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Post by cgoddess on Feb 20, 2006 18:31:00 GMT -5
Chapter 10: White
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. I do, however, own Mr. White and Mr. Vondar...not that anyone is about to steal them for their own twisted ends, but hey.
AN: You guys get a long chapter today; I couldn't break it up any other way. Lucky you:P
.-.-.-.-.
The tang of metal and salt water was the first thing Lisa became aware of when she woke again. The second thing was that her wrists were handcuffed to an exquisite wood and metal headboard; the third was that she was not alone.
A very tall, very angular man stood at the door of the luxuriously-appointed room, watching her with polite interest. He inclined his head to her as though there should be nothing odd or frightening about her being chained to a bed in an unfamiliar place. “Miss Reisert,” he said, “I’m glad. Mr. White asked me to check on you; he will be pleased to know you are conscious.”
Terrified, Lisa shrank back from him when he approached her. “Stay—stay away from me,” she warned, her voice so dry that all that came out was a harsh croak. It sounded more like Jackson’s than hers. She swallowed and tried again. “I mean it.”
The man seemed amused. “Very well, but I won’t be able to unlock your restraints if I can’t get closer.”
“Why am I here? Where am I?” Lisa adjusted herself so she could lash out with her feet if need be. She was mortified to see that she was still dressed in her pajamas and robe. “Where’s Jackson?”
Amusement hardened into grim seriousness. “Mr. Rippner is being held in a separate room. He was…less than cooperative after you were neutralized. I apologize for the rough treatment of our messengers. They misinterpreted Mr. White’s invitation, I’m afraid.”
There was that name again. She held herself very still while the man carefully unlocked the handcuffs. Immediately, she snatched her hands back to her chest, rubbing where the metal had chafed her. The man made no other move toward her, instead setting a white, unmarked department store box she hadn’t even seen him holding onto the other end of the bed. “Who—” Her voice was still shaky, so she tried again. “Who is Mr. White?”
For an answer, she received another polite smile, though his eyebrows rose a bit. “Mr. Rippner said he received our message; he didn’t tell you?”
Lisa frowned. “He doesn’t tell me much of anything.”
At that, the man chuckled. “That does sound like our Mr. Rippner. I apologize, then, Miss Reisert. I am certain Mr. White will explain everything. He has provided suitable clothing for you to change into, if you would.” He indicated the box. “I am Mr. Vondar; please, do not hesitate to call if you need assistance. Mr. White expects you at dinner in an hour. Through that door is a rest room—I took the liberty of providing some aspirin and a cup as well, as I’m sure your head is not feeling its best right now. There are also guards stationed outside your door. I would not recommend attempting to, ah, wander about unescorted.”
Which meant that she was a prisoner. Lisa nodded, and Mr. Vondar’s smile grew wider. “Excellent,” he went on, bowing at the door, “I will be back later. It is a true pleasure to meet you.”
With that, he was gone. Lisa caught a glimpse of the hall beyond her room, and true to his word, there were two black-suited men standing on either side of her door. They reminded her more of Secret Service agents than anything, though they gave off a dangerous impression that the Secret Service just didn’t have. She shivered.
She opened the box to see what clothes had been ‘provided’ for her. What she found inside made her feel torn between laughing and crying. In the end, she simply rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered, holding the crisp white creation up by one shoulder. The designer label sewn discreetly into the seam didn’t make her feel any less like someone in a James Bond movie.
Perhaps the first thing, she decided, should be to take the aspirin. It looked like she’d need them most.
.-.-.-.-.
An hour found her showered, her hair fixed properly, the pounding ache dulled by the painkillers. When she had stepped into the bathroom, she had frozen at the thought of being covertly watched. Then the more powerful desire to be clean took over, and she finally realized she didn’t care. The warm water had been soothing on her iron-knotted muscles, and the very act of getting dressed in real clothes had calmed her down a little.
If one could call what she’d been given ‘real’ clothing. She recognized the designer’s name immediately, though even on her salary she never dreamed of affording something like this. It was also not as bad as she’d originally thought, though she hated the way the neckline scooped dangerously low. It was just low enough to reveal her scar, and she had the feeling it had been deliberately chosen for just that feature. Otherwise, it was a simple sleeveless sheath, all in white linen with a few discreet organza details. Underneath it in the box, she’d found white open-toed sandals. Aside from the fashion rule that one wasn’t supposed to wear white after Labor Day, it was precisely like something a movie star or wealthy businessman’s wife would wear to a formal dinner on a luxury yacht.
Which, given the fact that she saw only ocean outside her window, was probably a close guess. She watched the sky change over the ocean while she waited, thinking. If she was a prisoner here, she had no way of escaping. With nowhere to turn, she had to play it safe and at least go quietly to talk to the mysterious Mr. White. Something told her that she wouldn’t like what he had to say, but at this point, what choice did she have?
A knock on her door announced the return of Mr. Vondar. His brows rose appreciatively at the sight of her in the dress, though his perusal was professional rather than lascivious. “The dress suits you, Miss Reisert,” he said with another of his small smiles. “Come, Mr. White is quite eager to meet you.”
Lisa took the opportunity to study her surroundings as they filed through the narrow, carpeted hallway. They might be on a boat, but someone seemed to have thought of every comfort imaginable: oriental carpets on the floor, rich woods and gleaming polished metal. This Mr. White certainly loved his details.
