She shut the door carefully behind her. She was always careful, these days. Walking into her apartment, Lisa dropped the purse clutched in her hand onto the hallway table. Stepping in further, she flipped on the living room lights and fell onto her couch.
Lisa sat still for a moment, just absorbing the silence, staring at her blank TV, and going back over the last few months. She had become so...resigned, and as to what, she didn't want to acknowledge. For the first few months, there had been this creeping fear at the base of her neck that he would just jump out and strangle the life out of her when she least expected it. The son of a bitch even had the nerve to send her a warning. A warning! What a psychotic thing for someone to do: warning a woman that her life could end at any moment.
And she knew that he had the power and desire for vengeance to go through with it. Not only had she kicked the almighty shit out of his sorry ass, she had more than likely humiliated him in front of his colleagues. Not that she cared much; the man had needed to get kicked off his high horse. But when three months had marked the anniversary of his little admonishment, Lisa began to marginally relax. She was not so jumpy…no, she was more accustomed to the fact that her life was ultimately out of her control.
That was the thought that made her numb. Her feeling of helplessness brought back certain unpleasant memories. She tried not to feel anything, just to know. She knew that he held her very existence in his tainted hands. She knew he would come eventually.
Her thoughts were broken when she heard a muffled bump from the kitchen. Sighing tiredly, she stood up slowly and padded down the hallway again. The light from the window was illumination enough to see a tall glass. It was filled with vodka. Lisa picked up the glass, chuckling humorlessly. She took a sip. Delicious. She hadn't had one of these in almost seven months.
She noticed it, then, how the room felt suddenly crowded. There was another presence in the room. Turning around, she saw him.
"Original," she remarked dryly. He responded by crossing his arms and leaning onto the door frame.
"Looked like you needed to unwind," he commented, smirking.
She raised the glass to her lips. "Your voice all healed then?" Her smirk could have rivaled his even on a good day. Said smirk dropped off his face.
Lisa smiled demurely up at him as she walked in his direction, stopping just a few inches from him. "Do you mind?"
He moved out of her way. She walked back to her living room and sat in her previous position on the couch. He joined her moments later.
"I've been expecting you," she said after another sip of the Seabreeze.
"Have you now." It was a statement, not a question. He shifted; she caught a glimpse of metal in his belt. It didn't do much to scare her. They spent ten minutes in silence, each carefully regarding the other.
She finished her drink, and stood up to bring the glass to the sink.
"Lisa."
She turned around.
He fired.
Blinding, burning pain exploded on the left side of her chest.
The glass shattered.
She slumped over.
She recalled, dimly, what he had said to her on the plane. Sometimes bad things happen to good people.
And as she lay there, in a pool of her own blood, with Jackson Rippner's horrendously handsome face staring down at her, she knew it was true.
Life's a bitch, and then you die.