And yet, here I am, in the elevator, heading up to Jackson’s room, baring flowers. What am I even supposed to say? How would it even affect her to see him, weakened and bound to the bed? It had been hard enough to look at him before the ambulance took him away, when their eyes locked for that last time in that one moment of eternity, leaving Lisa wondering ever since what could have been if they had met each other in another time, another place, when there was no job to come between them.

It was that thought, and the fact that it still played in the front of her mind that frightened her more than anything else.

Jackson tried to kill me, tried to kill my father… I should hate him… Why am I still here?

Lisa stepped out onto the third floor, taking an immediate right down a corridor that was surprisingly empty, just as the rest of the hospital had been, regardless of what the receptionist had told her. She held her breath as she approached the room that Jackson was supposed to be recovering in, step by weighted step, her heart thumping behind her ribs like a trapped bird throwing itself against the bars of its cage. Maybe the guard was inside the room? That would make their encounter either easier or much more difficult. Pausing outside of room 314, Lisa took a deep breath, lifted one hand and rapped on the closed door lightly with her knuckles.

No answer came from within.

She tried again, a little louder than before. Once more, she was met with silent. Still holding her breath, Lisa gripped the door handle and pushed the door open slowly. What she saw beyond caught her completely by surprise.

The room behind the door was completely empty. The walls were bare, the bed neatly made, the curtains drawn back to let in the Miami sun flood the vacant room. There was certainly no man recovering of his injuries here, no security guard to make sure that he stayed put. It looked as though the room had been unoccupied for a very, very long time.

Panic rose in Lisa’s chest, causing her to choke and grip the flowers in her hand so hard that they wilted. Calm down, Lisa, calm down. Her rational mind tried to convince her, calling to her through a haze of fear. Perhaps she merely had the wrong room? She could have sworn she heard the nurse say suite 314 – she double-checked the numbers on the door only to re-confirm what she already knew – but Jackson Rippner wasn’t here, that was for damn sure.

Lisa backed away from the room, her fear threatening to consume her. The back of her neck prickled, and she could swear that Jackson was behind her, ready to pounce…

“May I help you with something, miss?”

Lisa jumped and gave a startled yelp at the sudden voice behind her, and when she turned, she saw that it (thankfully) was not Jackson who had come up from behind, but rather an elderly doctor with graying hair and a stethoscope around his neck, looking at her with the most curious expression.

“The man…” Lisa stammered, attempting to catch her breath. “The man who was staying here…Jackson Rippner…where is he?”

The doctor peered over his shoulder, then gave a defeated sigh. “Oh yes… Our talented Mr. Rippner. It appears that while the guards were switching shifts this morning, he decided to check himself out. The devil only knows how he was able to get away, but only thing for sure is that he’s gone. The police already know, of course, but we’re trying to keep it a secret from most of the staff here for the time being. Don’t want to start a panic. I’m terribly sorry you had to find out this way. What was your connection with him exactly, Miss?”

Lisa glanced back towards the empty room, then shook her head, her curls drifting lazily across her face. “Nothing.” She finished for him. “There’s no need to apologize. Thank you, doctor.” Lisa turned and made her way back towards the elevator before the doctor had a chance to call out after her and ask her for her name. She did not want this to become any more complicated than it already was.

So Jackson managed to escape. Lisa thought glumly to herself as she leaned against one of the cold elevator walls, staring down at her shoes. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. She should have never put it past Jackson to lay passively in a hospital bed while he body slowly rebuilt itself, waiting for the hand of justice to inevitably strike him down. No, he was by far too crafty for that.

But…how was she supposed to feel? Did she feel afraid? Well, that was a given. She knew she should have been terrified. Jackson was on the loose – weak, but on the loose – and she did not have a doubt that revenge was the first thing on his mind. Yet, why wasn’t she shaking? Why wasn’t she curled into a ball on the floor of the elevator, crying and bawling over her fate?

Because she had survived.

Jackson might have been out for her blood, but Lisa could not conjure the fear that she knew that she should have been rightfully feeling at that moment, knowing that he was loose and on the prowl. Sure, she could not deny that she was anxious; only a fool wouldn’t be. But she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid of Jackson. She had beaten him one, and she was damn sure that she could do it again.

She was, after all, a survivor.

Still…

The image of Jackson’s room continued to haunt her. The doctor said that he had left only that morning, and yet the room was so…cold. Impersonal. There had been no flowers, no get-well cards, and certainly no cute teddy bears. Then again, she could not possibly imagine who would have sent him any to begin with. Still, she could not help but to feel it was a little heartbreaking, being left weak and alone and vulnerable in such an uncaring, horribly sterile environment with no one even bothering to come in to make sure you were alive and well…

The elevator dinged, letting her off on the hospital’s ground floor. Lisa looked down at the carnations in her hand. Then, with a disgusted sneer, threw them into the trash.

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[burrito chan]

hmm. i can see lots of reasonable thought-processing going on (which is good!)

...but the setting/plot(so far) is making me think this story is gonna be related to 75% of the other RE fics out there [where: a) they are hunted down by his 'organization'; b) she becomes his 'property' and captive; or c) some other...boring...idea]... which isn't such a good thing (in my opinion, of course). some of them are actually pretty good because the authors can write.

basically- great writing. it's a good thing that you can write without a tangible idea yet. i just hope this won't go down a certain drain like the other annoying fics.


hopefully i'm not coming off as harsh...just wanted to give you a heads up about it. =)





OH! i just noticed your little note before the summary! (which i liked) haha silly me -_-;
and YES! a lot of fics are TERRIBLY cliched nowadays, but i'm sure you won't make that mistake since you've recognized it beforehand. yay for the prologue! keep up the writing ;D

[BrokenHalo]

I actually do have something of an idea of where this is going, and I hope that the plot is a tad bit different than some other fics out there. Actually, it doesn't really fall into either of the two catagories (At least I don't think so...I hope not), but I know it seems that way to begin with because the beginning was so cliqued. But, you gotta start somewhere, and this was the best I can start off with. I understand your skeptisism... It would give me cause to be weary of another typical fic as well.

Thanks for your feedback, caro! I hope I don't dissapoint.

[BrokenHalo]

Chapter two finally up =P

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“I may have to steal you.”

That was the promise that he had made her, and Lisa held him to his word, waiting for his sudden arrival back into her life every day following the red eye incident. And every day, she was proven wrong, and all the energy she put into waiting and worrying went to waste.

Life eventually moved on. The first few weeks following the destruction of one of the Lux Atlantic’s most luxurious suites gave Lisa little time to think or worry about much else, including Jackson’s miraculous disappearing act from the Cedar Medical Center hospital. Aside from giving numerous of the same reports to police chiefs, specialist detectives and even a few FBI agents, Lisa was completely immersed in getting the hotel back on-line. This meant non-stop meetings to discuss issues such as insurance claims, damage reports, and unhappy customers who demanded compensation for the horrific incident. The phones never seemed to stop ringing, and Lisa’s nerves were as frazzled as bad electrical wiring, and just as unstable.

Sleep offered little sanctuary. When she would have hoped that the eighteen-hour days would put her out like a light when she eventually stumbled into bed – usually still in her work clothes – she was plagued with nightmares and hallucinations that even her exhaustion could not extinguish. She no longer dreamt of the parking lot. Now she was back in the airplane bathroom, a pair of icy blue eyes bearing down on her as a strong hand lovingly suffocated the breath from her throat…

Lisa always awoke with a cry, drenched in cold sweat as she blindly groped for the field hockey stick she kept by her bed. Her room would always be empty, though, embraced by the shadows of early dawn, but it gave her no comfort. She knew he was still out there, biding his time, waiting for that moment of perfect revenge…

But he never returned. The world kept turning.

Weeks gradually passed into months. Six months following the red eye, Lisa stopped jumping at shadows, she was able to go out alone at night again, and she didn’t look over her shoulder quite as often as she used to. Once things calmed down at the hotel, she fell back into her old workaholic habits, only this time around, she made sure that she had more time to herself. She was reading again, mostly in a hot bubble bath surrounded by an army of aroma therapeutic candles. Once a week, she made a point to go out with Cynthia for drinks at a local bar, or over to her father’s house for dinner. She still didn’t talk to her mother as much as she should have, and she still ordered sea breezes, and she still cooked scrambled eggs at three AM when she couldn’t sleep.

