Author Note: After much consideration, I decided to rewrite this story. The first was a feeble attempt, and I hope that now, after learning to write differently that this will be a better read. I hope you like this one as much as you liked my first, hopefully you like this one better! A few things have reamained the same, but obvious tweaks have been made. This version is much darker than the first, but I hope still humorous in parts.
Complete Synopsis: After two years, Jackson is asked to make another attempt on Keefe's life. After accepting, he must use his old connection, Lisa Reisert, as before. This time however, he will be using her friend Cynthia, and her father Joe, as well. But someone else has already begun to pursue them. After realizing this, Jackson makes his move early, causing problems for everyone involved. He must wait out until the directed time to complete his task; leaving them all cramped toegther with tensions rising quickly.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, why would I have to write this?
Chapter One: Frankenstein's Encore
Although it had been two years since that fateful day on the flight to Miami, Lisa had still found it hard to move on. She was ashamed of herself and loathed the mere sight of the reflection she was forced to look at every morning. Every bump in her face, every new line was a reminder that she wasn't strong enough. She had thought that overcoming her adversary would have given her self morale that one last boost to keep her going; to keep her fighting. Sadly, like any drug you take it faded away with time, leaving her more vulnerable than before and most of all more terrified.
Her days had become meticulous routines where she avoided the world, her feelings, and her friends. But the one thing she could never seem to relieve herself of, were her fears. Each one seemed to eat at her like a rabid vulture; picking away at her soul until there was nothing left but more holes to fill with new doubts and struggles to overcome her obstacles. She knew her life was petty and sad and pathetic but she couldn't find it in herself to care anymore. And she hated herself for it.
Walking up the stone steps that lead her to her workplace, Lisa Reisert mentally readied herself for the disastrous day ahead which she knew was coming quickly. With every step a new nagging voice in her head reminded her of things she had ignored and neglected to do the day before. The hotel would likely be a chaotic mess, with the desperate Cynthia running up and down the halls in her high heels mumbling things to herself like always. This neither humored nor irritated Lisa. She had become neutral to most feelings, letting things pass without recognition.
She stopped momentarily in front of the doors, her eyes averting her gaze to the newsstands two feet away from her. Her eyes grazed the lines quickly for anything that might stand out. After satisfying her mind that no news about him had come up she placed her hand on the metal door in front of her, swinging it open with a more powerful jerk than she had intended.
She stepped inside briskly, walking towards the front desk; her eyes becoming slits as she examined the room before her. It was strangely quiet and serene; nothing seemed to be going amiss. She almost found this annoying; knowing that she hadn't done a list of things she was supposed to do the night before. She walked around the large oak desk and clicked the nearest mouse to refresh the computer screen. She opened the page where the reminders were set, and lists of duties to be done to see it fresh and clean. Her stomach boiled with anger. She didn't like this new habit Cynthia had picked up lately. Lisa depended on Cynthia to depend on Lisa. It was something she had become use to; without it she only felt more unlike her real self. Instead of running around frazzled as Lisa had hoped before, Cynthia walked into the room calmly.
"Good morning, Lisa." Cynthia chirped brightly as she found a clean cup and poured coffee into it expertly.
Lisa almost snorted at this welcome, but refrained from doing so. Since when had mornings become good? Saying such things were contradictions in Lisa's reformed eyes. She found joy in nothing anymore and certainly didn't find anything good in waking up at the crack of dawn to come here and work tediously for eight straight hours. Her silence didn't seem to dampen Cynthia's spirits as she gave Lisa a smile and joined her behind the desk at her own station. Lisa turned without a word and walked into the employees break room, opening her small locker and dropping her things in it. She closed it with a snap and walked towards the counter across the room.
She turned the faucet on and washed her hands thoroughly, dousing them in a generous amount of soap and scrubbing as if her job was a surgeon's. Staying clean had become one of Lisa's new habits. The incident on the plane had exposed her under dirty lights in her mind and she tried desperately to wash it away. But washing her hands, brushing her teeth, showering more than once a day could never fully rid her of the rank smell she imagined he had sniffed out during her breakdowns. The lonely little girl, terrified of the world that she had desperately covered up had been broken down piece by piece each time he spoke to her in a threatening voice. She had never fooled him into thinking she was as strong as she believed she was and that made her feel dirty and disgusting. A stranger uncovered her darkest secrets and pulled them out to hang in everyone's eyes like a hunter would proudly portray his game.
Her hands stiffened slightly at the mere thought of him but she pushed the anger down with force. She turned off the water and reached for a paper towel, drying her hands quickly; almost coming to anticipate starting her shift. Of course, this feeling passed quickly; she took no happiness or pride in her job as she had before.
As she was walking out of the room her eyes fell onto an unmistakably blue pen with a Frankenstein head donned on its crown. Her heart jumped to her throat and her stomach churned with bile.
"Cynthia?" She barked out, not even recognizing her own voice.
"Yes?" A fearful sound took place of her bubbly voice as Lisa turned to look at her.