“Here we go,” said Mr. Vondar, indicating a door that blocked the rest of the hall. Voices came through, muffled, one placating and sure, the other angry and restrained. It struck her that the angry one was Jackson’s. She didn’t have long to contemplate beyond that, however, for Mr. Vondar opened the door. “Mr. White, Mr. Rippner,” he said by way of greeting them, “Allow me to present Miss Reisert.” He gestured that she should step into the room, then discreetly closed the door behind them.
“Holy sh*t,” Jackson muttered, outburst forgotten. His whole body seemed to relax, the angry posture changing to one of nonchalance as though he hadn’t been completely startled by her appearance. Predictably, his gaze traveled over her, head to toe and then back up to linger at her neckline. Lisa had to will her hands to keep from flying up to cover the scar. A few breaths went by, then she purposefully turned her attention from Jackson to the other person in the room, finding him equally as fascinated.
He wasn’t imposing or frightening; quite the contrary, this Mr. White had an avuncular air about him that might have been comforting if she hadn’t been knocked out and handcuffed at his behest. He was fit, though not young, well-cared-for and manicured. His hair was sandy-brown, his eyes also a warm, ordinary brown, edged with lines that crinkled as he smiled. Had she met him through her job, she would have pegged him for an important and successful businessman, perhaps someone who gave yearly contributions to charities and played golf on a private course.
Which was probably exactly how he wanted to appear. She raised her chin, squared her shoulders, stepped further into the room. She would not cower at the wall. “So hi. Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
Jackson made a strangled noise, shaken from his daze. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to warn her against being reckless, but the other man chuckled.
“Miss Reisert,” he said, moving forward with his hand outstretched. “It is a pleasure.” When she went to shake the proffered hand, he smoothly changed his grip to bring her fingers to his lips.
Past him, Jackson’s face was a study in a struggle for self-control. Lisa might have laughed if she hadn’t been so very creeped out by the situation. Instead, she bore the chivalrous gesture with cold stoicism.
This did not go unobserved. “Of course.” The man straightened, releasing her hand. “Mr. Vondar informs me that you know less than we’d hoped, so perhaps I should start at the beginning. I am Mr. White; I woud appreciate it if you called me that, as I do not care to share any further names with you.” He smiled. “Why don’t we talk over dinner?”
Lisa noted with surprise that all three of them were wearing white, even Jackson, who still showed signs of an internal struggle. Was he warning her? Trying not to laugh? Trying not to stare? Or was he simply appalled that he had to break a fashion law for this mysterious man who now offered them a meal? Her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the eggs—how long ago? It was growing dark now, so it had been at least a day. “I’d like that,” she replied, proud of how steady her voice came out. Mr. White held out his arm like a gentleman and she took it, aware of Jackson’s stare burning holes over Mr. White’s shoulder.
It appeared that Mr. White was aware, too. “Come now, Mr. Rippner,” he said pleasantly, though his tone changed somewhat, “Some food will do you good as well. Get some meat on those skinny bones of yours.” He leaned toward Lisa and, in a stage whisper, he said, “The boy never gains weight. It’s a crime, I tell you. I have to watch everything I eat, but with him, poof. Nothing.”
What should she make of this man? He wasn’t in any hurry to do anything but have a dinner party. She decided to play along; it was all she could do. She pasted on a smile of her own and allowed herself to be led across the room to an elegantly-set table. Mr. White helped her into her seat as Jackson sat warily across from her. Mr. White took the end of the table and motioned to the food. “Please. Eat.”
Despite the rumbling of her stomach, Lisa suddenly didn’t feel hungry. She felt cold, drained, no little bit afraid, lightheaded, even. Instead of obeying, she put her hands in her lap and turned to Mr. White. “Actually,” she began, willing her courage to stay with her, “I’d like a few answers first.”
Jackson froze, eyes widening slightly as he tried to tell her something without words. For the second time, she felt like he was trying to warn her of something.
The other man, however, merely chuckled. “Miss Reisert,” he said amiably, not looking at her and instead studying the meat on his plate, “You never know when you’re going to eat again.” He cut a morsel and lifted it, twirling the fork slowly, his eyes still on the food. “The future is uncertain, wouldn’t you agree?”
His words, coupled with Jackson’s expression, chilled her further; the underlying meaning was not lost on her. Rather than argue more, she quietly picked up her knife and fork and began to eat superb food that she could barely taste.
.-.-.-.-.
Dinner went too slowly for Lisa. She listened to Mr. White hold forth on any number of topics, from the calm sea and how it made for such fine sailing to why he chose cherry instead of mahogany for the paneling around the walls of the room. Jackson said nothing beyond a few mumbled agreements when Mr. White addressed him directly. Once or twice during the meal, Lisa caught his gaze drifting toward her scar before he noticed that she saw him. Each time, his eyes would snap up to hers, then to Mr. White, who didn’t appear to detect any of this.
At last the ordeal was over, and Mr. White invited them to the other side of the room where a bar curved protectively around the finest selection of alcohol Lisa had ever seen. He went behind the bar and gazed thoughtfully at the wall. It struck Lisa, suddenly, unpleasantly, that she knew precisely what he would choose.
She was right. The food became a hard knot in her stomach when Mr. White turned to her and asked, “Domaine Charbay or Grey Goose, Miss Reisert?”
Lisa had to clear her throat before speaking. “Neither, if you don’t mind.”
He raised a brow. He held a bottle in each hand, weighing them. “I was sure Mr. Rippner told me you preferred vodka.” He sent a questioning glance to Jackson, who looked away angrily. Mr. White’s expression changed to one of realization, though he still smiled. “Ahh, I see. My mistake.”
