And so begins my first attempt at a Red Eye fic. Cross your fingers. As a small anecdote to lead you into the Cillian Murphy obsession I've been having, I recently watched 'Breakfast on Pluto'. Not that Cillian was bad, he was brilliant as always, and the movie was mostly entertaining. Even so, after watching it, I went upstairs and popped in Batman Begins, watched every scene with Cillian, then switched to Red Eye to help him regain his manliness in my head. And then the day after, I had to watch it again to watch him sing 'How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?' I'm hopeless…
She walked quickly but composed down the hallway, yanking down her pencil skirt and smoothing her long ponytail before entering the room.
"Nice of you to join us, Perkins," Ferguson stated coolly from the other end of the long, dark wood table. All eyes were on her, some people even going as far as to lean back in their comfortable chairs to see her. She adjusted her glasses and took a seat next to the secretary, the closest empty seat. He turned his uncomfortable stare on her and turned back to the laptop that he was recording what was said on. She rolled her eyes as he typed slowly and deliberately on the screen, '"Nice of you to join us, Perkins" – Ferguson'. His smirk didn't escape her. Or amuse her.
"So, what's the deal?" Reid asked. Reid was the top assassin in the bunch. Fortunately for Perkins, assassins themselves weren't held in high esteem, which would forgive her for her lateness, since he was once again displaying his impertinence. Realistically, assassins were a dime a dozen. Not like her. Managers were hard to come by. They needed to be level-headed. They needed to think on their feet. Reid was more likely to trip over his feet. Despite his more than common clumsiness, he was good at getting the job done fast, and he had impeccable aim with a gun, a throwing knife, bow and arrow, etc. Perkins wasn't suited to the physical work of an assassin. Besides, she had always been good at mind games, even when she was a child.
"A client has ordered the assassination of Charles Keefe, Secretary of Homeland Security," Ferguson said. No one said anything while they thought about it. The only sound in the room was the secretary's clicking on the keyboard, which he awkwardly tried to hush. It wasn't often that they had to take someone out in their own country. However, if one of them even whispered a hint that they were uncomfortable with it, they would be taken out back and given a quick execution. Discomfort couldn't be afforded. Discomfort lead to treachery.
"So, let's get to it," Reid said, clapping his hands together and leaning back in his chair, putting the sole of his leather shoe on the edge of the table to balance himself. Perkins inhaled deeply to keep her composed face on. Others did not hide their opinion of Reid's completely unprofessional displays. Ferguson chose to ignore him, like a child who always acted like an imbecile and their parents had just learned to pretend he wasn't their child.
"We're working with the Russians-."
"Are they the ones who want him dead?" Reid asked. Ferguson finally turned to him, realizing that he couldn't ignore him again.
"No, they're simply going to provide the ammunition we need," he said. Reid nodded and continued lounging. "Now, we need someone good to manage this project," Ferguson continued. Perkins sat up a little straighter. She was it. She could handle it. "However, we have yet to know exactly how we're going to get him. On the bright side, there's been a rumor that he is going to be traveling the south ports soon, since he's already covered the east and west coasts. In Miami there is one hotel that Keefe stays at, the Lux Atlantic. Call it a favorite of his. Understandable, it's probably the nicest hotel Miami. In that case, we'll have to deal with the manager to get him in the best position to strike."
"Will this be done by persuasion or force?" Perkins asked tactfully. Ferguson held his hands out and shrugged his shoulders up near his ears.
"That's the problem here. We're working on an extremely tight time-budget. But we've done it before, haven't we?" Ferguson said with a smirk. Everyone chuckled a bit. "Point is, we're going to have to start surveillance on the manager right away until we find out when he's definitely going to be there. We need to get artillery suited to any situation. If we're going to do this by force, leverage on the hotel manager. And someone to do the job." The secretary's fingers moved deftly along the keyboard, easily recording every word said. "We have nine weeks. We need to make this happen." Soft conversation on how it would be carried out began. Perkins was brimming with excitement.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Sir, this job is too important to be left in the hands of a… secretary," Perkins stated, throwing her arm out at the man to show Ferguson what she meant. He lolled his head her way, fixing her with an icy stare. She chose not to humor him by looking uncomfortable. This man didn't scare her. The two of them stood in Ferguson's large office, standing before his desk while he filed through some papers in his arm chair.