She still dreamed of him, though, but only on nights following a particularly bad day at work. Nine months after the red eye, it was even less than that.

The seasons turned. The vacation holidays came and went. Her father still called no less than twice a day to check on her. Then, one day while standing at the reception desk, Lisa could not ignore the strange prickling sensation at the back of her neck, as though her brain was trying to remember something important that she unconsciously misplaced. It wasn’t until the first wave of customer check-ins began to arrive that she realized…

It had been exactly one year to the day since the red eye flight from Dallas to Miami.

The revelation hit her harder than she every expected it would. The world reeled beneath her feet, and Lisa gasped as though all the air had been knocked from her lungs. The customers that she had been helping – a sweet elderly couple – looked at her with concern, asking if she was alright, before Lisa politely but hurriedly excused herself and all but ran to the employee bathroom.

Lisa bent over one of the bathroom’s numerous porcelain sinks, breathing deeply, trying to compose herself. With shaking hands she turned one of the spigots, collecting the ice-cold water in her hands before splashing it on her face, clearing her senses.

Calm down, Lisa, calm down… She had no reason to act in such a foolish manner like she did, but when she realized what day it was, a horrible ominous feeling fell over her like a shadow, making her skin crawl in such a way it felt like it would strip right off her bones. For the briefest of moments, she was so convinced that Jackson was sneaking up behind her to steal her away, just as he had promised, that she was overwhelmed with a sense of the utmost panic. But she was being stupid, she told herself as she splashed another handful of water on her face, feeling the icy droplets soak into her hairline and drip off her chin. Just because it was the one-year anniversary since the red eye did not mean that Jackson was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. She had felt the exact same way when she had decided to visit Jackson in the hospital two months following the flight only to discover that he had already left, that horrible sense that he would show up back into her life at any given time…

But he never did, and Lisa had not seen hide nor hair of him since he was taken away after her father shot him. Besides, she couldn’t see him the type of villain to mark the anniversary in such a way. It seemed horribly cheesy, like something out of a bad horror movie sequel.

“Lisa?”

Lisa turned towards the bathroom door, mid-drying off her face with a paper towel to see her strawberry-blonde co-worker enter the bathroom, concern written all over her face. “Lisa? Are you okay? The Masons said that you took off from the desk like a bat out of hell.”

Lisa finished drying her face, forcing a smile. “Yeah…yeah Cynthia, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? You look horrible.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Lisa responded with an inward grimace at Cynthia’s repeated question. “I just… I don’t know what happened. I realized that today is a year since the red eye flight, when the Keefes were almost killed… I don’t know why, but I just freaked. I’m alright now. It just caught me off guard.”

“Really?” Cynthia blinked, astounded. “It’s been a year already?” Lisa nodded, surprised at the passage of time as well. She couldn’t decide on whether it felt like it happened a very long time ago, or only happened yesterday. Maybe it was a little of both, depending on which way she looked at it. The two women remained silent for another moment longer, Lisa slowly drying off her hands with another paper towel as Cynthia looked lost in thought. Finally, the redhead grinned broadly, spreading her arms in a triumphant gesture. “Well, you know what this means, right?”

Lisa looked at her, one eyebrow raised in question.

“It means it’s time for a celebration drink!”

Lisa laughed dryly, throwing away the towel. “Now how in the world did you come up with that conclusion?”

“Think about it, Lisa. So much bad stuff could have happened on that night, and I’m not just talking about the Keefes. But you’re still here; you won, when so many other people would have just keeled over! How do you think I would have done if I had been in your place? There aren’t many people out there who are as strong or brave as you are, Lisa Reisert. So we’re going to go celebrate it whether you want to or not!”

Lisa smiled brightly, suddenly in a much better mood. Regardless that her reasoning was ridiculous, leave it to Cynthia to make her feel better. Still, the realization of the significance, tagged with the horrific memories had Lisa’s nerves frayed like old rope. “I think I’ll take you up on that, Cynthia. A drink sounds good, actually.”

“Great!” Cynthia exclaimed, grinning triumphantly. “You get off at eight, right? I’ll meet you at the usual place then. And if you don’t show up, I’ll come to your house and drag you there myself, kay?”

Lisa couldn’t help a laugh, only this time, it was genuine. “Sounds like a deal.”

Cynthia left the bathroom with a bounce to her step. Lisa sighed, turning back to the mirror to straighten out his slightly disheveled hair back into place before heading back out to the lobby herself. It truly amazed her how much her co-worker had changed in the past year. When Cynthia first came to work for the Lux Atlantic, not more than four months before the attempted Keefe assassination, she had been so shy and meek that Lisa had a hard enough time getting her to just talk to the customers, and every time she became flustered, it was usually followed by a problem with the computers. The erasing of the Taylor’s reservation on the night of the red eye flight had not been a first. Her involvement with the incident, as well as saving the Keefe’s lives gave the younger woman a new sense of self-worth that boosted her confidence at work through the roof. Although the Taylors never returned to the Lux Atlantic, Lisa had no doubt that Cynthia’s profound new mastery over her job and all its inner workings that she would knock them down their superiority ladder by a few rungs.

The rest of the day was thankfully uneventful, and while Lisa no longer believed that Jackson was waiting to pounce from behind some random corner (the mental image actually became quite amusing after a while, truth be told), she still jumped at the smallest things, and would have rather not go into the break room alone. When she was finally relieved from her shift at eight o’clock that evening, she made a point to engage in small conversations with a fellow receptionist just to make sure she had company when she walked to her car. And once she was in her car, with all the doors locked, of course, she called her father, just to “check in”. If Joe had also realized the significance of that day’s date, then he made no mention of it, but that still did not stop him from asking if she was “sure if she was okay” two or three times before the conversation was over.

Christ, Lisa thought to herself as folded her phone and put it back into her purse. Nearly thirty years old and I’m still calling home to let Daddy know where I am with friend and that I’ll be late coming home. It’s almost as if high school never ended.

“The usual place” that Cynthia had referred to was a small, relatively quiet night club located just a few blocks away from the Lux Atlantic resort in the middle of downtown Miami. Le Cœur Solitaire. A hopelessly romantic name for the hottest single’s bar in all Miami. Lonely Heart. A fitting name for those seeking companionship, even if it was only for one night. When Cynthia first began to bring Lisa here as their friendship grew, Lisa had immediately known what the smaller blonde had been up to.

“There’s no harm in looking, Lisa.” Cynthia had told her with those big, innocent doe-eyes when Lisa looked around at the interior of the bar with open disdain. Not that Le Cœur Solitaire was a dirty place by any means; it was its purpose that Lisa was opposed to. She was in no position to start a relationship, nor did she want to be involved with anyone at the time, the red eye and the rape put aside. She was too busy piecing her life back together to get it entangled with someone else and their schedules and problems.

“Besides,” Cynthia continued. “You never know what might happen. Maybe the next random meeting will turn out for the better. Imagine; the man you could spend the rest of your life with could be sitting right next to you, but you would never know that if you spend the rest of your life hiding behind the reception desk.”

Yeah, I tried that once. No happily ever after there, that’s for damn sure. Lisa thought bitterly as she stirred the contents of her sea breeze absent-mindedly, watching the crystal beads of condensation run down the sides of the glass, thinking back on her past conversation with Cynthia and a certain time and encounter before that.

As usual, Le Cœur Solitaire was nearly full to its max capacity, very near overflowing with people milling about the bar, or draped across the plush velvet couches lined along the subtle, creamy-colored walls. Each circular, candle-lit table was occupied by a small group of women, or by a man and a woman deeply submerged in the first awkward conversations of first meeting. As Lisa watched, she couldn’t help but vaguely wonder, did they know if this first encounter would result in a one-night stand, a series of dates, or would they eventually be walking down the aisle together? It seemed only time and fate would know the answer to that, which was perhaps the one of the greatest questions in the universe.

I can tell you what wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t gain her trust, then hold her hostage on an airplane with her father’s life on the line if she didn’t make the call…

Stop that.

Lisa took a deep drink from her sea breeze, drowning out the memory of piercing blue eyes with the sharp bite of vodka and the citrus sweetness of the grapefruit.

“Hey you,” Cynthia said, sliding next onto the empty barstool beside Lisa, her own drink still in hand. Judging by the rosy coloring in Cynthia’s face and the slight glazed look in her eyes, Lisa guessed she was already on her third drink. One more and she wouldn’t be able to string two coherent words together. Another one after that… Well, it wouldn’t have been the first time Lisa would have to take Cynthia home. “Feeling better yet?”

