Post by Lisa Rippner on Dec 21, 2005 9:40:40 GMT -5
“It happened in a parking lot,” Lisa began softly, her voice trembling slightly as she fought to find the words, to even continue. She hadn’t said a word of her attack to anyone in years, and Jackson Rippner wasn’t one of the exclusive few she wished to share her story with. “The scar,” she explained, “two years ago… in the middle of the day.”
His interest was evident in the way he turned his head sharply, attentively, eyes locked on her moving lips. Confusion was evident, as well. Why was she opening up to him now? After all, the mission was being carried out. There was no way for him to stop the process now. Jackson could find no reason for behavior other than maybe, in some twisted, emotionally driven way, she trusted him.
Lisa’s eyes shut briefly. “He held a knife to my throat…the whole time.” Her head wavered between angling at the window and the seat in front of her, while her eyes flickered in Jackson’s direction. “Ever since I’ve been trying to convince myself of one thing, over and over…”
As she turned away, body rocking as the plane began its landing, Jackson leaned forward, understanding and a strange sympathy washing over him. When he looked back up, however, all traces of compassion were quelled by a quiet smirk; he finally fully understood her, as he had believed he eventually would.
“That it was beyond your control,” he finished for her.
Lisa shook her head. “No.” She turned her head quickly, staring firmly at him. “That it would never happen again.”
Ding.
Jackson looked up, distracted by the blinking sign that permitted seatbelt removal. Lisa’s hand flew across at that moment, clutching the blue character pen that she aimed at his lower throat. Out of the corner of his eye Jackson caught site of the swift movement and ducked, his torso flattening against his knees.
When he sat up, eyes narrowed considerably, Lisa still clutched the pen, her white knuckles trembling.
“You might be clever, Lise, but you sure as hell aren’t smart.” Jackson reached out, grasping harshly at the object she protected and leaving scratch marks as a result. He fingered the pen before pocketing it. “Now, I need to know that that was your last little cry for help, because one more stunt before we say goodbye just might be the last stunt of your life. And your dad’s.”
Lisa shut her eyes tightly, a single tear falling down her already tear stained cheek. “How can you do this?” she asked condescendingly. “How can you live knowing you’re responsible for the deaths of children? They’ve done nothing to you, or to the people who want Keefe dead!”
Jackson swallowed unconsciously. “I do what’s necessary. It’s all part of the job.”
“Job? What I have is a job, Jack. You’re just a killer. Just that.”
Her words stung somehow, just as they had the first time she accused him. But he didn’t let her know that, instead leaning back and shrugging. Other passengers were beginning to stand and collect their luggage, so Jackson did the same.
“My purse?” Lisa snapped.
“Good one,” Jackson smiled mockingly. “Now, get up and hold tight to my arm. I can’t have you causing a scene.”
Lisa shuddered as she linked her arm with his, repulsed by the contact. They walked slowly amidst the swarms of other passengers crowding the exit, and Jackson noticed with surmounting annoyance that even in the crowd Lisa could not hold herself together. Tears were streaming down her numb features, cold and silent.
She turned to him, glaring. “They’re children,” she whispered, her voice trembling. He pretended not to notice her admirable pleading, instead keeping his body stiffly forward, eyes on the exit.
“What if they were yours?” she asked.
Jackson would have laughed, if not for the image that entered his head just then. He was a father, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Lisa multi-task with one child cradled in her arm, the other—a dark haired girl with bright blue eyes—tugging on her skirt. He shivered, telling himself this image was new to him.
“Well, they’re not mine, are they?” he whispered back. But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, a slight but rising emotion he had rarely felt before.
They approached the hallway that would lead them out into the airport. Standing near the doorway was the older flight attendant who had rebuked Jackson for he and Lisa’s supposed ‘quickie’ in the restroom. Her smile departed as they came nearer, and she just rolled her eyes, saying, “Have a nice day.”
The trip to the indoor Starbucks lasted only a minute or so while they walked the few feet past the main lobby. Jackson let go of Lisa, allowing her to sit opposite him at a small round table. “Iced mocha?” he asked. “That is your usual, isn’t it?”
“I hate you,” she said honestly.
Pang. Jackson felt the newly familiar squirm of guilt, and a stab of something painful her compassion had a habit of evoking in him. Maybe he was doing the wrong thing. No, he knew he was, and knew he had been all along. But maybe he wanted to do the right thing, for her. Perhaps he wanted her to know that he was capable of such a mercy.
“What would you say if I asked you for a favor, in return for the Keefe’s lives?”