"Perkins, I realize that you're the best at what you do. But that has gone on too long," Ferguson said. She pursed her lips. What, was she being knocked down? Was she being given a desk job? Like – "Rippner is a fresh face." Perkins glanced with disdain at the chilly façade. 'Fresh face' was not the term she would use to describe him. He had a thick brown mustache over his top lip, and stubble around his chin. He wore squared spectacles and kept his hair slicked back, although it curled out significantly at the ends, giving him a particularly boorish look.
"Rippner isn't capable of choosing a correctly fitted suit," Perkins stated, slamming her palm down on Ferguson's desk, pressing the other fist on her hip. Rippner took in a breath and straightened his suit jacket with a snap. It was painfully true, however. Rippner's jacket didn't fit, and that was the bottom line of it.
"Come now, Perkins, no need to insult Rippner's fashion sense, of all things," Ferguson said. She flushed a bit.
"Consider it my artistic preference," Rippner said in his low, cheeky voice. It was almost a shock to hear him at all, since he mostly kept to himself at… well, everything. She sighed and tried to regain her composure.
"Sir… please… This is a government official we're talking about. Not something that you send a-a rookie to do," Perkins said, realizing that she had lost the cool countenance that made her the best.
"With all due respect, Perkins, I have to disagree. I've been here three years taking notes on every little detail you recount at the meetings. I'm more than aware of what is expected of a manager," Rippner stated. Perkins turned to Ferguson with a pleading look.
"Please, Perkins," Ferguson said, obviously untouched at her vulnerability of being replaced. "I need more than one reliable manager. As it is, this is a slightly important job, one that needs to be handled well." Ferguson turned to Rippner. "I hope you know that should it end badly, the consequences will be severe." Rippner nodded once. Forgiveness wasn't the company's style. He seemed to understand his dismissal and left. Perkins stayed in the office.
"What are you thinking?" she snapped.
"Like I told you. I'm thinking that we need at least two managers, if not more, because one is simply not efficient enough," Ferguson stated.
"Then put him on something else, one of those small 'Kill the owner of this business' ones, not this!" Perkins yelled.
"Perkins, you forget your place," Ferguson said in a dangerously soft voice. "It is not your place to tell me what to with my clients." Perkins stayed there a moment longer, weighing what would happen if she pressed her luck and continued kicking and screaming for this job. Taking out a government official would keep her safely nestled in her spot for the rest of her career. And it would safely put Rippner above her. She finally turned on her heel and marched out of the office, trying to regain her composure.
Jackson sat outside the Lux Atlantic a few days later, lightly creasing the corner of the picture of the manager of the hotel. He intently watched the swinging glass door, waiting for her to emerge. In fact, he'd been there since 9 A.M. He didn't want to miss her. Either while he was there she would come in for her shift, or she would leave it. He looked back down at the picture quickly. She either had brown or red hair, although it was hard to tell with the black and white picture, and it would be harder to tell since it was night now. It started to lightly rain, and he leaned his arms against the steering wheel.
Then, he saw her. She was walking across the parking lot, cell phone in hand and at her ear. She had a delicate way of moving, even though she was clearly in a hurry to get away from her hotel. Jackson reached around to the ignition slowly and turned the key. The car came to life as quietly as he wanted it to, and he watched intently as she opened the door to her small silver car. She quickly backed out of the space and headed to the back exit of the parking lot. He memorized the license plate as it went by, then inched out of his space, following after her car at a respectable distance to not trigger any alarm. Although a hotel manager probably doesn't have much reason to worry about being followed. She was probably listening to the radio by now, maybe scanning the channels while she waited for her chance to pull out into the busy streets of Miami. She finally got out of the parking lot and sped down the road. Jackson twisted his mouth up. He had planned on letting another car come between them so she would not be suspicious, but seeing that she was driving at such a speed, he would lose her if he allowed that. Tires almost screeching on the road, he quickly turned out before another car could get there. They weren't happy about it, but hey, it's Miami.