“You know,” Lisa said tightly, “I’m really not up for drinking anything.” She had to make her hands unclench. “I’d really just like to know what the hell is going on.”
Mr. White sighed, though she got the sense that he didn’t mean it, that he expected this. “Very well, Miss Reisert,” he said as he put the bottles back on the shelf and poured himself a finger of Scotch. When he looked up at her again, his face was eerily reminiscent of Jackson’s mask. “I suppose I’ve held you up long enough.”
She nodded. “I think you have.” Jackson made that noise again, as though he was choking on something, but she ignored him and put her hands on the bar. She kept her eyes on Mr. White’s, constantly reminding herself that she could show no fear. “So tell me. Are you going to kill us?”
“Kill you?” Mr. White gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, my dear Miss Reisert, why ever would I want to kill you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, defensive, “Maybe the fact that I was knocked out and kidnapped?”
“Don’t be stupid, Leese,” Jackson said at once. “That very fact should indicate that he wanted us alive.”
She stared at him, but Mr. White nodded. “Mr. Rippner is correct; if I wanted you dead, rest assured, you would be dead now.”
Never mind the certainty she felt that he was being quite truthful. “Then why all the men chasing us?” she demanded. “Why the bombs? The people shooting at us?”
He made a noncommittal sound. “That was not my doing. I like to think my methods are more subtle than that.”
Perhaps if she wasn’t so tightly-strung at the moment, Lisa might have laughed at the turn of phrase she’d already heard from Jackson. “Then why—”
“Miss Reisert,” said Mr. White, smoothly interrupting her, “I wonder if perhaps you could help me convince Mr. Rippner that he is being foolish.”
A flicker of a glance at Jackson showed the muscle in his jaw twitching again. She waited until he looked back at her before returning her attention to Mr. White. “How so?” she asked, deliberately letting her tone convey that she felt he was being foolish in more ways than one. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jackson spin away in anger. Mr. White, however, laughed.
“You didn’t tell me how much I would like her, Mr. Rippner,” he scolded lightly. “Although now I see why she was able to defy you so well. I wonder how well you both would work as a team. You would be unstoppable—you with your intelligence, Miss Reisert with her common sense.”
Jackson snapped over his shoulder. “I was the best manager you had, Whi—Mister White,” he growled. “One bad job—”
“One moment of weakness,” Mr. White said, putting his glass down on the marble bartop with a firm clink, “was all you needed to suffer. I can’t hire you back after that. Not even knowing that the weakness was for such a good reason as Miss Reisert.”
Lisa didn’t know whether she should be insulted or not. The feeling was overshadowed by the understanding that Mr. White was Jackson’s former employer, the very person who Jackson had been trying to impress with his plan to kill Connolly. Things made more sense now; the fact that they were still alive, the sense of familiarity between the two men, the way Mr. White knew things like her dress size and what she preferred to drink. “As flattering as it is to be known as the reason Jackson failed in his mission,” she announced, letting the irony show through her tone, “I would really just like to know what. The hell. Is going. On.”
Mr. White looked expectantly at Jackson, who threw his hands into the air.
“Fine,” he growled. “Mr. White doesn’t want me to go after Don Connolly.”
“Okay, great. That means we agree.” Lisa crossed her arms and Mr. White laughed.
“It doesn’t—dammit, Leese.” Jackson thrust his fingers through his hair. Lisa had noticed that he did that when he found her particularly immovable.
She scowled. “Let’s think about this. You want to kill him because it will get the cleanup crew off our backs, Mr. White will hire you back, and you can go back to your life of killing people and making people arrange to have other people killed. Right?”
“It’s not—”
“It is,” she went on. “It is exactly what you want to do.”
“About that.” Mr. White held up a finger. “Killing Mr. Connolly will not create the opportunity that Mr. Rippner believes it will. I have already explained that to him.”
“I don’t care about getting my job back.”
“Good. Because I cannot give it to you.”
Lisa heard that undertone, the darker one from earlier. “But you can call off the cleanup crew, right?”
The look Mr. White sent her was both regretful and serious. “I am afraid, Miss Reisert,” he said sadly, “That I cannot do that, either.”
She had to grab the back of a chair to keep her knees from collapsing. If this man couldn’t help them, who could? She hadn’t known until now how much Jackson’s faith in his plan had buoyed her own hope; no wonder he was so angry. She blinked and looked at Jackson now, fighting her shock and fear.
“Did you enjoy the meal?” Mr. White’s question came from far away. She had to wrench her eyes from Jackson’s to even think.
“I…I…”
Mr. White toasted her with the rest of his Scotch before downing it. “I hope you did,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “It may be one of your last.”
.-.-.-.-.
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Post by cgoddess on Feb 20, 2006 18:31:40 GMT -5
And there we go for now. Chapter 11 will be up probably later tonight. 
CG
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Post by cgoddess on Feb 21, 2006 0:13:44 GMT -5
WELL...since fanfiction.net is being a b*tch, I'm posting chapter 11 here. Now you guys get to read it first. XD Let me know what you think.
CG
Chapter 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye.
.-.-.-.-.
Jackson muffled a curse and stalked over to the window, angrily flipping a dining chair out of his way. Mr. White tsk-ed and shook his head.
