Post by Lisa Rippner on Nov 27, 2005 1:18:34 GMT -5
To answer Shannon's question, I am now OFFICIALLY the queen of one shots. 
Lisa stared painfully at Jackson’s quickly fading form. He was breathing raggedly, licking his lips and swallowing as though he were parched. The sounds of sirens, loud and drawn out, pierced her inner ears, but looking at him now made her believe that even the oncoming ambulance would provide little hope. Their eyes locked for a moment, and strangely neither was surprised to see the lack of ill content in the other’s gaze. Jackson was dying as though he accepted his fate, even deserved it, and Lisa watched with rotating emotions of sympathy and guilt.
Then his eyes looked up, sideways, away from her. Lisa held her breath, watched his body slow in every movement, and blinked solemnly when his eyelids fell shut, his head lolling concurrently to the side. She glanced back at him only once before shakily walking along his still, blood stained legs. Her father watched her in concern, putting the gun down on the hall table to help steady her. She gave him an unconvincing, tight-lipped smile, and put a hand on his arm before brushing slowly past him.
“Honey, where are you—”
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said quietly.
The hall was devoid of any light except that which streamed in through the surrounding windows. Lisa stepped quietly onto the sleek wood floor, stopping at the bottom stair. She didn’t have a sure idea of what she was looking for when she began the trip up to the second story—solace, perhaps, given to her by this brief isolation. After the rape, that was how she had coped. Lisa would find quiet, uninhabited spots where she could sit and sob until she told herself that that was enough for one day; she could move on again, if only until the next sunrise.
Somewhere along the middle steps a glinting object caught her downcast eyes. Lisa stared in confusion, her lips parting slightly. Then she bent down, reaching out with scratched and wounded fingers to gently examine the silver men’s watch. She had seen it twice before, all in the last few hours. The last time, he had held his arm out in front of them, giving her a visible view of the time as if to say, “It’s over now. We made it.” Then he preceded to tell her just how their night together would end.
They were going to grab lattes at Starbucks.
Lisa plopped devastatingly onto the lone stair, one hand gripping the watch, the other pressed firmly against her forehead. Her shoulders shook as she tried to repress oncoming sobs. Tears for a murderer, manager, man. For Jackson.
“Lisa,” said a gentle voice. Her dad stood patiently at the bottom, a grieving look etched into his aging features. “Honey, they’ve taken him. You should come down now.”
Lisa brushed a freehand over her hair, then sniffed and looked around. “I’ve got to get to the Lux. Cynthia needs me to help explain this.”
“You need to rest, Lisa. And the police are here. If they see you’re well enough to leave they’ll sit you down and have you explain everything to them.”
Lisa nodded, beginning to stand. She still held the watch. “I can talk to them.” Lisa paused. “Where’s my cell phone?”
“I’ll go get you mine,” her father said, and left to retrieve it.
Lisa filed cautiously down the stairs while holding onto the ramp. She peeked her head around the corner. Both bodies were missing, and in their place stood policemen examining mixtures of broken glass and pools of fresh blood. One of the men turned to her.
“Miss Reisert?”
Lisa consciously smoothed back her hair. “Yes.”
“You said in your emergency call that a man broke into your house?”
“He did.”
“Well, that would make sense expect for this motor vehicle stuck in your doorway. I’m going to have to ask you to sit down with Detective Rolland and myself, just so we can clear a few things up. I hope you’ll understand.”
“I have to get to my work. They tried to kill Charles Keefe.”
“The attempted assassination?” Rolland cut in. “These men were part of it?”
“Yes, but—”
Rolland turned to his companion. “I’ll have to question the kid with the scarf when he wakes up.”
“Wakes…up…?” Lisa’s heart rate doubled, and she walked shakily towards the two men. “Jackson’s alive?”
“The man your father says he shot? Yeah, he’s still alive, but just barely. They’ve taken him to the E.R.” Upon seeing Lisa’s pained expression, he added: “But don’t worry, they’ve got him. If he’s done what you’ve said, then even he survives it’s highly unlikely you’ll be attacked by him again.”
“Oh…” Lisa replied dazedly.
“Now, I’m going to need you to start at the beginning.”