Her eyes lit up with a mixture of suspicion and hope. “What?”
“You promise to do something for me, and I’ll call off the assassination.”
Lisa stared blankly at him for a moment, then her eyes flashed with a new horror. “What kind of a favor?”
Jackson laughed lightly. “No, no, nothing like that. But you have to promise to come with me. If I warn your little hotel, they’ll be after my blood, and I really feel like that’s a responsibility we should both share.”
“So…” Lisa swallowed. “I come with you to wherever, and the Keefes survive?”
“Correct.”
“What about my dad?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll call off the dog on him, too.”
“Are you just messing with me for fun, or—”
“I’ve never lied to you, Lisa. Stop pretending like you don’t know that.”
She looked at him for a moment, mirroring his steely gaze, before speaking. “Call it off. Call it off right now and I’ll go with you to whatever place you want,” she said earnestly.
“Done.”
Jackson took out his cell phone and dialed the memorized number to the Lux Atlantic Hotel. “Here,” he said, pressing the phone against Lisa’s ear, “you talk to her.”
“Lux Atlantic Hotel, Cynthia speaking,” chimed a nervous, small voice.
“Cynthia!” Lisa breathed out. “Keefe is a target, get everyone out of the building!”
“What? Lisa—”
“Keefe is a target!” She said again, her voice growing in force. “You have to warn him! Pull the fire alarm, something!”
“Oh no,” came the frantic voice on the other end. “No no no.”
Lisa didn’t get much further. Jackson snapped the cell phone shut before bringing it away from her ear. “Now I call off the hit on dear old dad.”
Lisa saw him dial, heard murmurs of agreement, and a final gratuitous exchange before he too hung up, turning back to her. “Everything is set.”
Lisa breathed out, tears beginning to pour in little streams from the corners of her eyes. She breathed back in, sniffed, and tried to wipe the wetness from her face. Without looking at him, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“As far away from here as we can. Now, we’re going to walk casually out, get to the car, and drive. That’s all you need to know.” They both stood, and Jackson took rapid hold of Lisa’s arm.
The sun was up and blaring by the time they reached the outside. Jackson walked unnaturally fast out his car, which, Lisa noted with interest, looked rather expensive. She was unconsciously admiring its sleek, new quality, when Jackson came up from behind her and opened the door, eyeing her to make sure she got in and buckled up.
It was then that Lisa noticed his expression. He looked like he was going to be sick.
His interest was evident in the way he turned his head sharply, attentively, eyes locked on her moving lips. Confusion was evident, as well. Why was she opening up to him now? After all, the mission was being carried out. There was no way for him to stop the process now. Jackson could find no reason for behavior other than maybe, in some twisted, emotionally driven way, she trusted him.
Lisa’s eyes shut briefly. “He held a knife to my throat…the whole time.” Her head wavered between angling at the window and the seat in front of her, while her eyes flickered in Jackson’s direction. “Ever since I’ve been trying to convince myself of one thing, over and over…”
As she turned away, body rocking as the plane began its landing, Jackson leaned forward, understanding and a strange sympathy washing over him. When he looked back up, however, all traces of compassion were quelled by a quiet smirk; he finally fully understood her, as he had believed he eventually would.
“That it was beyond your control,” he finished for her.
Lisa shook her head. “No.” She turned her head quickly, staring firmly at him. “That it would never happen again.”
Ding.
Jackson looked up, distracted by the blinking sign that permitted seatbelt removal. Lisa’s hand flew across at that moment, clutching the blue character pen that she aimed at his lower throat. Out of the corner of his eye Jackson caught site of the swift movement and ducked, his torso flattening against his knees.
When he sat up, eyes narrowed considerably, Lisa still clutched the pen, her white knuckles trembling.
“You might be clever, Lise, but you sure as hell aren’t smart.” Jackson reached out, grasping harshly at the object she protected and leaving scratch marks as a result. He fingered the pen before pocketing it. “Now, I need to know that that was your last little cry for help, because one more stunt before we say goodbye just might be the last stunt of your life. And your dad’s.”
Lisa shut her eyes tightly, a single tear falling down her already tear stained cheek. “How can you do this?” she asked condescendingly. “How can you live knowing you’re responsible for the deaths of children? They’ve done nothing to you, or to the people who want Keefe dead!”
Jackson swallowed unconsciously. “I do what’s necessary. It’s all part of the job.”
“Job? What I have is a job, Jack. You’re just a killer. Just that.”