“Now, now, Mr. Rippner,” he said in the same sympathetic voice, “There’s no need to take out your frustrations on an innocent piece of furniture.” The voice held a warning note as well, the underlying seriousness that belied his pleasant nature. “I would appreciate it if you did your stomping about somewhere else. Perhaps the upper deck?”
“Sure.” The word came out like gravel; Lisa could practically feel the pain in her own throat when he spoke. She watched him shift from one foot to the other for a moment as he took several deep breaths, then he made a disgusted noise and strode from the room.
Lisa wondered if she should follow him; she didn’t feel like staying in the room with Mr. White. Just as she made up her mind to go, however, he stopped her.
“Miss Reisert,” he began, “I do want you to understand why I say I cannot help you.”
“Why?” she said bitterly. “Why worry about what I think at this point?”
He nodded in understanding. “Of course, you’re still upset about the incident a few years ago. Really, you’re overreacting. I hold no ill will toward you for your part in that.”
“How nice.” She bit off the words. “How very magnanimous of you.”
He sighed. “You do not grasp the situation, I’m afraid. This is my business. In my business, people tend to die. People betray and are, in turn, betrayed. Was I upset about Mr. Rippner’s failure? Obviously. For someone like him to fail so…magnificently, shall we say, was quite a surprise. He underestimated you and your will to fight back.” He poured himself another finger of scotch, adding ice this time. “It was nearly a fatal mistake on his part. You would have done what I did, if one of your employees botched a job that lost you an important customer. Even a star employee makes bad judgements, and sometimes they cannot be forgiven.”
“So you fired him.”
“Naturally.” There was silence between them for a moment while he took a lingering sip of his drink. “However, as in any similar situation in legitimate business, I do not feel the need to exact revenge upon Mr. Rippner. Or you, or your family. You inconvenienced me, yes, but things happen. I simply can’t hire him back; to do so would send the wrong impression to the rest of my staff.”
The mention of her family caused her heart to twist within her chest. “Then why can’t you call off the cleanup crew? Why can’t you stop them, at least?”
Mr. White fixed her with a pitying look. “Because, just as you would not continue to pay or provide benefits for one of your former employees, neither can I offer protection to Mr. Rippner. I am truly sorry, but you are both on your own.”
He turned his back to her, signaling gently that they were done discussing this for now. Lisa felt her chest heave, familiar panic setting in. She made herself calm, forced her breathing back to normal. When she felt sure her legs would not buckle under her weight, she went to the door.
“Miss Reisert,” she heard Mr. White say, “I wish I could help you, I honestly do. You must understand my position.”
“I do,” she said quietly as she stepped out into the hall.
He said nothing more, and she closed the door behind her.
.-.-.-.-.
Mr. Vondar had told her not to wander about unescorted, but Lisa didn’t feel like waiting in the hall until someone came to find her. She could see the ladder to the upper deck from here, and she needed fresh air before she ended up locked in another gilded cage.
She looked down the hall, and, seeing no one, climbed the ladder as quickly as she could. It passed through another empty hallway before she reached the top and pushed the hatch upward. The smell of the ocean hit her, as did the cool breeze from the waves. Half-wishing she had a wrap or jacket but unwilling to try going back to her room for one, she clambered out onto the deck. From where she stood, she saw no one save a guard stationed at the prow of the yacht. His eyes were fixed lazily on the ocean; either he hadn’t heard her or simply didn’t care.
A flash of white in the gloom at the stern made her crane her neck—Jackson. She shoved down the thought that he was the only familiar thing she had right now as she approached him. He was still angry, though a worrisome air of defeat seemed to have added its weight to his shoulders. His back was to her, his arms braced on the rail, his head down. Seeing him like this bothered her; the more out of control Jackson was, the less chance they had of making it out alive.
If they even had a chance, given what Mr. White had said.
Jackson heard her as she approached with caution. Without looking at her, he shook his head. “We are so very f*cked right now.”
The unexpected finality of the words infuriated her. “Way to go,” she said icily. “Great mindset you have there, Mr. Rippner.”
“Augh. Don’t call me that,” he replied, covering his face with his hands. “White thinks it’s polite, but it grates on my nerves.”
“So sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb your fantastic sulk, Mister Rippner, but I was kind of hoping we could maybe figure out a way to get out of this fiasco.”
“Now you’re just being a biatch,” he snarled. “Why don’t you go cry in your room or something?”
“I hate you.” Lisa gripped the rail, her face hard, her jaw set. She wouldn’t, couldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her cry. It was getting difficult to keep that vow. “I hate you so much, Jackson.”
He snorted. “The feeling is mutual.”
They stayed like that for a while, both stiff and seething, looking at the changing waves below and the churning wake of the yacht’s powerful motor, not looking at each other for fear of seeing their dread mirrored on the other’s face.
Finally, though, she couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. She was startled to see a small bandage on his temple, something she hadn’t noticed at dinner. Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached up to touch it. “Jackson, what—”
He slapped her hand away out of instinct, then grabbed it when he recognized what it was. Instead of letting her go, he pulled her hard against him. “Shut up,” he hissed, burying his face in her hair, his voice a whisper. “Just shut up and don’t say anything. You piss me off every time you open your goddamn mouth.”
How sweet to be needed, she thought wryly; she considered saying it aloud, but she knew that if she did, the moment would be lost. She let her arms wrap around his narrow waist, feeling the lump of his gun beneath the jacket. Even here, he went armed, it seemed; she wondered if Mr. White or Mr. Vondar knew or even cared about it. More important was why the hell she let him cling to her like this. She’d made it clear, she thought, that she was off-limits and that his attempts at seduction weren’t going to go anywhere.