Lisa shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m not sure.”

Cynthia frowned, wavering slightly on the stool. “You’re still not thinking about that are you?”

Lisa looked at her friend, a small, inwardly ridiculing smile playing at the corners of her lips, with a slight twinge of sadness in her deep green eyes. “It’s not something you easily forget about, Cynthia.”

Her friend still continued to frown, but not because she looked upset, but rather as though she were contemplating something, but having a hard time grasping whatever she was searching for. “Are you thinking about the red eye flight… Or are you thinking about him, Lisa?”

Lisa choked on her current sip of sea breeze, upsetting the glass just enough so that it created a small shower of the pale, smoky liquid over the highly polished bar surface. “Am…am I thinking about… God no, Cynthia! Why would I be thinking about him… After he…”

“Hey, I’m not saying I blame you!” Cynthia said defensively, and Lisa paused, confused by what her friend was implying. How would she know? Jackson’s picture was never shown on the television or any of the magazine articles, so how would she know about those blue eyes, or the features that were so strikingly handsome that you almost didn’t notice until you really stopped to look at them… “If that had happened to me, I know I would probably be all freaked out today too, as well as any other time before that.”

Lisa released the breath she was holding. No, of course Cynthia wouldn’t assume that she hadn’t been thinking of Jackson in terms of what happened on the plane, or the horrific ordeals and acts of violence that had taken place after they landed in Miami. She would have properly guessed that Lisa was haunted by the delicate balance her father’s life hung in, when in actuality her thoughts kept returning to the bar in the Dallas airport. And before that, in the check-in line, when Jackson Rippner was still a completely different person than the Jack Rippner on the plane once they were in the air.

“Besides, I got something that’ll help take your mind off that.” Cynthia continued, changing the subject to something a little lighter. Lisa, however, felt her stomach drop. She knew exactly what was coming. “You know that guy I’ve been talking to? Well, he has a friend here who thinks you’re hot.”

Bingo.

Risking a glance, Lisa looked past Cynthia’s shoulder, over towards the tall, scruffy-looking man she had been talking to all night and his shorter, stockier friend who were both looking pointedly in their direction. Lisa broke eye contact almost immediately, but the damage had already been done, and the shorter man took it as an invitation to join them at the bar.

Wonderful…

“Give him a chance, Lisa.” Cynthia whispered, gather up her drink to return to the guy she had been talking it. “You never know, something good might come out of it.” Lisa only responded with a tired sigh, draining the last of her sea breeze and preparing her for the inevitable battle to come.

The man who slid into the vacant bat stool next to her wasn’t necessarily unappealing. In fact, he was rather handsome in a rugged sort of way, and judging by the calluses on his hand and the dirt under his fingernails, she wondered briefly if he was some sort of construction worker, but her musing went no further than that. “Hey there, sweetheart. How about I buy you another drink?”

Lisa used the straw of her drink of push around the ice cubes in her glass, listening to them tinkle against the glass. Although the uninterested act seldom worked, it never hurt to try. The brighter ones always got the hint and pretty much left her alone right away. She could already tell this would not be the case with this one. “Only if you can guess it.”

The man laughed, but it was uneasy, puzzled, but he hailed the bartender’s attention anyway. “Sir, another round for whatever the young lady was having.”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Lisa teased lightly, casting a glance out of the corner of her eye but just evading his gaze. She noticed that he had blue eyes, but they were hardly anything remarkable. Nothing to catch her attention right away.

The guy laughed again. “Well, you show me someone who can guess someone’s drink of choice and I will be thoroughly impressed.” Lisa quirked a smile, but adverted her eyes again, wondering what would happen if Jackson suddenly showed up. Sure, he probably would scare the living sh*t out of her with his sudden appearance, but she did not have a doubt that he would get rid of the guy with his razor-sharp wit and the intimidation in his eyes before the other man realized what was happening.

Suddenly, Lisa very much wished for that kind of savior, even if it was Jackson.

I must be going nuts.

“So, I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here all by your lonesome as your friend goes off and has a good time.”

“That’s perfectly fine. I’m really only here for moral support.”

“There’s no harm in accepting a little company yourself.”

“I know, but I’m really not in the mood. If I change my mind, I’ll be sure to look you up.”

The man frowned, finally getting taking the hint. Muttering something under his breath, he got up from the barstool and sulked away, back over to where his friend and Cynthia sat on one of the velvet couches opposite of the bar. Lisa sighed in relief, turning her attention to the untouched sea breeze. Well, that could have been worse. At least he had the sense to leave before things got ugly. It was hardly the first time she had to reject someone who showed the slightest trace of interest in her. That was one reason why she hated that Cynthia insisted that they still came here. There was always some desperate dog in the crowd whom she well knew weren’t looking for a relationship, homing in on the saddest and loneliest-looking woman in the bar, hoping that they would get lucky. The fact that it was usually Lisa whom they sought out could not have been a very good sign on her behalf. At least this one had been smart enough to take the hint and not pressed her further. She was hardly in the mood, nor did she have the energy to fight.

Why was it so hard to accept a little male companionship, even if it wasn’t for a little while? Although she would never admit it to anyone, Lisa could not deny that she was lonely, in more ways than one. The most human contact she had anymore was when she was at work, but if she wasn’t there, or with her dad or Cynthia, then it meant long nights in her apartment, alone, watching classical movies on AMC and wondering where her life went wrong.

It hasn’t been her fault. It had all been out of her control. That’s what she kept telling herself over and over again. Who could blame her for being so suspicious of men anymore? And it wasn’t even so much about the rape anymore, even though it still haunted her in the darkest recessions of her heart. It had only taken her a year before she stopped jumping or drawing away when one decided to approach her, making up excuses to put as much distance between them and herself as possible. A year after the rape, she found it possible to be in the presence of strangers again, but the scar on her chest was a constant reminder of that day, a skeleton in her closet that seemed to make her incapable of ever trusting anyone with her heart again. Work had been the excuse, the wall she had built around herself to not only protect herself from those awful memories, but also as a cheap way to convince herself that this was all she needed out of life. Relationships would only hinder everything she had worked so hard for.

It seemed like the best answer. That way, she wouldn’t remember, save for the time when she happened to catch a glance of her scar in a mirror.

That way, she wouldn’t be hurt.

But then Jackson ruined everything.

Because she had trusted him. The first in the two years following the parking lot incident. He had been so charming, so different than every other man who had ever tried to buy her dinner, or offered her a drink. No cheesy pickup lines there. And if there had been, he would have pulled it off with such grace that she would have missed it as such. She had been drawn in by his concern, his edge of dark humor, that smile when he had looked up at her when she stood in the airplane aisle…

And then he was gone, replaced by a cold-hearted assassin’s manager who cared nothing for her, but only for his job that would ruin more than just the lives of the Keefes.

It was all over now, though, done and gone a year past. She had no doubt that she was the only one still affected by him.

Damn him. Is this what you wanted, Jackson? Christ, why did I have to look at his eyes after I shot him…

“Lisa?”

The concern in Cynthia’s voice pulled her back to the here and now, her friend’s hand on her shoulder reminding her where she was. “Lisa? Are you okay? You look like you’re ready to cry.”

Did she? Lisa cursed herself. The last thing she wanted to do was start crying over nothing in the middle of a bar. “I… I’m alright Cynthia. I think I just need to go.”

“Oh…okay… Let me just go say goodbye to Rick first…”

“No…no, there’s no reason for you to come, Cynthia. You stay here and enjoy yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow at work, alright?”

“Okay, sure… But, Lisa, if you need anything, please call me, alright? You look like you just had your heart broken.”

Lisa only smiled, giving Cynthia a light hug before gathering up her purse before leaving the bar, perhaps the only one to do so alone. She barely remembered the short trek back to her car, or the drive back to her apartment. She could only vaguely recall unlocking the door, then tossing her keys and purse onto the entryway table as she stepped into her dark apartment. The air was chilly from leaving the air conditioner on during the course of the day, and the modest-sized apartment itself was silent, dark, and although Lisa had finally made it feel homey and comfortable since she first moved in, tonight it felt as friendly as a tomb. A resting place for one. No one to visit. No one else to come home.

