4th August 2005
6.37am
"We'll talk again."
Red. And blue. A hypnotic cocktail of colour flashing repeatedly on the whitewashed walls of her skull. Red. Like her hair. Blue like his–
No.
It was over. One giant of a paramedic had hoisted his limp limbs onto a stretcher and the other had strapped him in. As they were leaving, her father had yelled to them, "don't let that bastard live." With heads bowed, they slammed the ambulance doors shut behind them and left the slow sound of silence in their wake.
Finally, he was gone.
The police hadn't arrived immediately. After the chaos of the Lux Atlantic, every officer had been called in. However, once details had begun to surface and the first blockades of damage control were in place, eventually the ones not needed urgently were sent out to every other emergency call. The senior officer had taken one glance at the front door, or more accurately, the SVU where the front door should have been, and called in reinforcements and the forensics department.
A jacket was hung on her shoulders. After that, there were questions and statements. A game, a tennis match, monotonous back and forth.
"Miss?" The voice surfaced her from the murky depths of her mind.
"Sorry, yes?"
"There's a car waiting to take you to the hospital, should you require further treatment." Lisa looked at the faceless policeman, just one in a swarm of uniforms, and realised with a prick of guilt he'd been trying to get her attention for a while. She shook her head to clear the remaining fog.
"Actually, I need to go to the Lux Atlantic."
The policeman paused, then distracted by his radio, nodded, "was going there afterwards anyway."
There was method to her madness. The attending coroner, the only medical professional available since the ambulance officers had already left, had given her a once over and swiftly taped the cut on her forehead. She suggested Lisa should check into emergency for further tests, just in case the bruised ribs turned out to be something more serious.
Her father materialised at her side. He squeezed her shoulder and told her he was coming with her to the Lux Atlantic. She shook her head. "Nonsense dad, you need to go to a hospital. You have to get your head checked out. I'm ok for now. I'll see you soon."
"Are you– " He stopped suddenly, smiled, and shook his head. "Go," he said, "I'll see you at the hospital for your own check up." He gave her a look that said no excuses.
She grinned, the first in a long time, and nodded.
Walking out the front door amidst the commotion was like waking from a dream. Lights flashing the same blood red and electric blue and disembodied voices spouting police codes and updates from radios. The few police that could be spared covered her front lawn in a bizarre moving blanket of black and white. The squad car door was opened for her and she moved to get in, glancing briefly at a second ambulance that had just parked on her lawn, it's driver gesturing animatedly with another policeman. Blinking, she slid into the squad car, and breathed deeply as it pulled away from the curb.
5th September 2005
9.34am
A month since the Lux Atlantic Incident and the police and the FBI had nothing. Sure, they had the same questions, the same answers, the same air-huffed-through-nose frustration. Lisa had re-lived the Red Eye flight a thousand times over and had nothing to show for it.
But today the questions took a new direction.
"How long had you been working at the Lux Atlantic before the incident?"
"Six years. Please, we've been over this. It's all in the file–"
"I'm aware of what's in the file Miss Reisert. Please, remain calm. Had you ever been approached by someone, such as this Rippner, with a similar request?"
"It wasn't a request, it was a threat. He threatened to kill my father–"
"Have you been or are you a member of any communities or congregations with strong political ideals?"
Something clicked, a cog shifted in her brain, a warning flashed up on a computer screen. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened, none of which went unnoticed by Agent Whateverhisnamewas as he swiftly catalogued her face. "Is this an interrogation?"
"This is standard procedure Miss Reisert. I am merely asking you questions."
Yeah, she thought, standard procedure for a suspect.
The faceless, nameless agent cleared his throat and continued, "Now, this Rippner character–"
"He's not a character, I didn't just make up this monster–"
"–How long had you known him prior to your engagement?"
Her heart stuttered. A pin dropped somewhere in the Antarctic and she could feel each vibration in her bones. Yet the word, once it had passed through the whirlwind of her emotions and finally reached her tongue, was merely a murmur.
"Engagement?" Her mouth was dry.
"Miss Reisert, answer the question."
I am not having this conversation. This is not happening right now. Oh my god.
But she was. It was.
God isn't home right now, but if you'd like to leave a message––
Lisa Reisert rose from her chair, determination in the set of her shoulders. "I will not incriminate myself any further, as you seem so keen for me to do. Our conversation is over. If there is nothing further, I'll be leaving, and anything else you or any other agent has to say to me shall be in the presence my attorney."
She left without a backward glance.
February 9th 2006
11.09am
There was a small, inner voice that tried to tell her she was mistaken. Tried to tell her she was being paranoid. But as she took another left and a quick right, she couldn't shake the heavy feeling that someone was watching, someone was following, someone was waiting just beyond her line of sight. A monster lying in wait. And sure, it could've be sleep-deprivation – it could just be the paranoia talking – but if she was honest with herself, and she was in the habit of being so these days, she had been through enough to know the difference between a fright and real fear.