On the other hand, what was wrong with accepting a little warmth? Let him think she was doing this for his sake. She just didn’t want to go back to her room right then. In light of all they had faced, all they had yet to face, she needed this tiny comfort, even if it was just for a moment.
Besides, she could always punch him in the mouth later.
.-.-.-.-.
Jackson only let go of her when Mr. Vondar came looking for her; even then, he was loath to release her into the other man’s care. Mr. Vondar, however, would have none of it; he gently but firmly reminded Jackson that Mr. White had very strict instructions, and as guests of Mr. White, they had no choice but to obey. So it was that Lisa found herself back in her cabin again, where another plain white box rested on the bed.
“Clothes for tomorrow,” supplied Mr. Vondar. “Mr. White wanted to be sure you would be properly dressed when we drop you and Mr. Rippner off at the marina in the morning.”
She ran her fingertips over the box, thinking. “Mr. Vondar…”
“Yes?” He paused at the door.
“Why did Mr. White bring us here? Was it just to tell us that he couldn’t help Jackson?”
The tall man shrugged his wide shoulders. “I can only assume that he wanted to tell Mr. Rippner to his face, Miss Reisert. Mr. Rippner was his best operative, and perhaps his favorite. And…” he trailed off.
“And?”
He smiled, a little sadly, she thought. “And I think he wanted to meet you personally. You are, after all, the one who took down his best operative.”
With that, he closed the door, leaving Lisa to herself and her thoughts.
.-.-.-.-.
Morning found them docked at the promised marina. Lisa donned the new clothes—a less dramatic navy blue suit and a pair of very dramatic-yet-matching Manolos—and was escorted by Mr. Vondar to the ramp. Jackson was already there, pacing on the dock in what appeared to be a new grey suit of his own. He hardly looked in her direction, merely nodded sharply to Mr. Vondar and took Lisa’s arm, leading her away.
When they were a safe distance from the boat, she jerked her arm from his grasp. He tried to catch it again, but one look at her expression made him give up on the attempt. Instead, he marched to the BMW that someone had parked nearby. The laptop bag rested on the back seat. Lisa tried not to think about how someone had planned all this beforehand, down to making sure they had their own transportation when they were done. “Get in,” he instructed, doing his slow inspection around the frame before flinging his door open and collapsing into the seat.
His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, flexing and unflexing, restless. With a groan, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the backs of his hands. Lisa waited for him to get himself together, still upset about his behavior last night and Mr. White’s admission.
At length, he expelled a breath. “Aren’t you going to ask how I am? If I’m ok?” His words were mocking, daring her to ask her usual questions.
“No,” she stated.
He looked over at her this time, seemed to take in what she was wearing. “Donna Karan looks good on you.”
She glowered at him. “Why don’t you just drive us to wherever and let’s not chitchat?”
“I was just paying you a goddamn compliment.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t choose the suit or the shoes. This wasn’t exactly the way I imagined getting a pair of Manolos, thanks, and I don’t really feel like talking about fashion with the world’s biggest clotheshorse assassin—excuse me, manager—while my life and the lives of my family become harder and harder to save.” She slumped against her seat. He was probably trying to salvage their tenuous—what, relationship?—but she didn’t care at the moment. She just wanted to get the hell out of there, wanted her flannel PJs and her quiet existence back. “So just shut up and drive, and get your managerial brain back on track to keep us alive, okay?”
“Well, this is just peachy,” he muttered, and started the car. “I’m officially in hell.”
.-.-.-.-.
The drive back to her father’s house was completed in strained silence. When they got there, Jackson grabbed his bag and mutely went to unlock the door of the house. Lisa followed him, then pushed past him to go up to her room.
He stopped her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Upstairs,” she replied, as though he was stupid. He shook his head.
“You’re going to get yourself killed if you’re not careful. Wait here—do not argue with me. You want to get through this alive? Fine. We play by my rules, and my rules say that we sweep the house every time we come in. That way we’ll know if something is out of place.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little bit paranoid?”
The seriousness of his gaze made her stop. Softly, he said, “I have to be paranoid. It’s the only reason we weren’t blown up two days ago, and it’s the only reason we aren’t the ones lying in the alley, full of lead.”
Lisa bit her lip and looked away. When she looked back, he was already making his rounds, checking cabinets and closets and every room of the house. Did he always live like this? she wondered. What kind of existence was it to have to check every corner of your home, every time you came home? How did someone survive without trusting anyone? He hadn’t even had a goldfish, nothing alive at all in that sad office apartment.
He came back down the stairs. “It looks clean. We’ll be able to stay the night, but we leave first thing in the morning.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know yet.” At her incredulous expression, he smiled darkly. “That’s why we’re not leaving until tomorrow.”
“Wonderful. Then I guess I should go pack?”
“Sure, whatever.” He was already not listening to her as he pulled out the laptop and the files. Within moments, he’d arranged everything on the kitchen island and powered up the computer.
Lisa watched him for a while, but he never looked up from his study of the screen and the files. She decided to leave him to his work and went upstairs.
She changed out of the suit and beautiful yet uncomfortable shoes in favor of something more relaxed. Following his lead, she chose an expanding leather travel bag that would be easier to stow than a hard suitcase and began to load it with whatever she thought could be necessary. The suit went in—it would be silly not to take it, and she didn’t know when she might need it—as well as a good supply of socks, underwear, a pair of sneakers, jeans…by the time she was done, she had a wardrobe suitable for just about any situation. She went to the medicine chest and pulled down the first aid kit. Something told her that traveling anywhere with Jackson might not be exactly safe.