Lisa didn’t bother turning on the lights. She only turned the deadbolt in the door, locking out the world, before unceremoniously kicking off her shoes and making her way to her bedroom without so much as running into a piece of furniture in the darkness. It would be another night where she wouldn’t even bother to get undressed, but rather fell onto her bed as she was. She could always shower in the morning.

In the silence and the shadows of her bedroom, Cynthia’s words came back to replay in her mind again.

You look like you had your heart broken.

Lisa sighed, long and sad, burying her face in her pillows as it would hide her from the world.

Maybe I have.

Unable to fight any longer, Lisa succumbed to her memories, to the darkest fantasies of what might have been, but the crushing reality of what never was to be.

[Epiphany]

I love the description, its almost like seeing it unfold on screen. You're really good at expressing Lisa's emotions and her obvious state of confusion or denial. You're doing great.

[BrokenHalo]

It was long in coming, but I finally finished chapter two. Enjoy!

----

Chapter Two

Ignore the Man in the Shadows

-x-

I am the second

Alone in a faceless crowd

A human caught

I monotone dreams

I scream to wake up

My voice drowns deep underground

Only the dead can hear me,

See me…

Akira Yamaoka, “Rain of Brass Petals”, Silent Hill 3

-x-x-x-

It was hot. It was just too goddamned hot.

But saying it was merely hot was an understatement, Jackson thought with a grimace. It wasn’t as hot as it was so stifling humid. The air of the marshlands was close and heavy and wet, and breathing it was like trying to breath through a wet washcloth. And it was sticky…there was just no other way to describe it.

Jackson hated it. He hated the way his clothes clung wetly to his body, forcing him to abandon his usual attire for a pair of khaki shorts and gray wife-beater, making him look like some ordinary yank rather than the esteemed manager that he was. The breeze that filtered into the house through the high French windows was hardly a relief; it was hot and sticky too. Thunder rumbled in the distance, an echo of the storm that had just passed over not more than an hour before. The air was rank with the smell of churned marsh water, decayed vegetation, and the masses of slimy things coaxed out by the rain.

Jackson sighed, turning away from the window and running a hand through his sweat-damped hair. The humidity had matted his thick brown hair to his forehead, clumping it uncomfortably at the back of his neck, giving him the perpetual feeling of just getting out of the shower. He hated that feeling, too. He had been meaning to ask Roxi to give him another haircut.

He hated it all. It was that simple. Being stuck out here, in this old, decrepit plantation house in the middle of the Louisiana marshland outside New Orleans with no air conditioner in the middle of summer was driving him insane.

More so than normal.

Why Rodney and the others chose willingly to set this place up as their home base for the past five years was completely beyond him.

Something buzzed at Jackson’s ear, and with a hiss of annoyance, he slapped the mosquito away. And the bugs! The goddamn bugs were enough to cause him to loose his mind alone!

“Come away from the window, Jackson. They’ll eat you alive if you stay there.”

Jackson heeded his associate’s words silently, moving away from the open window and back into the darkened room, lit only by the flickering glow of a single television. The drone of half a dozen fans created a hypnotic hum, circulating the stagnate air but overall not doing much to lower the temperature. In the center of the near empty parlor, Jackson saw the silhouetted forms of his associates huddled before the forty-four inch TV, their attentions locked in a vicious Halo match. Roxi was winning again. Big surprise there.

With a frustrated grunt, Jackson slumped down onto the single worn sofa. Christ, it was so humid that even the cushions were damp. He winced as a trickle of sweat ran down between his shoulder blades. How could they sit there completely oblivious to this heat?

Jesus Christ. Jackson thought miserably. How did it ever come to this?

But he already knew the answer to that question. She had happened to him. Lisa Reisert. The one woman who had single-handedly managed to f*ck everything up.

There was not a day that went by that Jackson was not haunted by the events of the red eye. The failure of the job could not have been pin-pointed to a single event; it had been a disaster since he had revealed his true intent to the woman sitting next to him on the plane. The eight weeks that he had spent watching Lisa, making careful observations in order to get to know her as well as possible before the job even started, had been all for naught. Who would have ever known that the people-pleasing, isolated chit of a hotel manager that he thought he knew would have put up such a fight? It wasn’t so much that she had managed to efficiently kick the crap out of him with a field hockey stick (Rodney and the others still laughed about that, the arseholes). It was everything that had come before that. The message in the Dr. Phil book hadn’t been anything too remarkable. The soap-written message on the mirror on the bathroom, though? That was one he hasn’t thought of, and it had almost cost him…cost both of them…very dearly. Then there was her clever little stunt with the pen. Jackson winced at the memory, absently fingering the scar at the base of his throat. He had to admit, he had to admire her for her creativity with that one.

“Christ, Jackson, stop picking at it. You’re dwelling again.”

Jackson scoffed, letting his hand fall away from his throat. “I am not dwelling.” He countered.

From where he sat on the floor, Rodney rolled his eyes, although Jackson could feel the gesture more so than see it, given his companion’s features were lost in shadow against the TV screen. “Whatever, man.”

But Jackson was dwelling, and no matter how much he denied it, they all damn well knew it. But who could blame him? It was because of Lisa Reisert that he was in his current position now. Although his company did not fire him for the botched job – or, even worse, kill him for it, thank God – the failure did not come without its repercussions. Instead, he had been put on indefinite suspension, poised in a delicate balance that did not put him out of the job, but kept him from doing his job all the same. As his superiors saw it, Jackson was too valuable of an asset to the company for them to simply let him go or knock him off; he had always taken pride of being one of the best managers in their current state, regardless of his younger age compared to the rest. No one in their history had become a manager in only ten years since joining. It had always been attributed to lack of experience, but Jackson was able to prove his worth in a mere five years after his employment began.

To top everything else off, the law was still after him. Not so much for the attempted Keefe assassination, however, but more so for the attempted murder of Lisa Reisert in her own home. Not that it would have been easy for the authorities to trace him to the assassination, even if they did look at the calling records of his cell-phone; his company was always ten steps ahead to prevent something like that from happening in case one of their people was ever intercepted if a job failed. Still, his little disappearing act from the hospital room was enough to snag some unwanted attention, and so it was only in Jackson’s best interest to lay low for a while until authority’s sights were set elsewhere.

That was why he was stuck in his festering house in the middle of the Louisiana swamplands to begin with. And after being here for nearly ten months, he was almost ready to take his chances on the outside again, had it not been for his superior’s strict instructions that he stay put if he wanted any hope of keeping his job in the near future. It had been tolerable, at first, considering that this was the first time he got to see his old college buddies in years. But as the weeks wore onto months, and the months were progressing into a year after his arrival, Jackson became increasingly restless, finding himself dwelling more and more on the past as the scars on his body itched with the constant reminder of his failure.

Then there was Lisa… Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, who infected his thoughts like a plague! A noxious, incurable plague with no remedy to at least sooth the seething animosity he felt every time he thought of her.

He had been fooled by his assumptions of her; even after watching her for eight weeks, recording each and every little thing she did, it had done nothing to prepare him for the surprising fight she had put up from the very moment he had her cornered on the red eye flight. But he would be damned before he would admit that perhaps he had been too arrogant, too overconfident in believing that the job would be quick and effortless, easy-in, easy-out, move on with his life once he got the confirmation call that the Keefes had been taken out.

“I can’t believe that.” Byron had said, shortly after Jackson arrived at their safe-house and he told them the full story was what exactly happened on the red eye. There was no use skimping around the truth; he never lied, and even if he did, he couldn’t put it past his friends to not know when he was bull-sh*tting any details in the story. “You, who have been responsible for organizing some of the top-ranking assassination in the past five years, being bested by a cute little hotel manager? Sounds to me like you’re beating around the bush, Jackie-boy.”

“Seriously, Jackson.” Roxi had sneered over a bottle of beer. “Who ever thought that you would be one to f*ck things up over some biatch?”

Jackson had glared daggers at Roxi for saying that – hell, he had killed people for less than that! – but no amount of arguing could deny that it had been that one insignificant moment of weakness that caused his downfall, that one instant that he allowed himself to feel some sympathy for the woman he had dragged into his plot to knock off Keefe. It had been that scar… That f*cking scar! That was perhaps what haunted him the most. How different would the job have turned out if he had never found it? He could probably safely bet his left nut that he wouldn’t be in his current situation. If he hadn’t known about the scar, there would have been no need for that momentary lapse in weakness. He probably could have even stopped her from jamming that pen into his windpipe, seeing as he would have had no reason to lower his defenses.