He followed Lisa Reisert at a steady pace all the way back to her nice apartment complex, and she never once showed a hint of alarm. Likely enough she hadn't checked in her rearview mirror once at the black car that was following her faithfully. He backed into a spot and watched her go to the front door. There was an intricate pattern of metal vines on the front gate. She unlocked it and shut it hurriedly behind her. He took off his seatbelt and watched the windows. Finally, a light went on in one, and the curtain was pulled back. The light from her apartment illuminated a reddish sheen in her hair, and he realized it was actually auburn. He wondered what color her eyes were. Well, he wouldn't wonder much longer. He had a file full of her information in the passenger seat that he had yet to rifle through. She gazed out at the city for a moment longer, then turned into her apartment, throwing her shoes off as she went. Jackson grabbed her file, keeping his eyes on the window, then opened it.
Her eyes were green. He glanced up at the window. He would have pegged her as having brown eyes or maybe hazel. Green was an interesting twist. She was five feet five inches. Not exactly tall, but not short. Her birthday was May seventh. She had type O blood. He tossed aside the less interesting piece of paper and scanned one of her brief history.
Her father's name was Joe, and her mother's name was Ellen. She had two older brothers. She was probably well protected by her brothers and dad. Maybe a rebel when she was in college after being so overprotected in high school. Who knows – maybe she'd be excited to be put in such a position.
He rethought that. He remembered the way she held her eyebrows in her picture, and when she was going to her car, and when she was looking out the window. She looked perfectly without a qualm in the world, just by the way she looked about normally. He struck her as a crier as well. Probably daddy's girl. He read further in. She had studied journalism in college and played field hockey on the college team. Funny how life turns out that way. She probably was hoping to work for the Miami Herald as a top writer. However, when you're right out of college and starving for your life to get started, you get side tracked. He was guessing that's how she had moved her way through the hotel.
He stared up at her window. She was watching some movie while drinking slowly from a steaming mug. He wasn't sure if it was coffee or tea. Or neither. As she brought the mug up again, he noted how perfectly her lips were shaped. She grinned at something on the screen. Her mouth stretched out into the widest smile he had seen in his life. And that was just smiling at something that humored her in a movie. He wondered how large the smile would be if one of her friends was making her laugh. Or she had just heard her boyfriend say, 'I love you'. Or she had been given a puppy for Christmas. He waited for her to smile again to he could try to see what a larger one would look like on her face, but she never smiled again. He supposed it had been her favorite part in the movie.
He was still staring up at her window long after she'd gone to bed. It was nearing three in the morning. He suspected he should get at least an hour of sleep in. Five was usually the time when some people got up. Of course, she could wake up at seven. But, better safe than sorry. He tugged his glasses off and rubbed his palms over his eyes, attempting to wipe away the bleariness so he could drive to the motel he had a room in just down the street. When he removed his hands, through the blurriness he had without his glasses, he saw a light coming from the second story. He quickly threw on his glasses and stared up. Reisert was walking around in her kitchen, taking things out. When she finally took a seat at the couch where he could properly see her, he realized she had a plate of scrambled eggs in her lap and was wolfing them down like they were going to be taken from her momentarily. While she was at work, he would have to install some cameras to keep track of her. He couldn't see everything from the second story window.
When she finally went to bed, he looked at the clock. It was four thirty in the morning. He groaned and realized he wouldn't be turning in to the motel bed tonight. He sat in the front seat for a few minutes, trying to decide whether he should stick out the last few hours until Reisert started her day or snag at least a half hour of sleep. Finally, he decided. He set an alarm on his tiny clock for five ten, giving himself an extra ten minutes, then crawled into the backseat of the car. He pulled a measly blanket from the floor and covered himself as best he could, falling asleep blessedly quickly.