The bag wasn’t too heavy when it was done, which made her happy. The last thing she needed was for her luggage to slow her down. She snapped the shoulder strap to the rings and set it by the door.
Once packed, there wasn’t much else to do. She busied herself upstairs, going through her room and making note of the things she wanted to keep, things that other friends and family members would want as well. It was difficult in the beginning, but the current situation had hardened her a little and made it easier as she went on. She skipped lunch, still unwilling to talk to the mercurial Jackson, and when she was done with her room, she moved on to her father’s.
By dinnertime, she was starving again. It couldn’t be healthy for her to eat so erratically; she would have to go down and face Jackson at some point lest she pass out from hunger and give him one more thing to gripe about. She picked up the bag and headed downstairs.
Jackson was where she’d left him, perched on one of the barstools at the island. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his pale grey shirt. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he had tilted his head back to read the screen through them. When he heard her approach, he changed the position of his head so he could look at her over the tops of the frames. His eyes flickered to the bag, then back to hers. “Already packed?”
“Yeah,” she said, dropping the bag by the island and coming around to look over his shoulder. “So where are we going?” The file with the photos was open, and she touched the one of her father and Jackson at the bar.
“Annapolis.”
She looked sharply at him. “The hell we are.” Cold comprehension dawned over her. “You’re still going through with this idea of killing Connolly, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he snapped, taking the picture from her again. “Just because White won’t help doesn’t mean I can’t do this.”
“Uhm, yes, Jackson, it does.” She was near the end of her rope with him. She ignored the voice inside her that reminded her she was always near the end of her rope with him. “He told you it’s not going to make a difference. You’re not getting your job back. You’re not going to get the cleanup crew off your neck.”
“No, White said he can’t call them off. I don’t care about my job, Leese. I just want to stay alive at this point.”
“Great, wow, so going to Annapolis and right into my boss’s territory is such a smart way to do that. You know how many Secret Service agents know your face by memory? You can’t blend in there the way you can here. Someone is going to notice you and someone is going to come gunning for you.”
“Just like here,” he amended. “You just summed up my life perfectly.”
Lisa closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, he was putting the files away. “Wait,” she said, putting her hand on the one with the photos. “Just tell me what you’re planning. How is this going to help us? Why are you still going through with this?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
His dismissal made her fume. “Well, maybe, just maybe, you should make me understand. You dragged me into this in the beginning, and you’re dragging me along now. I can’t help you, I can’t even avoid being a liability to you unless you start to trust me with things.” She slid the file from his reach and kept her eyes on his. “Everything. You have to let me help you, because otherwise I’m dead weight.”
They were both standing now, almost nose to nose. For a heartbeat, Lisa thought he would try to kiss her again. When all he did was reach past her to take the file, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
He didn’t move away, however. The folder twirled in his fingers. “I don’t tell you because I don’t think you want to know. I really don’t.”
“I don’t have a choice,” she whispered, and they both knew she was right.
In the end, he just closed his eyes. “In the morning. We have a long drive ahead of us, and I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“Promise me,” she insisted, believing in his truthfulness. She could read the capitulation in his face; the mask was gone again in favor of bone-weary acceptance.
“I promise,” he said flatly. He raised a hand to her face, touched her lips lightly with his thumb. “But not until tomorrow.”
Lisa stepped back, nodded. “Then goodnight, Jackson.”
He smiled a little, ruefully. “Goodnight.”
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Post by Kaylee on Feb 21, 2006 18:31:25 GMT -5
Wow! I really like this one  It took me a while to read it all (i've been working on it since last night... I slept and schooled in between obviously) I LOVE how jackson is 'astute in fashion' I think that's how you put it? probably not. cant wait to see what happens to them next! <33 kaylee |
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Neun
Newly Infected
Posts: 18
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Post by Neun on Feb 21, 2006 21:20:15 GMT -5
Absolute brilliance. I can imagine it happening. Shame it's not actually a movie, because I'd probably watch it a million times. Bravo! Keep up the good work. I've been following this story since you first posted it on fanfiction.net (though I've been too lazy to review. Sorry) and I've loved it and watched for updates everyday. |
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Post by cgoddess on Feb 21, 2006 21:23:35 GMT -5
Absolute brilliance. I can imagine it happening. Shame it's not actually a movie, because I'd probably watch it a million times. Bravo! Keep up the good work. I've been following this story since you first posted it on fanfiction.net (though I've been too lazy to review. Sorry) and I've loved it and watched for updates everyday. |
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Post by hell0sunshine on Feb 22, 2006 4:02:45 GMT -5
I am completely in LOVE with this story.
and with YOU for writing it. ;D
*prints out copies and leaves them around campus*
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Post by Psyche on Feb 22, 2006 11:50:53 GMT -5
Ahhh! This is so good! I can't wait for the next chapter!! |
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Post by cgoddess on Feb 24, 2006 19:07:29 GMT -5
Chapter 12: Road Trip
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye or anything by Luc Besson.
AN: Just a short update today; and a little revving up for the action that's on its way.
.-.-.-.-.
Lisa scoured the refrigerator for anything else that might spoil and came up with enough bread, milk and eggs to make French toast for the two of them. While she cooked, Jackson took the remaining food and packed a tote bag for their trip. He planned to make the two- or three-day drive with as few stops as possible, so the snacks would come in handy.