“I can’t believe that was the only reason.” Rodney said once the others were out of hearing distance. “Sounds to me, Jackson, like you were rather enjoying yourself with her before you ever stepped foot on that plane. In all honesty, I don’t remember you being that open around a girl since we were still living in the dorms at college.”

It meant nothing… Jackson thought to himself. The flirting had only been a cover, only as a means to gain her trust to make the job go easier once it was in full swing. There wasn’t supposed to have been anything about Lisa that attracted him to her, before he ever found out about that bloody scar, but he would be dead and buried six feet under before he admitted to any of them the way her smile made his pulse speed up the slightest bit in his veins, how he burned with the secret curiosity to know why she was so secretive, so utterly alone…

Nothing at all…

Somewhere in the depths of the darkened house, a phone rang, an electronic sound that meant it could have been nothing but business. It only rang twice before being silenced, have been being answered by the fourth member of the group that resided in the house before Jackson came to stay. Sure enough, not more than a few minutes later, a shadowed figure appeared in the doorway, holding a mobile phone in one hand.

“Higher Ops just called.” Lionel said. “Apparently the drug traffickers in Florida have been engaging in more suspicious activity than normal. We’re supposed to keep an eye on them.”

No one looked up from the TV screen. “Old news.” Byron said. “Since when has that ring not been involved in any suspicious activity?”

“Apparently they’ve been spotted talking to some unknown party, but it’s assumed that it might be linked to politics or something like that. They just want you to tap the phones, Rod. Nothing serious, they just want us to keep an eye on it.”

“Fine, fine.” Rodney said nonchalantly. “I’ll get on it in the morning.”

From where he lay on the couch, Jackson suppressed a groan, draping an arm over his eyes. Every time the phone rang, he could not help but hope that it would be High Ops informing him that they needed him back on the force, that some assignment had at last surfaced that they needed him to handle…

But for the last ten months he had only been faced with one disappointment after another. There was nothing too terribly special about watching crime rings or drug traffickers… That was not his field of expertise. But for the intelligence teams, like Rodney, Roxi, Byron and Lionel, this was right up their ally, and Jackson had no other choice but to continue to sit on the sidelines and watch the world pass him by.

All because of one woman…

His fingers were back at the base of his throat, only this time he wasn’t even aware of it.

-

[ghmugglegirl]

WOW. I want to say that this is a page turner but it is a scroll turner!! It is a very good story!


RAchel

[burrito chan]

Hey I gotta tell you, I REALLY love how you're developing this story. Emptyvoices on FF bugs the *beep* out whenever she leaves (in my opinion) inappropriate reviews on JL stories--just because she's sooo against it. I mean, hello?? FAN[FICTION]? GRR! So, when she left you one of 'those' notes, it pissed me off so much that I PMed her about it... I hated how she tried to egg you on in her direction and thinking!

mannnn
SHE. BUGS!

[BrokenHalo]

Haha, thank you for voicing what I was afraid to say! I'll keep my personal opinions to myself, but I wonder, if something offends you, why read it, especially when I specifically marked the story as being LJ? I just didn't dignify her with my own argument. I would hope as a mature, responcible adult, anyone would be able to make decisions on what they should and should not read based on their opinions, and not press their viewpoints on others when they already made a clear point on what side they stand on.

Thanks for reading, carol, I hope the fic doesn't disappoint you!

[BrokenHalo]