The clock was waking him up what felt like minutes later. But, when he thought about it, it really was. Groaning and putting his glasses on, he crawled into the front seat and stared up at Reisert's window. He felt like he was a teenager waking up for school, and all he wanted was to kick his legs and go back to sleep. Well, he'd be having none of that. Apparently, she woke up at five AM. She was in a fluffy white towel, seated on her couch, another towel wrapped around her head. She was furiously ripping pieces off a bagel with peanut butter and jelly –he wondered what kind of jelly- while going through a file. Possibly of things that were going on that day at the hotel.
He watched as she ran out of the apartment –now fully dressed- with still the other half of the bagel to be eaten. She got in her car and drove away. Jackson looked at the clock. Six o'clock. He popped the trunk of the car and hopped out. He grabbed a duffel bag full of things that he brought along, should this situation arise. He picked the lock to the apartment complex fairly easily and made his way up the stairs to Reisert's tiny apartment. He picked that lock too after checking to make sure no one was around and there were no security cameras.
He got into her apartment and was struck by the fresh scent of it. It smelled like flowers and laundry detergent. He skeptically slid the closet door to the side. There was a washer, silently tumbling her clothes around in soap. He closed the door again and walked slowly into the apartment, touching his fingers to the things that belonged to her.
He dropped his bag of surveillance equipment onto the couch and started to walk around. He opened the refrigerator. It was full of healthy food, explaining her lean form. He threw it closed and turned, getting a good look at a wine rack over the sink. It was practically fully. He pulled a bottle down. Seemed like she had expensive taste. He put it back in the exact same spot it was in, twisting it so that that label faced up, and then wandered over to her bedroom. Her bed was made up neatly with freshly fluffed pillows and had plain white sheets. Come to think of it, her entire apartment was white. White walls, couch, countertops, cabinets. Even the fridge was white. And the picture frames. He walked over to a few picture frames and glanced at the photos inside.
One was Reisert with a woman who looked a lot like her. Her mother probably. He suspected Reisert is the spitting image of the woman when she was younger. The next was her father probably. Only he had a hard time finding much similarity between them. Maybe their personalities were alike. Next was a picture of Reisert in her graduation robe. Two men stood on either side of her, large smiles plastered on all their faces. Either these were two of Resisert's best friends, or maybe brothers. Although he suspected brothers, judging by the fact that they had very similar features. Same noses, which surprisingly looked strong on the men and didn't take any delicateness from Reisert's face. There were no other pictures in the apartment to look at, unless he wanted to look at some photo albums that were sitting under a side table next to her couch. Maybe another day. First, cameras.
He unzipped the black duffel bag and pulled out a tiny case that was full of small cameras. He picked one out and chose a good corner of the wall. He hefted himself up on a chair and stuck it to the wall with the glue. He got down from the chair and surveyed his work. Then, he cringed. It was a black camera against her white wall. She would think it was a bug. Then, she would go after it with a fly swatter or something, realize it wasn't a bug, then get skittish. And that was the last thing he needed.
He shook his head and retrieved the camera, taking the glue off the back and gingerly putting it back into the box. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. What to do…? He was practically shaking with excitement. This was his favorite part. Problem solving. He went picking through the duffel bag, tossing aside the larger cameras that would do him no good. He finally took one out with interest. It was thin, shaped like a pencil. He pulled out the drill and examined the two. They seemed to be exactly the same size. Enough so that the camera would fit snugly in the hole it would drill. He wondered how he would get it back out. He then pursed his lips. After the job was done, it wouldn't be his problem anymore.
