His breathing was erratic. Chest slowly rising and rapidly falling or vice versa. He had never come close to drowning but surely this is how it would have felt. Like a rolling black wave, his body was restricting the air he could take in; suppressing his ability to survive. Then came the sensation of surfacing. His body acquired new feeling and movement, and it was the pain that he noticed first.
Jackson had always been resilient; it was almost a requirement in his line of work. Little could destroy him and for the most part pain was just a simple response of the body to an injury. It created a reminder to be careful and not a debilitating suffering. However, even his body could only take so much. The various injuries he had acquired in little less than an hour came back to haunt him now, despite the strength of the pain medications that the hospital had given him. He tried opening his eyes and was met with a blurred and searingly painful light. He winced, and despite his best efforts nothing was distinguishable from anything else for at least a full minute. Then the colors started coming together. Mostly grays, whites, and vague splashes of subdued browns, the hospital room offered nothing as far as aesthetic appeal went. In fact, the window was the most fascinating thing in the room and even that was less than outstanding.
It afforded him a view of an adjourning building and a little bit of the city, stained black by the coming night. Mostly it was just another blur of gray; up until that point in his life Jackson hadn't realized just how many shades of grey existed. Some were warm, others cool, others almost dirty looking. But the one thing in the scene that made it interesting was the vase of flowers on a neighboring window. They were in a small blue vase, but the flowers themselves sprang high out of their container in a flourish of bright green and butter yellow. Daffodils. He smirked; Lisa may have had no social life, but she always had those damn daffodils.
Lisa.
His thoughts shouldn't have strayed to her but how could they not? For eight weeks he practically existed as her shadow and then in a few hours she completely destroyed his life. He hated her, hated her for every pain she had caused him and every feeling she brought out of him. He shouldn't have cared, wouldn't have cared, but this was different. This was…Lisa. And she endeared herself to him in the most ridiculous of ways, including her habit of keeping those insufferably cheerful flowers.
Lisa had a tall, translucent vase on the coffee table of her apartment at all times, and at all times the vase was filled to overflowing with assorted flora. The daffodils were by far in a way her favorite though. Making regular appearances in her pretty little centerpiece, daffodils started to become synonymous with Lisa in Jackson's mind. If he remembered correctly, daffodils even sprouted up around the Lux Atlantic. Whether that was coincidence or Lisa's doing Jackson didn't know, but it only served to make the flowers an even more indelible symbol of Lisa.
But he guessed it was his own fault that he knew exactly how many days daffodils had appeared in Lisa's apartment, and even he had to admit that placing a camera in her living room wasn't entirely necessary. And it wasn't entirely necessary that he analyzed how the flowers could be significant to her. And it definitely wasn't necessary to wonder if she smelled like fresh flowers, or if daffodils really were her favorite or just cheap. And it didn't help to imagine her bringing him flowers or maybe just leaving an anonymous token of her affection for him.
Jackson grew angry with himself. This was ridiculous! He didn't care about Lisa; his mixed emotions had to be a simple side effect of the medications. He couldn't think clearly worth a shit and thinking clearly was what made him so good at his job. It's what had made him so good at staying alive. But then Lisa and her damned daffodils waltzed into his life and took away his clear mind. Took way his logic.
Glancing out the window, Jackson gave the offending flowers one final glare and settled down to rest. His head was spinning and he was grateful for the relative comfort of the hospital issued pillow. Sleeping would clear his thoughts. Sleep would bring his energy back and take him a little farther from Lisa Reisert.
The next morning he woke with a start. The room was drenched in a summery glow, promising him a good day. Against his will and under the influence of a cheerful day, Jackson found himself hoping for flowers from Lisa. By early afternoon he was so worked up that he practically expected flowers to be delivered at any moment. It was an irrational hope but it was one that he found himself oddly willing to cling to….
There's a problem with hope though. It's not grounded in reality. Five days later at 3:46 pm the patient known as one Jackson Rippner died a quiet death as a result of infection from his multiple injuries. On the day of his funeral there were no flowers present at his gravesite.