They ate in silence. Neither one had spoken to the other all morning, each absorbed in the preparations to leave. When they were done, Jackson put his dishes into the sink and disappeared into the living room, only to reappear a moment later with his suitcase. He went upstairs, and soon Lisa heard the water turn on when he got into the shower. She felt a pang of possessiveness over the house, that he had just completely intruded upon her private life. Then again, she was about to spend a long time cooped up with him in the car; she couldn’t deny that it would be easier to bear if he was at least clean.
Lisa made a few calls while she washed the dishes, uncaring that she was using the hot water. First was her mother, to apologize in advance in case she couldn’t make it for Thanksgiving. She hated lying to her family, but she made up a story about needing to iron something out at work in Annapolis. The excuse didn’t exactly work in that her mother sensed a lie, but they managed to get off the phone without arguing about it too much. In the end, Lisa broke down and told her mother that she just needed some time alone, and that a Thanksgiving celebration wasn’t her idea of solitude. She was relieved to hear that she was of course still welcome, should she change her mind. There were two weeks before the holiday. Maybe she would be done with this nightmare before then.
Once she got herself together after hanging up with her mother, Lisa took a deep breath and called her lawyer to give him the same story. She told him that she would consider what to do with the house sometime after the holidays, when she could think. The lawyer was easier to convince, and he wished her well and offered his condolences for her father’s death.
All that was left was to wait for Jackson’s toilette. Lisa allowed herself to smirk a little as she took the trash to the curb. He spent more time primping than she did; it was amusing to think of him getting his hair just so, fixing the part so it fell into his eyes in just the right way.
“Lisa! Why, it really is you!”
She jumped, spun to face the source of the voice that came from behind her, then laughed in relief. “Mrs. Sotheby. I didn’t even hear you come up.”
Her old neighbor folded her hands, tugging on her dog’s leash to keep him from sniffing at Lisa’s trash. Lisa bent to scratch behind the papillon’s ears. “I was so sorry to hear about your father. It was such a terrible business. Joe was a good man.” She peered at Lisa’s face, hunting for any sign that Lisa was not keeping herself up. “How have you been doing? Richard and I were just wondering if you were going to sell the house.”
“I don’t know yet,” Lisa replied honestly. “I just told the lawyer that I’m going to think about it over the holidays. It’s…too soon now.”
Mrs. Sotheby nodded. “We’ll all miss him. He used to pet Scooter when we came by on our walks, just like you’re doing now.” Her gaze flicked to the BMW. “Was that your boyfriend who came in with you?” she asked, eyes alight with speculation.
“Ah…” Lisa’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “J—no, no, he’s just a friend.” She was aware of how the older woman failed to believe her.
Though she said no more about it, it was obvious that Mrs. Sotheby was torn between enjoying the idea that she’d figured out some gossip and her automatic disapproval of two unmarried people spending the night under one roof. “Well, I hope his car works better now. Richard was chuckling at the idea of ‘all that German engineering’ always needing to be fixed.”
“What?” Lisa was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, he saw the men who were here earlier, working on the car. The tow truck in the road.” Mrs. Sotheby looked at Lisa as if she should know what she was talking about.
Lisa felt a chill run up her spine. “Right! Silly me. Sorry, my mind has been wandering. Yeah, I think it’s got to be better now.” She had to get inside as soon as possible. “Listen, I’ve got a ton to do, actually, I’m sorry. Don’t mean to cut you off, but—”
“Say no more.” Mrs. Sotheby tugged on her dog’s leash. “Come on, Scooter, let’s get going. Lisa, drop by next time you’re in town. You can even bring your…‘friend’.” She tittered. “Take care, sweetie!”
The pair walked away, followed by a halfhearted wave from Lisa, who promptly dropped her hand when they rounded the corner. She nearly ran into the house, burst into the kitchen to see Jackson coming down the stairs. He looked more like himself, showered, shaven, dressed in another of his expensive suits. At the sight of her expression, his brows knit. She saw his hand go behind his back. “What is it?”
“You didn’t call a mechanic for your BMW this morning, did you?”
“No.” He looked quizzical, then understanding dawned. “sh*t.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said as she slumped against the counter. “One of the neighbors saw some men working on it. Said they had a tow truck and everything.”
He let loose a string of expletives, tossing his bag to the floor. “Well that’s just fan-f*cking-tastic. I love that car.” He paced a few times, taking a look at the driveway through the curtain in the door. “Okay, let’s think. Don’t touch it, don’t even try the doors. The whole thing could be wired to blow.”
“Are you sure that’s the case?”
He shook his head, but said, “I don’t want to take the chance. Our hunters have already proven their fascination with explosives; after failing with my office and the parking garage, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were a little more thorough this time. Crap.”
“So what now?” Lisa felt panic creep over her. “We can’t just call a taxi to drive us to Maryland.”
“No, we can’t. Or—wait.” He gave her a strange look. “Maybe we can.”
Lisa raised a brow at this. She watched him whip out his cell phone and dial a number. While it rang, he again moved the curtain on the door to look wistfully out at his car.
Suddenly, he was all business. “Good morning. Are you in Miami? Excellent. I need a driver, as soon as possible. Annapolis. Two passengers, one male, one female. Yes. The usual. It’s about eight thirty.” He paused, sighed, rolled his eyes and checked his Bvlgari with a flourish. He stared at the watch’s face for a few seconds, then, “It’s eight twenty-six…now.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Great, see you in…seventeen minutes.”