He got up on the chair again and aligned the perfect angle to drill to be able to see her in the kitchen. He drilled a long hole into the wall and carefully pushed the camera into it until only the lens was showing. He stepped back and looked at it again. Maybe it was only obvious to him because he was the one that put it there. But it would have to do. He continued putting multiples of these around the tiny apartment, refusing to miss a fraction of an inch of her living space, until he got to the door of her bedroom. He twisted his mouth up again. He wasn't sure whether he should put one in her bedroom or not. She couldn't do much in her bedroom but sleep and get changed, could she? He finally shook himself out. He wasn't going to compromise any information available to save Reisert's modesty. He drilled one hole into the corner of the room with extra fervor this time. He would not allow such things as courtesy to get in his way. He knew very well what would happen if he failed. He needed to know this woman inside and out.
He did, however, linger at the bathroom door again. Surely nothing would happen in here that would concern him. She wouldn't be doing secret rituals in the bathroom. He didn't peg Reisert as the insane type. He slowly backed away from the bathroom door and did a once over around the apartment, checking all the cameras. Satisfied that they were in optimum viewing position, he zipped up the duffel bag again and started towards the door. He stopped at the door and glanced around the apartment, inhaling the scent of it once more. It smelled good.
He was abruptly woken by the sound of a car door slamming. He yanked himself up from the steering wheel and righted his glasses, listening closely. He heard a light giggle and turned his head, eager for her appearance. Maybe Reisert had a friend over. Or a boyfriend. When she walked by, he realized she was on the phone. He scrunched down in his seat so she wouldn't notice him until she had yanked open the iron door to her apartment and was ascending the stairs. It was time to take the cameras for a spin.
He crawled into the back seat and opened his laptop, opening the program that linked him to the cameras, streaming the videos from them. While it was loading, he rubbed his eyes. So tired… he would have to find some way to keep himself awake… He selected the camera with the view of the living room, watched as she placed her car keys down in a little dish in the middle of the coffee table. She put her plain black purse down next to it and took off her coat. His eyes traveled down her body at the new proximity. She had a good body, but she was hiding it behind all these layers. Black work trousers, a soft white shirt with a black blazer, and close-toed heels. She looked classy. From her high school pictures he had seen, she naturally had curly hair that, just like anyone that had curly hair, was a bit hard to manage sometimes. This work style was completely tamed and curled perfectly around her pointed jaw and high cheekbones. The only way he could describe her was wholesome. It was irritating. It just meant that it was going to be even harder to threaten her later on, because she'd probably widen those lovely green eyes of hers, and tears would well up in them, and then he'd have to get mad at her.
She went into her bedroom, and he followed her by going to the other camera. She ripped her blazer off and threw off her heels in one fluid motion. Reisert was turning out to be the kind of person who liked to put her feet up after a long day's work. He glanced at the clock. Rightfully so, since it was eleven o'clock and she had just gotten home. Manager hours were unforgiving. He was learning from experience. When she started tugged at the bottom of her shirt to reveal the creamy skin of her torso underneath, he hurriedly shut the laptop screen. He would never be able to handle her properly if he watched her undress.
He gave her five minutes, then hesitantly opened it again. She was gone from her bedroom. He checked the kitchen. Not there either. Finally, he found her snuggled up on the couch, watching a movie. She was pulling a blanket over herself, and then she turned to the screen. 'Twelve Angry Men'. The original. A classic. One of Jackson's favorites, too. However, the movie was significantly less interesting when he couldn't hear anything. He switched to the camera so he could see the couch. She was staring intently at the screen, obviously enthralled. Her face looked completely relaxed, shedding the day's stress. Jackson pressed the addition symbol on the keyboard and it zoomed in on her face. His lips parted slightly as he studied every line on her face. He thanked technology for giving him such a clear picture of her. She was beautiful.
Lisa nodded every once in awhile, agreeing with something in the movie. She got a frustrated look when someone said something displeasing. Suddenly, after he had realized that he was going to enjoy his first job much more than he had anticipated, everything she did was endearing. The way she chewed on her bottom lip absentmindedly, and the expression she had just in the slightest elevation in her eyebrow. She was an open book. He was devouring every new hint of her he got. The weariness was slipping from him as he reminded himself that Lisa was a night owl.
Ah, love at first sight…
Review please?