Woo, quick update! Enjoy!

~~~

Chapter Three

The Uninvited

-x-

Something’s wrong, shut the light

Heavy thoughts tonight

And they aren’t of snow white

Dreams of war, dreams of liars,

Dreams of dragon’s fire

And of things that will bite…


Sleep with one eye open

Gripping your pillow tight…


Exit light

Enter night

Take my hand

We’re off to never, never land


Metallica, “Enter Sandman”

-x-x-x-

It started off as any other day; a Tuesday, to be precise. Nothing out of the ordinary that would betray the events that would soon take place to once again turn Lisa’s life upside town.

Lisa was up with the dawn, at about six AM after hitting the snooze button no more than three times before she eventually managed to roll out of bed. It seemed to be getting harder to get out of bed in the morning anymore, in the year following the red eye flight. Before that fated night, it had been easy for her to rise with the sun, looking forward to the day with a refreshed sense of optimism, ready to take on anything her job could throw at her. But as the weeks and months continued to tick by, Lisa found herself becoming less and less content with her once orderly, clockwork lifestyle. She could almost feel her patience getting thinner and more worn by the day, like a rock that was continually battered in the surf. Each day she returned home with a sense of longing for something different, a break in the monotony of routine, but finding herself lacking the courage to do so.

Routine had helped her survive the trauma of rape, helped her get back on schedule after the red eye incident, but it only lasted for so long. Unlike her ordeal with the rape, Lisa’s encounter with Jackson Rippner had not left her scarred or traumatized, whether it was physically or mentally. In fact, she was sure she was a stronger person after the red eye flight than any other time in her life. There was no need for routine anymore to help her forget or cope. And now, stuck in the mundane cycle of everyday life, Lisa could not help but to regrettably feel that life was passing her by, and she was still watching from the sidelines.

After a quick, cold shower to help her further wake up, Lisa chose her appropriate work clothes for the day – a high-collared shirt and knee length skirt, as always – styled her hair and makeup the same way she always did, then proceeded to head downstairs, not bothering with breakfast as she grabbed her purse from the hallway table and heading outside. She had no time for breakfast anymore, not when she was getting out of bed later and later. Starbucks had become a poor substitute for a proper meal in the morning, and she was never one to have a latte sit well on an empty stomach. Still all routine, still all unexceptional. Lisa was very quickly becoming one of the most boring people that she knew. Even her father had more of a life than she did, whether it was out playing golf or poker with his old friends from work, when he was not spending the rest of his time worrying about her.

The first half of the day was uneventful, or at least as much in the Lux Atlantic’s terms. On top of the waves of check-in, check-outs, security clearances and maintenance authorizations, there were always a slew of “customers with special needs” to attend to. Today was particularly trying, more so than usual. First there was the guests who demanded why their son couldn’t hook up his Playstation to their room TV, and then there was the whole fiasco regarding a hung over frat boys who tried to convince Lisa that their room was thrashed before they even checked in, blaming the poor Puerto Rican cleaning women of not doing their jobs properly as they tried to defend themselves in broken English. Lisa had a pounding headache before it was even lunch that not even her prescription stress medication could touch. Her nerves were a series of tangles and knots as she took a much-needed break in the back shortly after security had to fish a couple of rowdy kids out of the front fountain who decided to go skinny dipping because they couldn’t wait for their parents to take them to the beach.

When did it ever come to this? Lisa thought miserably to herself as she massaged her temples, the back of her eyes throbbing so badly that she felt like they were going to explode in their sockets. I used to love this job. It was everything to me. Yet why does everything suddenly feel so…pointless?

“Lisa?”

A small squeak of a voice from the break room door caused Lisa to look up to see Cynthia standing there. Lisa had to suppress a groan. The younger women had one of those “I-think-I-screwed-up” looks on her face, which was the last thing Lisa wanted to deal with on top of everything else that day. Lisa honestly did not want to take out her pent-up frustration out on her friend, but God knew that she could no longer be held responsible for her actions if she had to deal with one more stupid ordeal that day…

“There’s someone at the front desk who wants to see you.” Cynthia said. “I…I think that she might work for some magazine or something…”

Lisa did groan audibly that time, her head falling against the back of her chair. She had hoped that in the year following the attempted Keefe assassination that people would stop wanting to interview her on her perspective on the ordeal. Apparently all that hoping had been for naught. “Tell them I’m not interested.”

“I don’t think it’s a journalism magazine, Lisa, I think she said she was from some travel magazine or something. She’s really, really intent on talking to the hotel manager. She won’t let any of the other receptionists answer her questions, she only wants to talk to you.”

Lisa’s head gave a particularly painful throb. If it was a journalism magazine wanting to do some follow up story on the Keefe incident, then Lisa could have easily told the woman that she could not be disturbed at work, then set up some faux time for an interview which could be efficiently dodged until the reporter eventually lost interest. But a travel magazine was different, especially if they were doing a promotional article on the Lux Atlantic. Corporate would never allow her to pass up an opportunity to further publicize the hotel, especially after one of their finest suites was blown to hell.

“Duty calls, then.” Lisa said sarcastically, pushing herself off the chair and following Cynthia to the front reception desk.

The lobby was thronged with milling people, most with mountains of luggage in tow, others either ready to take an expedition to downtown Miami for lunch or shopping, or to head down to the resort’s private beach not more than two blocks away. Standing in the middle of it all was simply the most beautiful woman that Lisa had ever seen. Long black hair framed a striking face complete with high cheekbones, a delicate chin and large, dark eyes, all complimented by a to-die-for body clad in a suit that Lisa was sure cost more than an entire month’s pay at the hotel. The woman radiated professionalism and elegance, easily drawing all attention in the hotel lobby to her. No, not drawing attention, Lisa noted. She demanded it. Lisa swallowed, brushing her hair back from her face, smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt, then put on her best manager’s smile before stepping out from behind the desk. The woman turned to look at her as she approached, and Lisa felt sudden a chill run down her spine, her smile faltering. The woman might have been beautiful, but she was…cold. There was just no other way to describe it. Colder than any other person Lisa had ever met in her life…

Jackson included.

“Hi, I’m Lisa Reisert, manager of the Lux Atlantic. May I help you?”

The woman smiled, her full lips turning up just slightly at the corners. “Miss Reisert. My name is Lenore Bardwell. I’m a writer for Regal America. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?” Lisa felt her stomach turn over. Regal America was the top travel magazine for the rich and famous worldwide, one of those “if you have to ask the price, you shouldn’t be reading” sort of journals. As far as Lisa knew, the Lux Atlantic never before had an article printed in the magazine other than a fleeting mention a few times a year. If corporate found out that Lisa nearly turned them down…

“Yes, of course.” Lisa answered carefully, fighting to keep her cool. “What can I do for you, Ms. Bardwell?”

“I am here hoping to write a full article on your hotel. You see, the Lux Atlantic has gotten a substantial amount of press this last year, what with the terrorist attack and all, and our offices have been overrun with customers wanting more information on the hotel. Now, granted that we’ve never done an article on the Lux Atlantic before because of…standards…” Lenore noted, glancing around at some of the guests in the lobby. Lisa felt a pang of irritation, and decided immediately that she did not like the woman. The journalist turned back to Lisa, her eyes glinting with cold humor. “But upon looking into the hotel, my editors decided that it’s worth at least investigating, then they decide from there if the Lux Atlantic would be a suitable hotel for our customers.”

Lisa’s smile was gone, her green eyes narrowed at the other woman. “The Lux Atlantic is a beach resort, Ms. Bardwell, not a celebrity penthouse. If you even have to question whether or not your customers find this hotel worthy enough for them, or you have to judge our regular guests, then you and your magazine do not belong here.”

If the woman was offended by Lisa’s words, she did not show it. Instead, she only smiled, her lips curling around perfect white teeth, reminding Lisa very much of a predator. “Please, Miss Reisert. I insist. And I don’t think your superiors would be very pleased if they found out that you turned us down.”

A growl resonated in Lisa’s chest, but she kept it suppressed. She only smiled again, tight and warning as she nodded. “This way, then.”

They started with the grand tour of the Lux Atlantic. Lisa took Lenore Bardwell through the lobby, walking her through their computer system to show its top-of-the-line programs. Then she showed her to the ballrooms, naming off the events that took place there before heading to the hotel’s renowned pools, bars, restaurants and gym. Lisa took her through the guest rooms, fighting back a retort when Lenore turned her nose up at the regular rooms, before they went up to the VIP suites on the top floors. Lenore seemed particularly anxious to see the suites, in particular the newly renovated room 4080, and Lisa felt a tingle of premonition run down her spine.

Great. She’s going to ask about the Keefe incident.

When Lenore stepped into room 4080, a strange sort of smile spread over her face, and Lisa wanted nothing more than the interview to be over as soon as possible. “Magnificent.” The journalist said. “You would have never guessed that this room was destroyed by a bomb last year.”

“Missile,actually.” Lisa corrected her without thinking, silently berating her own irrationality. “And yes, we had one of the most able construction crews in Florida rebuild the entire floor after the incident. Granted, no one’s willing to stay here much, anymore, except for maybe a few curious tourists who want to ‘be a part of history’ as they put it. But most people assume now that this room’s bad luck, or something like that. As if we get missiles shot at the hotel on a regular basis.” Lisa laughed dryly, but it died in her throat when Lenore peered at her from over her shoulder. “But our suites have had a long list of VIPs, long before the Keefes were guests here. This was a favorite hotel of President Carter, and Bush Senior was a guest a few times during his term. Every now and then a celebrity will stay. Julia Roberts actually was in this room about five years ago, and she sent personal sympathy when she learned that it was destroyed…”

“I’m not interested in who’s stayed here in the past, Ms. Reisert.” Lisa could have sworn that the temperature of the room dropped ten degrees when Lenore spoke. “I’m interested in what happened last year.”