She took a shortcut through a supermarket, then doubled back. For a brief moment, she was caught in a cloud of cologne that screamed monster. Shaking her head, she slipped onto the street and into the sun to burn the sudden image of blue eyes from her mind. When she finally did make it to her car, she took three more detours on her way home.
She didn't go out very much for the next week.
When she finally did leave, it was with a molotov cocktail of fury and determination in her gut, and clarity of purpose. She walked out of the department store with a new duffle bag, the essentials to fill it, and a surge of accomplishment tinged pink with pride.
She would live her life. No more hiding. Enough was enough.
After being certified and having several sessions on the gun range, she was the responsible owner of a brand new Glock 19.
She was making good on that promise: that she'd never let it happen again. Ever.
3rd August 2006
5.29pm
On the 6th of February, six months after an expensive and exhaustive investigation, the case was filed as LXJ747: Unsolved. Officially, the media was told America wouldn't stand for it. That the FBI was closing in. That this would never happen again. That there would be justice. Unofficially, they had nothing. Evidence was circumstantial at best and they had no suspect, no motive, and, most importantly, no body.
Because there was no Jackson Rippner – there never was.
Surveillance was scoured over but revealed nothing, only more questions and less patience. On the day in question and during the time frame, Lisa Reisert was indeed seen running through the airport, however, there was no evidence of a pursuer. Every camera and every possible angle was checked and checked again, and all relinquished the same results: Miss Reisert, dangerously erratic, single-handedly causing widespread panic and disturbing the general public.
The witnesses mentioned in Miss Reisert's statement, two flight attendants and a passenger, denied any knowledge of the suspect in question. One woman in particular, identified only as a Ms. De Angeles, denied ever seeing or speaking to a "Jackson Rippner", let alone having him assist with her luggage.
When the ambulance arrived, there was no body, at least no body with multiple GSW's as described in both Mr. Reisert and Miss Reisert's statements. The only body accounted for at the Reisert house was that of one Markus Dresden, an accountant from Michigan visiting Miami on vacation. He was killed when Miss Reisert ran him through her front door with a vehicle she illegally obtained at the airport.
In layman's terms, the case was a mess, and no one wanted it. With Homeland's blessing, Case LXJ747 was filed away.
It just didn't stay that way.
It was 5:30 on a Friday evening and the lucky boys of the FBI Counter-Terrorism Unit were getting an early mark.
"Night Al, see you next Saturday?"
"Sure Rob. Say a howdy hi hello to your delightful Jane for me and thank her for the cookies. Sam and Jess loved them." Agent Crawford smiled crookedly and picked up his keys.
Special Agent Robert Lawson stowed his gun and badge and grinned. "No worries Al, g'night."
Lawson turned to his partner and surveyed the the grave of paperwork the kid seemed intent on burying himself in. "You coming grasshopper? Or you pulling another late one?"
Special Agent Andrew Blair didn't even look up from his desk. "Don't look at me like that. I'm onto something."
The older man sighed. "It's been a year kid. Maybe it's time to let it rest? Come back to it later with a clearer head."
"Leave it? And lose the lead? I know what you're thinking Lawson, and believe me I'm not nuts. I know I'm onto something. There's just something about… And I know I'm this close…" Blair searched for a pen in the chaos he called a desk, seemingly completely oblivious to the one behind his ear.
Lawson shook his head. "Yeah well, when you finally stop wearing your ass as a hat and actually find this elusive something, you lem'me know, alright? Night Blair."
"Night Lawson." Blair smirked, then said nonchalantly, "Say hi to Jane for me."
It had the desired effect. "What is it with you boys and my lady fair, hmm? Gonna have to start beating ya'll away with a stick." With that, he grumbled out of the office.
Blair smiled as his partner left with a final back-handed wave. He looked around the office once, twice, reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the photograph. Her photograph.
And he knew what he had to do. What he was always going to do.
Special Agent Andrew Blair got into his car at 5.47pm and arrived at Lisa Reisert's house ten minutes faster than his Nav said he would. He blamed traffic and tried to ignore his thundering heart.
4th August 2006
2.59am
"No scrambled eggs Miss Reisert? No comedy marathon?" He laughed softly, "My, my, haven't you come a long way."
He chuckled in the dark, drummed his fingers on the pristine leather interior. "Guess ol' Jackie boy got to you more than we thought. And here I was thinking his notes were gonna to help."
He re-focused his scope. "Look at you, a whole new animal."
He started his engine. "Won't be long now." He put down his scope, glanced once more at her house, before pulling away into the night.
"See you soon, Miss Reisert."