"Where did this come from?" She asked her in an accusing manner, holding up the pen to her eye level. She bore holes into Cynthia's body as she feebly attempted to speak.
"I…I have no idea." She said giving the pen a terrified glance before looking back into her boss' face.
"Who was in here?" She asked angrier than before.
"No one, I swear Lisa. No one was in here. I'm the only person here besides you."
Lisa almost thought about accusing Cynthia out right in her mind but shook the outrageous idea from her head. Cynthia was no malicious person, she had heard the whole story from Lisa; nothing had been left out. There was no way that she had done this herself or was lying about not knowing who had done it.
The TV balanced near the ceiling above interrupted Lisa's thoughts with a blaring update report. Lisa hastily turned it off and turned back towards Cynthia. But Cynthia was no longer there. Lisa felt her annoyance raising high again, but it died away at the sound of Cynthia answering the phone. Lisa hadn't even heard the ringing. She placed a hand on her stomach as she realized the pen was still in her hand.
Before thinking about what she was doing, she opened her locker and dropped the pen into her purse. She had no idea why she had just done this, but couldn't face pulling the wretched thing back out again. She slammed the locker door shut and sat down heavily in a nearby chair. Who was doing this to her? Only one person came to mind. The cold hearted man with matching icy blue eyes.
"Lisa?"
Her thoughts were shattered as Cynthia's call registered in her mind. She pushed herself up and out of her chair and walked out of the room and towards her station.
"Yes?" She asked her, trying to at least put a friendly note in her voice. She didn't hate Cynthia, but she didn't want to be her friend. She wanted to be alone and be pathetic all by herself.
"Your father was just on the phone. He was wondering if you were ok. I told him you were fine and that yes you were sure." She rushed out while picking at the frayed edge of the desk.
Lisa couldn't help but let a smile form on her lips. "Thank-you Cynthia. I really don't want to talk to him." She said before turning to her computer as if to say the conversation was over. She clicked on her screen again and typed in her name and password, her fingers pressing the keys without mental effort. After all these years she certainly had become use to this. It never changed.
She ignored Cynthia's obvious stares and read her notifications quickly. The Stewart's had cancelled their reservations; Mr. Preston had switched his arrival date. She quickly changed the hotel schedules around and then found herself with nothing to do. It was always like this though, in the mornings.
The arrival of the rest of the staff at least made things a little less boring. Lisa was not a favorer of gossip but it at least kept her thoughts from the mysterious item that now sat comfortably in her purse. Apparently one of the guards had an affair with a client, which deeply sickened Lisa. He was no looker and actually quite a dirty person with eyes that popped out and a gaunt body. She didn't want to even think about what he might look like naked. She felt a quick feeling of pity towards the poor woman who had to endure it.
Her musing was broken as Maureen, a new girl who had proved herself sufficient enough so far, addressed her kindly with a hello. Lisa looked up and gave a forced smile and nod, busying herself so the woman didn't press further. To her relief, Maureen turned away to speak with a new customer.
She fell into her routine, checking people in and checking them out; fulfilling special needs and making sure everyone was comfortable. As the hours pressed on only one thing stayed firmly plastered to the front of her mind and that was the pen which she itched to look at again with each passing second.
o()o()o()o
After Jackson was taken off by the ambulance, he was secured in a hospital not far from St. Petersburg. The hospital was a private place, owned by the people he worked for. Of course, this didn't mean he got special treatment. If anything every nurse that came in plunged needles into him with such pure force he wondered if they actually hated him already. He of course, was use to being hated but not by complete strangers. After a few days thoughts he realized that he was being punished. He hadn't finished his job. It had been a complete disaster and he of course, was solely to blame. He did not deny that most of it was his fault, but he knew that there had been someone else pulling the strings that he supposedly had complete control over.
After he was released he stood trial by his foreman's that unanimously ordered him to be executed. Jackson was no idiot; he weaseled his way out from under them like he always did. It was easy to manipulate people who clearly were beneath you in mindset and actions.
So it was a complete surprise when he got a call from his former boss commanding that he see him. Jackson of course snidely refused but a threat was put upon his brother's family; as was tradition with Dennis Watson. But who was the one who came out looking the most foolish man in that situation? Jackson of course, for not at least securing his brother and family so no further threats could be made. He had thought of this but he and James had never been on the greatest terms. Nay, Jackson's last memory of his brother was punching him in the face. Still, he wouldn't wish him dead. This is why he was currently standing in his familiar old workplace.
He looked up and faced his reflection in the mirror. Under the harsh lights and permanent grime on the mirror he looked worse than ever. There were dark circles under his eyes, with red lines webbed across the whites of them. He ran a hand over his face roughly and stood up straight. He had to look cool and composed. Watson loved to make other people feel like shit in his presence. It had never worked on him personally, of course, but he didn't want to leave room for error.
He sighed and straightened his tie his eyes smarting at the sight of the circular scar on his throat. The pretty little present the whore had left him with two years before. The thing haunted him without mercy, literally living in his nightmares. It was a mark of weakness and vulnerability. They were two things Jackson disdained highly. He pulled up his collar to try to hide it, but to no avail. He clenched his jaw as his temper rose. He slammed his fists into the counter, shaking the foundation.