“We…” Lisa cleared her throat, her gaze downcast. “We were standing in line…” she began. “He was standing behind me…”
Lisa stared painfully at Jackson’s quickly fading form. He was breathing raggedly, licking his lips and swallowing as though he were parched. The sounds of sirens, loud and drawn out, pierced her inner ears, but looking at him now made her believe that even the oncoming ambulance would provide little hope. Their eyes locked for a moment, and strangely neither was surprised to see the lack of ill content in the other’s gaze. Jackson was dying as though he accepted his fate, even deserved it, and Lisa watched with rotating emotions of sympathy and guilt.
Then his eyes looked up, sideways, away from her. Lisa held her breath, watched his body slow in every movement, and blinked solemnly when his eyelids fell shut, his head lolling concurrently to the side. She glanced back at him only once before shakily walking along his still, blood stained legs. Her father watched her in concern, putting the gun down on the hall table to help steady her. She gave him an unconvincing, tight-lipped smile, and put a hand on his arm before brushing slowly past him.
“Honey, where are you—”
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said quietly.
The hall was devoid of any light except that which streamed in through the surrounding windows. Lisa stepped quietly onto the sleek wood floor, stopping at the bottom stair. She didn’t have a sure idea of what she was looking for when she began the trip up to the second story—solace, perhaps, given to her by this brief isolation. After the rape, that was how she had coped. Lisa would find quiet, uninhabited spots where she could sit and sob until she told herself that that was enough for one day; she could move on again, if only until the next sunrise.
Somewhere along the middle steps a glinting object caught her downcast eyes. Lisa stared in confusion, her lips parting slightly. Then she bent down, reaching out with scratched and wounded fingers to gently examine the silver men’s watch. She had seen it twice before, all in the last few hours. The last time, he had held his arm out in front of them, giving her a visible view of the time as if to say, “It’s over now. We made it.” Then he preceded to tell her just how their night together would end.
They were going to grab lattes at Starbucks.
Lisa plopped devastatingly onto the lone stair, one hand gripping the watch, the other pressed firmly against her forehead. Her shoulders shook as she tried to repress oncoming sobs. Tears for a murderer, manager, man. For Jackson.
“Lisa,” said a gentle voice. Her dad stood patiently at the bottom, a grieving look etched into his aging features. “Honey, they’ve taken him. You should come down now.”
Lisa brushed a freehand over her hair, then sniffed and looked around. “I’ve got to get to the Lux. Cynthia needs me to help explain this.”
“You need to rest, Lisa. And the police are here. If they see you’re well enough to leave they’ll sit you down and have you explain everything to them.”
Lisa nodded, beginning to stand. She still held the watch. “I can talk to them.” Lisa paused. “Where’s my cell phone?”
“I’ll go get you mine,” her father said, and left to retrieve it.
Lisa filed cautiously down the stairs while holding onto the ramp. She peeked her head around the corner. Both bodies were missing, and in their place stood policemen examining mixtures of broken glass and pools of fresh blood. One of the men turned to her.
“Miss Reisert?”
Lisa consciously smoothed back her hair. “Yes.”
“You said in your emergency call that a man broke into your house?”
“He did.”
“Well, that would make sense expect for this motor vehicle stuck in your doorway. I’m going to have to ask you to sit down with Detective Rolland and myself, just so we can clear a few things up. I hope you’ll understand.”
“I have to get to my work. They tried to kill Charles Keefe.”
“The attempted assassination?” Rolland cut in. “These men were part of it?”
“Yes, but—”
Rolland turned to his companion. “I’ll have to question the kid with the scarf when he wakes up.”
“Wakes…up…?” Lisa’s heart rate doubled, and she walked shakily towards the two men. “Jackson’s alive?”
“The man your father says he shot? Yeah, he’s still alive, but just barely. They’ve taken him to the E.R.” Upon seeing Lisa’s pained expression, he added: “But don’t worry, they’ve got him. If he’s done what you’ve said, then even he survives it’s highly unlikely you’ll be attacked by him again.”
“Oh…” Lisa replied dazedly.
“Now, I’m going to need you to start at the beginning.”
“We…” Lisa cleared her throat, her gaze downcast. “We were standing in line…” she began. “He was standing behind me…”