Lisa stiffened. “I don’t think that it’s a good story for your article, Ms. Bardwell. For the past year we’ve been trying to rebuild the Lux Atlantic’s reputation. We don’t need a new group of your customers showing up and dredging up past events.”

“Oh, it’s not for the article. Call it a personal interest. And, seeing how I’m speaking to the one person who went through the whole ordeal first-hand, I figured there’s no one else better I could get the whole story from.”

“There’s not much else to say other than what you might have heard in the papers and the news.” Lisa said carefully. She suddenly felt trapped, like a mouse caught in a cobra’s unblinking gaze as Lenore peered at her, silently urging her to continue. “Keefe stirred up some bad blood with his new policies on National Security, and I was kidnapped to make the call to change his room so…”

“I’m not interested about that.” Lenore snapped, making Lisa start. Then the other woman’s face softened, that icy smile back on her lips. “I’m more interested about the part that you didn’t talk about in the news. Tell me, Miss Reisert, about the man who held you captive on that plane.”

“Jackson?” Lisa questioned, now thoroughly confused. There was something amiss here, something lurking below the surface. Warning bells were sounding dangerously loud in Lisa’s head, her blood pounding in her ears. She swallowed thickly, choosing her words carefully. “What’s there to say about him? He was a terrorist, and he used me for his job. I was able to get away from him, warn the hotel, but he followed me back to my father’s house. He would have killed me had my father not shot him.”

“Ah, yes. Terribly good luck on your part, wouldn’t you say? Had it not been for that little stunt with the pen, then you probably would have never gotten away from him.”

“No, I suppose…” Lisa’s words trailed off, and she looked back at Lenore as fear began to pit in her stomach. “Wait a moment… I never said anything about the pen.”

“Oh. Well, I must have heard about it in the news.”

“No… I never said anything about it there either.”

Lenore continued to stare at Lisa, then scoffed, turning away. “Well then, Miss Reisert, I think that about completes our interview. Thank you for your time.” The woman brushed past Lisa, holding the suite door open for her. “Shall we?”

Lisa walked out of room 4080, her legs shaking under her. Something was wrong. She had to get away from this woman, get her out of the hotel, away from her and the guests…

It was Lenore’s returning voice that caused Lisa to pause again. “Oh, I also heard some time back that Jackson escaped from the hospital and is still on the loose. Tell me, my dear, are you still afraid of him?”

Lisa stiffened. “I was never afraid of Jackson.”

“Is that so? So you mean to tell me that you believe that he has no reason to one day, suddenly show back up in your life to complete his revenge?”

Before Lisa could respond, something closed over her mouth and nose, her senses filled with an offensive odor as strong hands pinned her arms behind her back, holding onto her shoulders as she struggled and screamed, her voice muffled by the cloth over her face. A wave of exhaustion rolled over her as the chloroform began to take effect, and Lisa’s vision dimmed as her own struggles drifted further and further away. The last thing she saw was Lenore’s icy eyes before the world went black.

-X-X-X-

[Jackson's Girl]

Hello Broken Halo,
I'm enjoying the build-up of your LJ story. For a moment or two I was afraid "Lenore" was going to be Jackson in drag. Glad you resisted. It's a good read. Thanks for taking the time and please post soon.

[BrokenHalo]

Jackson in drag? lol, that's something that didn't even cross my mind ;D Good catch though. Thanks for reading, I'm working on the next chapter. Slowly at the moment, but it's coming along.

[Jackson's Girl]

Hi BrokenHalo,
Funny about the drag-thing, no? I love Lisa and Jackson. They would be such an entertaining couple, so long as they stay true to their original personalities. I mean, Jackson is hardly the "ideal boyfriend" not the sensitive type. And Lisa has to overcome her distrust of him. But it can't be denied that they had CHEMISTRY. In my experience (which ain't much) chemistry can make up for a lot. Anyway, looking forward to reading more from you. All the best,

[BrokenHalo]

Chapter Four

The Game[/u]

-x-

Tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do,

Now that I’ve allowed you to beat me,

Do you think that we could play another game,

Maybe I could win this time…

I kind of like the misery you’ve put me through,

Darling, you can’t trust me completely,

If you even try to look the other way,

I think that I could kill this time!

It doesn’t really seem that I’m getting through to you

Though I see you weeping so sweetly

I think that you might have to take another taste

A little bit of hell this time

Disturbed, “The Game”

-x-x-x-

Pain. Throbbing, piercing pain in her temples, behind her eyes, in the back of her head. Pain filled her entire world. It was all she might have well known.

The world slowly came back into focus, the darkness lifting away from Lisa’s mind and eyes like a curtain, but the pain still remained. Lisa groaned, attempting to raise a hand to run the throbbing in her temples, only to find out that she could not. The haze that had clouded her mind only moments before was swiftly replaced by a stab of panic. Her hands… Her hands and her feet had been bound behind her back with some sort of course rope that bit painfully into her skin as she struggled against them. Lisa moaned, only to hear that her own voice was muffled behind a gag that had been forced between her lips as she lay helplessly on her side. Her heart began to hammer behind her ribs as she remembered what happened.

Lenore… She remembered the woman named Lenore who had claimed to be a journalist for Regal America, and her interest in seeing the suite which had once been reduced to ruin because of the terrorist attack. None of that had seemed suspicious at first, until she specifically began to ask about Jackson. Cold dread had flooded Lisa then, but before she had any time to respond everything had gone black and deathly silent. And then…

And then…

Holy God, where was she now?

It took a surprising amount of effort for Lisa to roll from her side onto her back, seeing how she was bound by the wrists and ankles, and even more of an effort to rock herself into a sitting position using only her back and abdominal muscles. By the time she was in a suitable seated position, panting heavily through her gag in the aftermath, Lisa was finally able to take in her surroundings. The room she was in the dark, cold, sealed against the sunlight that tried to filter in through old, worn cracks in the walls. As Lisa’s eyes became better adjusted to the dark, the depth and vastness of the room became more eminent, and she could make out what looked like to be the remains of old machinery scattered throughout the space and rusty pulley systems hanging from the ceiling. It almost looked like a warehouse. A very old warehouse that looked to have been out of commission for a very long time.

A million questions raced through Lisa’s head at lightning speed. First, the questions were obvious; why was she here? What did they want with her? Then as her head cleared, they became more specific, and focused around a single person who made her blood run cold and her vision bleed red around the edges. Was she here…because of Jackson? It was the only logical explanation she could think of. Who else could it have been? That meant that Lenore had just been a pawn, one of his dogs to lure her into his trap with only one motive in mind.

Revenge. He had finally caught up with her. But why now, after almost a full year since his escape from the hospital?

Of course. Lisa thought bitterly. He was waiting for me to let my guard down. And I walked right into his hands.

But there was no time to be reprimanding herself for mistakes that she couldn’t fix. She had to find a way to get out of there, to call for help… Anything. And hopefully she could do so before Jackson had the chance to show up and gloat. Of course, nothing would make her feel better that moment than slapping his smug grin right off his face.

That was, if she could get her hands free first.

So, first thing’s first then; get out of the restraints, and do it fast.

At first, Lisa merely attempted to struggle against the ropes, hoping that the friction would loosen the knots, but it did not take long before her skin began to burn, and a slow trickle in between her fingers told her to stop. Still, the knots held fast. Lisa sighed, thoroughly frustrated, and leaned back against the wall that was directly behind her. As much as she hated to admit it, she was in deep sh*t. She was unsure of how long it would have taken her coworkers from the Lux Atlantic to realize that she had gone missing, but even when they did, what good would it do her? She didn’t have the slightest clue to where she was, so what good would that do for anyone who was trying to find her? She was alone, and completely at Jackson’s mercy.

That perhaps scared her more than anything else at that moment.

Somewhere on the opposite side of the warehouse, Lisa heard a mechanical thud, and what sounded like very rusty gears being ground together as dusty yellow light filtered into the empty space somewhere just out of Lisa’s line of sight. Her heart pounded back and forth on her ribs, and before the newcomers – who were no doubt the same people that had kidnapped her in the first place – had a chance to realize that she was awake, Lisa fell back to her side with a painful thump, closing her eyes to mock sleep in case they decided to check on her. But as she lay on her side, trying her best to fake unconsciousness, she could hear their voices as they proceeded further into the warehouse. Voices drifted to her through the broken machinery; two male voices, arguing with one female.

“So we have an accord, then. All you have to do is keep an eye on the girl, and you get the second half of your payment as soon as our guest of honor arrives.” It was the female voice that was speaking, and Lisa strained her ears towards it. It sounded very familiar. Lenore? “That’s not very difficult now, is it?”

“I don’t see what all the hassle is about.” One of the male voices said in a gruff, but nearly whiney tone. “All this work just to settle some personal grudge? Why not just find the guy yourself?”

“Because I know how Jackson’s mind works. He’ll only come for something that appeals to him. Especially if the matter of his pride is involved.”

Lisa’s blood ran cold. Jackson? So he was involved…but he was not the reason why she was here. At least, not the direct reason, and from the sound of it, he was not the one involved with her kidnapping. Lisa felt her head spin. What in the world was going on?

The second man spoke, his voice thoughtful. “This was the same girl that was involved with the Keefe assassination, right? I bet he would pay a pretty penny if we turned this into a ransom…”

There was a harsh slapping noise of flesh striking flesh, accompanied by Lenore’s hissing whisper. “Absolutely not! I’m paying you enough for this monkey charade, aren’t I? Or do you want the attention of the authorities and have them take a closer look at what you and your thugs are shipping in through the marina? The only one who comes for the little biatch in Jackson, and Jackson alone! And trust me, once he learns I have her dangling like a worm from a hook, just right for the taking, he’ll take the bait with no regards to the consequences. Once he shows up, I get what I want, you get what you want, and we all move on with our lives, and it’s as simple as that. Or do I need to write it down for you?”

“No, ma’am. Don’t worry. We’ll watch over the little tart.”

“You’re goddamn right you will. No one is to leave this warehouse until I give the word. Understand?”