He couldn't let it get to him, not now. He needed to stay calm. He blew heavily out his nostrils and again straightened himself before walking out the dingy bathroom. The hallway outside was as crude as the place he had just been in, with the dim lights flickering rapidly; casting eerie shadows over the worn and yellowed walls. He knew for a fact Watson had enough money to renovate this place, but refused to do so. The man was despicable with his need to scare people. Jackson didn't have to make himself scare people; it came as naturally to him as breathing.
He stopped in front of two massive oak doors and pulled the right one open with little resistance. They were meant to be heavy but Jackson wasn't a feeble man. He walked slowly through the opening without hesitation. He set a stony look on his face. If there was one thing Jackson Rippner was good at it, it was hiding his feelings. No, he had no feelings, and that is why they were easy to hide. Because, they didn't exist. He shut the door quietly behind him and looked towards the large desk in front of him.
"Hello Rippner," Watson greeted him with no pleasantness in his voice. "Have a seat." He said motioning to the chair in front of his desk.
Jackson plopped down into it, sinking further than he expected. He sat up, trying to make himself bigger than the man in the seat before him. He smirked realizing this chair was meant to make you feel small, to feel belittled. How very…predictable. He glared at Watson waiting for him to speak. A minute passed, and he was too impatient to wait.
"Well?" He asked coldly, expectant of an answer.
"Well, what?" Watson said staring back.
He sighed, "Don't fuck with me Watson. I'm in no mood for your little games." He snapped bitterly, leering at the man.
Watson chuckled. "That's why I always liked you Jack. You always had a…'temper' we'll call it." He said smiling disgustingly, showing overgrown, sharp teeth.
Jackson shivered slightly. Watson was creeping him out. He shifted and looked him straight in the eye, and smirked.
"Yes, well, I'm doubt that's why you asked me here." He said impatiently. "So, let's just get to it shall we? What do you want?" He said slowly losing his calm.
"What do you think, Jackson?" Watson said sighing. "We need you to finish the job."
"It was made clear to me the job was abandoned." Jackson told him with a slight sneer. He wouldn't be a pawn of Watson and watch as he delightfully played with him for his own jollies.
"Well, it has been reopened."
Jackson breathed deeply, calming his current rush of anger and the urge to leap over the desk and strangle the ass who sat behind it. "So, what does that have to do with me?"
"Don't play stupid!" Watson snapped in annoyance.
This only aroused a smirk from Jackson.
"Jackson, you're the best. Since Keefe has been elected President, his security is tighter, less vulnerable, and practically flawless. We can't have a rookie on this. You're the best there is. You have to do this." Watson said tapping his desk, changing his tone from threatening to something of a plead.
He was sickened at how easily Watson was defeated. Nevertheless, he decided to toy with him just as Watson did with all of his victims. "No, Watson, I don't think I do." He said with a smirk, getting comfortable in the wooden chair.
Watson snarled at him momentarily. Then, thinking better of it, again changed his tactics. "No? I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Jack. I busted my ass to have you protected during your recovery, to get you off the hook with The Company, and you say no? Sorry, Jack, there's no getting out of this one." Watson said furiously.
Jackson's skin crawled at the hint of Watson helping him get out of his problems. He had done it alone; he hadn't needed anyone's help. Watson was saying this on purpose. "No Watson, I'm not going to do it. I'm a manager. I'm no assassin and you know it. They're two different things." He said making it clear he thought Watson was stupid for mixing them up.
"Oh, is that so?" Watson asked slyly. "I understand you have a new job…a job as an assassin?" He smiled at his own cleverness. "Or do you still want to play the manager card?" He asked him.
Jackson clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "Don't think you can fool me with that. You have no idea what my job is now." He said defiantly. Of course, there was a possibility Watson knew. He had connections with The Firm; something that deeply irked Jackson to no end. The Company and The Firm were enemies, yet Watson played them both.
"Jack my boy, you know that isn't true." He sighed condescendingly.
"Don't call me that." He growled.
"You're not in the position to be passing out orders, Jack."
"I don't give a fuck. You call me that again, and I'm gone." He threatened pettily.
"Listen, Jack…son, we've been watching you. We know what you're doing. The Keels assassination, the Romanian bombing, the Italian parliament member. All yours, Jack. Among so many others." He paused momentarily. "You are going to do this, or we may just have to kill someone ourselves. How about James or Samantha? Would you like your brother and his wife dead? Maybe we'll kill their kid too. What's his name, ah yes, Jacob. How old is he Jack? Isn't he five? Awful young age to die." Watson said threateningly.
Jackson clenched his jaw. "What a surprise." He sneered. He knew Watson would threaten him with his brother sooner or later.
"So you take the situation lightly then?" Watson asked.
"What do you want?" Jackson snapped in defeat.
"Don't be dense. I've already stated the terms." The look of glee on Watson's face made Jackson's blood boil.