Her words stung somehow, just as they had the first time she accused him. But he didn’t let her know that, instead leaning back and shrugging. Other passengers were beginning to stand and collect their luggage, so Jackson did the same.
“My purse?” Lisa snapped.
“Good one,” Jackson smiled mockingly. “Now, get up and hold tight to my arm. I can’t have you causing a scene.”
Lisa shuddered as she linked her arm with his, repulsed by the contact. They walked slowly amidst the swarms of other passengers crowding the exit, and Jackson noticed with surmounting annoyance that even in the crowd Lisa could not hold herself together. Tears were streaming down her numb features, cold and silent.
She turned to him, glaring. “They’re children,” she whispered, her voice trembling. He pretended not to notice her admirable pleading, instead keeping his body stiffly forward, eyes on the exit.
“What if they were yours?” she asked.
Jackson would have laughed, if not for the image that entered his head just then. He was a father, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Lisa multi-task with one child cradled in her arm, the other—a dark haired girl with bright blue eyes—tugging on her skirt. He shivered, telling himself this image was new to him.
“Well, they’re not mine, are they?” he whispered back. But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, a slight but rising emotion he had rarely felt before.
They approached the hallway that would lead them out into the airport. Standing near the doorway was the older flight attendant who had rebuked Jackson for he and Lisa’s supposed ‘quickie’ in the restroom. Her smile departed as they came nearer, and she just rolled her eyes, saying, “Have a nice day.”
The trip to the indoor Starbucks lasted only a minute or so while they walked the few feet past the main lobby. Jackson let go of Lisa, allowing her to sit opposite him at a small round table. “Iced mocha?” he asked. “That is your usual, isn’t it?”
“I hate you,” she said honestly.
Pang. Jackson felt the newly familiar squirm of guilt, and a stab of something painful her compassion had a habit of evoking in him. Maybe he was doing the wrong thing. No, he knew he was, and knew he had been all along. But maybe he wanted to do the right thing, for her. Perhaps he wanted her to know that he was capable of such a mercy.
“What would you say if I asked you for a favor, in return for the Keefe’s lives?”
Her eyes lit up with a mixture of suspicion and hope. “What?”
“You promise to do something for me, and I’ll call off the assassination.”
Lisa stared blankly at him for a moment, then her eyes flashed with a new horror. “What kind of a favor?”
Jackson laughed lightly. “No, no, nothing like that. But you have to promise to come with me. If I warn your little hotel, they’ll be after my blood, and I really feel like that’s a responsibility we should both share.”
“So…” Lisa swallowed. “I come with you to wherever, and the Keefes survive?”
“Correct.”
“What about my dad?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll call off the dog on him, too.”
“Are you just messing with me for fun, or—”
“I’ve never lied to you, Lisa. Stop pretending like you don’t know that.”
She looked at him for a moment, mirroring his steely gaze, before speaking. “Call it off. Call it off right now and I’ll go with you to whatever place you want,” she said earnestly.
“Done.”
Jackson took out his cell phone and dialed the memorized number to the Lux Atlantic Hotel. “Here,” he said, pressing the phone against Lisa’s ear, “you talk to her.”
“Lux Atlantic Hotel, Cynthia speaking,” chimed a nervous, small voice.
“Cynthia!” Lisa breathed out. “Keefe is a target, get everyone out of the building!”
“What? Lisa—”
“Keefe is a target!” She said again, her voice growing in force. “You have to warn him! Pull the fire alarm, something!”
“Oh no,” came the frantic voice on the other end. “No no no.”
Lisa didn’t get much further. Jackson snapped the cell phone shut before bringing it away from her ear. “Now I call off the hit on dear old dad.”
Lisa saw him dial, heard murmurs of agreement, and a final gratuitous exchange before he too hung up, turning back to her. “Everything is set.”
Lisa breathed out, tears beginning to pour in little streams from the corners of her eyes. She breathed back in, sniffed, and tried to wipe the wetness from her face. Without looking at him, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“As far away from here as we can. Now, we’re going to walk casually out, get to the car, and drive. That’s all you need to know.” They both stood, and Jackson took rapid hold of Lisa’s arm.
The sun was up and blaring by the time they reached the outside. Jackson walked unnaturally fast out his car, which, Lisa noted with interest, looked rather expensive. She was unconsciously admiring its sleek, new quality, when Jackson came up from behind her and opened the door, eyeing her to make sure she got in and buckled up.
It was then that Lisa noticed his expression. He looked like he was going to be sick.
. Update soon, I want to know where they go! And I and many others, I'm sure, will love you forever. lol.