“That was, ah, specific.” Lisa noticed that he had synchronized the watch upon saying the time.
“The driver likes to be punctual.” He sighed as he put the phone away. “Very punctual.”
.-.-.-.-.
Fifteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, Jackson informed her that they would be leaving. She picked up her bag and followed him out the front door. He stood in her driveway for a moment, expressions warring on his face as he studied his car with longing. She could swear she heard him mutter, “Don’t worry, baby, if those bastards hurt you, they’ll pay,” but he quickly shut his mouth when she got close.
“Men and their cars,” she deadpanned. “Where’s your driver?”
He sent her a peeved look, but before he could say anything, a black Audi approached the house and pulled up to the curb, purring. Jackson’s expression changed to one of triumph. “Seventeen minutes,” he grinned wolfishly.
There was the sound of doors unlocking, and Jackson moved to the trunk, which also opened on cue. While he stowed their bags, Lisa went to open the back door.
Another man’s hand reached it first, smoothly lifting the handle and opening it in one motion. She glanced up in surprise.
“Miss,” the man inclined his head. He was taller than Jackson, hawk-nosed and chiseled, with thinning hair cut close, almost military-style. Something told her he didn’t spend all his time in the driver’s seat—perhaps it was the way he filled out the shoulders of his immaculate black suit. He certainly didn’t look the way she expected a hired driver to look, though when she gave him a tentative smile, she received a pleasant one in return. “Allow me. Watch your head.”
She caught the clipped British accent in his voice, a far cry from the tough patois she anticipated. “Thank you,” she replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jackson scowl as he got in on the driver’s side while she settled herself on the pristine black leather of the seat. The other man sent her another smile and shut the door, not too hard. He seemed to cherish his car even more than Jackson did the BMW.
The driver slid into his own seat as though he’d practiced the motion, touched a panel that locked the doors, smoothly pulled away from the curb. Jackson produced his phone once again and handed it to Lisa.
“Call the police,” he growled.
“What?”
“They can’t trace my phone. Call them and tell them to send the bomb squad after my car.”
She looked at him, dubious. “Why don’t you? Anyway, won’t they think it’s weird to get a tip like that from someone random?”
“Just tell them you saw some suspicious activity,” he insisted. “I don’t care what, just get them out there to fix my f*cking car.”
The driver glanced at Jackson in the rear-view mirror. “I wondered why you left it behind. I didn’t think you’d part with that piece of sh—”
“Frank.” Jackson closed his eyes; Lisa could swear he was taking a page from her book and counting to ten.
While Jackson wasn’t looking, ‘Frank’ met Lisa’s eyes in the mirror and winked. She stifled a grin before Jackson could see as she took the phone. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
.-.-.-.-.
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Post by punctuator on Feb 24, 2006 22:43:47 GMT -5
"Frank." Ha! Jackson's possibly the one guy on the planet who could make Frank seem laid-back by comparison. The potential for fashion-friction, too--picturing our two natty dressers in a dustup: "NOT THE SUIT! NOT THE SUIT--!", while Lisa thinks, It's like The Odd Couple, only with two Felixes--and guns. Fun chapter, CG! Any chance they'll encounter Mickey "The One-Bullet Machine Gun" O'Neil...?  |
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Post by cgoddess on Feb 24, 2006 23:49:19 GMT -5
"Frank." Ha! Jackson's possibly the one guy on the planet who could make Frank seem laid-back by comparison. The potential for fashion-friction, too--picturing our two natty dressers in a dustup: "NOT THE SUIT! NOT THE SUIT--!", while Lisa thinks, It's like The Odd Couple, only with two Felixes--and guns. Fun chapter, CG! Any chance they'll encounter Mickey "The One-Bullet Machine Gun" O'Neil...? XD You know, I was going to see if anyone caught the reference; you rule. <3 No, Mickey won't be showing up, unfortunately, because I think he'd end up stealing the show. Er, FIC. XD As it is, it's hard to keep Frank from doing the same thing...I think I'm going to have to write a fic just for him. <333 I just think it's funny that my two current actor obsessions (Cillian, of course, and Jason Statham) are polar opposites...which is what inspired me to put them both in this fic. Have you SEEN the latest Men's Health magazine cover? Srsly. Jason, hip-deep in water. Rar. |
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Post by Kaylee on Feb 25, 2006 0:03:23 GMT -5
Ahhh. that reference is totally lost on me... but I liked the chapter and the shortness of it made me want more. |
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Post by cgoddess on Feb 25, 2006 0:21:45 GMT -5
Ahhh. that reference is totally lost on me... but I liked the chapter and the shortness of it made me want more. there will be more, probably Sunday. <3 The reference is from The Transporter and Transporter 2, a fun pair of movies with one of my favorite characters EVER. Highly recommended. |
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Post by Psyche on Feb 25, 2006 0:44:04 GMT -5
Yay! Great chapter!!! I'm really liking this, please update soon! |
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Rania
Seriously Infected
"Me and her. King and Queen. Forever."
Posts: 78
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Post by Rania on Feb 26, 2006 17:00:00 GMT -5
How can Wes Craven not have signed a contract with you yet?!
This story is soooooooooo amazing.
I love the way its being written.
So detailed and realistic.
I just adore it.
Please post more soon.
I can hardly wait.
<3 ;D
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