The two men mumbled something in agreement, and Lisa heard the sharp clicking of Lenore’s stiletto heels as she walked away. Silence hung supreme in the empty warehouse for several long minutes, then one of the men cursed loudly. “What are you looking at, dipsh*t? Go set up the table. Might as well do something to pass the time while Ms. Bardwell delivers her precious package.”

Lisa’s heart thudded behind her ribs with such force that she was surprised the two men in the room didn’t hear it. Jackson was not the one who had kidnapped her for his own revenge, that much was clear to her now. But now she was going to used as bait to lure him out of hiding for whatever it was that Lenore had schemed. For some reason, the latter seemed far more terrifying than the prospect of having to face Jackson face-to-face in the warehouse there and now. Lisa knew nothing about this woman or her obvious past connection with Jackson, or why she seemed so hell-bent on getting his attention. There would be no outside contact to the authorities to her whereabouts, no message of ransom to Keefe or her father…nothing. She was wrapped up in some sick game whose motive she could not even begin to fathom.

The need to escape was never as strong as it was with that chilling realization.

With a silent grunt, Lisa pushed herself back up into a sitting position, determined to wriggle her way out of the knots that bound her even if it meant sheering off all her fingers in the process. As she began to struggle, the rope snagged on something on the wall behind her. At first, Lisa felt a flash of annoyance, but as she moved her hands to free herself she felt something sharp slice her skin at the base of her thumb. Blood ran thick and hot between her fingers, but instead of cringing at the pain, a new idea came to mind. Moving slowly to avoid calling attention to herself through her movements, Lisa carefully positioned herself so the rope once again snagged on the sharp piece of metal that jutted out from the wall. With carefully measured strokes, Lisa began to rub the rope against the metal, hoping it would eventually have the same effect on it as it did on her skin. It might have been a long shot, but it was the best hope that she had just short of doing anything that could have resulted in her bleeding to death.

Even as she worked, she could feel the minutes ticking ominously by, and each one that passed felt as though she had taken one step closer to the executioner’s block.

-x-x-x-

Most of the time, Jackson had no business in what Rodney and the others did. Although they technically all worked for the same company, the levels of jobs which they operated in kept them isolated in their own spheres of influence. Their company held no alliances, no favorites, no favors. They only catered to the highest bidder, regardless of what country they were from, which political party they were loyal to, which religion they worshipped under. Their “customers” were only faceless people with fat wallets. Nothing else need apply. While Jackson’s job as assassination manager was more of a mercenary job than anything else – “those who pay the highest price get to knock off the political opponent of their choice”, as the job description more or less stated – the lower-ranking intelligence teams were used mostly by local authorities who were on the verge of finding themselves in a potentially dangerous situation, yet were unwilling risk their own necks doing the jobs they were paid for. Monitor drug rings and tapping phone lines were some such examples, and all child’s play in Jackson’s eyes, though he would never admit that to his friends. So when they were alerted to keep an eye on a group of lowlife drug hustlers that operated out of Miami, Jackson had naturally assumed that it had nothing to do with him.

Until, that was, the night that he was given a rude awakening when Rodney smacked him across the top of the head with a sheet of rolled-up paper, waking Jackson up from the uncomfortable sleep that he had finally fallen into. Sleep had never come easy to Jackson; he was an insomniac by nature, thanks to the high stress of the job and the unpleasant dreams that tended to plague him in his unconscious state. The Louisiana heat and humidity did nothing to help his situation, and so when Rodney woke him up in a less than pleasurable manner, Jackson was alert in an instant, complete with knife in hand and fire in his normally icy blue eyes. When he turned his murderous glare on Rodney, the shorter blonde man jumped perhaps two feet back, hands raised before him in self-defense.

“Whoa, hey! Chill Jackson, it’s just me!”

When Jackson realized what was happening, he let his posture relax, the fire disappearing from his eyes and he brought one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. Christ, it would only be a matter of time before he did gut one of them out of sheer reflex. “Rodney…what the hell…?”

Rodney swallowed thickly, sitting down in a chair opposite the couch that Jackson had been laying on. “So…you know about a week back, Higher Ops called about that drug ring from Miami they wanted to watch, right? Well, Lionel was able to intercept a cell phone call earlier this afternoon, and we finally got a new lead on them. Looks like they’ve moved on from drug smuggling and into the kidnapping business.”

If Rodney had expected some sort of reaction from Jackson, then he should have been mildly disappointed when he merely snorted, laying back down on the couch, draping one long arm across his eyes. “And?”

“Well…you know in a case like this, we would be expected to inform Higher Ops, and they take it from there. But…that is…we’re not sure how to handle this one, exactly.”

“Why? Why’s it so hard this time?” He wished that Rodney would just hurry up and get to the point. The guy had been his best friend throughout college, but he was in no mood to deal with one of his mind games.

“You see, it’s a little awkward this time. There’s no ransom note, no outward motive. Jackson… They got the girl from the Keefe job. Lisa Reisert. She’s being held in an abandoned warehouse just along the Florida/Louisiana border.”

Jackson felt his attention being snagged like a fish on a long, barbed hook, pulling him violently out of the haze of sleep and hurtling him a year back in time. Lisa? His Lisa? The one person that he had never expected to come back into his life, the one person whom he didn’t want back in his life. Even though the bodily wounds she had inflicted upon him had long since healed, the wounds to his pride were still open, raw and oozing, and although nothing would give him more pleasure than taking revenge for all the grief and suffering she caused, the repercussions his employers threatened him with was enough to keep him in place. After a year of healing, he had come to the unsettling conclusion that he would be better off completely erasing Lisa from his mind. He despised her for what she did to him, but as he had once told her, he wasn’t suicidal. The little life he had left was not worth the risk. So, naturally, Jackson feigned indifference, covering up the ominous shadow he could feel building at the corners of his mind. “What about her? What’s that has to do with us, then?”

“God, Jackson, I know you’re not that dense.” Rodney was back on his feet, and was already beginning to pace, just as he always did when he went into a rant. “Doesn’t it seem the least bit suspicious that she’s kidnapped, yet there’s been no ransom demand from anyone who might care? I bet you Keefe would pay any random charge simply because he would feel in debt to her, but no one’s taken that opportunity. Besides, you don’t know the whole story. Lionel didn’t find this by chance. It was sent to us.”

If news of Lisa’s abduction hadn’t caught him off guard enough, that was more than enough to throw him through a loop. Rodney nodded, seeing the light of realization in Jackson’s eyes. “You know it too, then. Someone’s looking for you, Jackson. We don’t know who yet. The voice was simulated, and there was no name given. But they obviously have been keeping up with you to assume that you feel that you have unfinished business with her. It’s all a setup.”

The idea was nothing new. In his short history as a manager, to say that Jackson had made some enemies in his carrier would have been an understatement. He was sure that there were plenty of people out there who wanted his blood. But Rodney was right. Something did not sit well with this situation.

There were many things in this world that irked Jackson, and one of them was when people assumed that they knew him, and thought him to be predictable. Easy. Hungry for revenge. Someone had assumed a great deal about his actions and inner workings, and it made him seethe with a fury on the inside. But he could not let Rodney see how much it upset him.

“Did whoever send this know where we are?”

Rodney shook his head. “No. At least, I wouldn’t think so. Lionel picked it up on a major phone line, almost commercial, but one they obviously knew that we listened to on a regular basis. Something’s wrong here, Jackson. Really wrong.”

A million thoughts were running through Jackson’s head, each one more insane than the last. Someone wanted him, and they were using Lisa as the bait. There were endless possibilities to how he could handle the situation. Finally, he stood from the couch, running one hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

“Where are you going?” Rodney asked.

“Shower. Then I’m going after Miss Reisert.”

“Jackson…are you sure about that? If what I assume is true – and I’ll bet you a hundred bucks it is – then you’ll be playing right into their hands!”

“I don’t doubt your judgment, Rodney. Someone’s obviously trying to get my attention. I don’t want to disappoint them.” A devilish grin crossed Jackson’s full lips. “Besides, this is outside of Higher Ops’ jurisdiction. Someone thinks they know me. I want to prove to them just how wrong they are. You and the others can choose to come or not. I’m not going to ask any favors.”

Jackson left Rodney in the main parlor of the house, walking up the grand, yet badly wore down staircase towards the upstairs bathroom. He passed Byron on the way, whose arms were full of what looked suspiciously like canisters of plastic explosives, but his mind was a million miles away, yet focused intensely on one person.

Lisa…

His mind was already made up. As easy as it would have been to simply ignore the whole thing, to simply let Lisa rot in whatever hell she had gotten herself into as some sick, long-distance form of revenge, Jackson was not about to brush off this whole situation. This was not about the others, or the company. This was all about him. Whoever was trying to lure him out obviously had some personal grudge against him, and were pulling out all the cheap shots to try to finish it, and assumed that he was shallow enough to play into their hands. Who it could have been, he did not have the slightest notion. The possibilities were endless.

To hell with the consequences.

Besides, what did he have left to loose?

This isn’t about Lisa… It’s about me. All about me. That’s all that I should be worrying about. Lisa was just unfortunate enough to get caught up in all of it. Her own damn fault, though. If she had just made the damn call to begin with, we could have both moved on with our lives a long time ago. But right now, this isn’t about her…

But she’s still in danger. And it would almost be worth it enough to see the look on her face when you come riding in, her knight in shining armor. Almost.

It’s not about her…

Jackson stood under a cold shower, milling his plan of action in his head, trying to determine his best course of action, trying to stay focused on the issue at hand. Telling himself over and over that this was between him and whoever wanted his attention. Lisa was merely the bait. And once he was finished with whatever it was he had to do, he could cast her aside just as easily. It was as simple as that.

It’s not about her…

Was she hurt? Had they hurt her in any way?

It’s not about her…

He was not worried about her. The little biatch had tried to kill him, for f*ck’s sake. She deserved what she got. Arrogant biatch.

The sooner she was out of his life again, the better.

Lisa…

-x-x-x-