Jackson Rippner.
I should've known right when he told me his name that he was a killer. I should've run in the opposite direction. Although if I had I'm sure he would've found me and nothing would have changed. He still would've held me hostage with the threat of my father's death and made me put a decent man and his family in harm's way. He still would have made me feel helpless and hopeless and so very much the same as I was two years ago when I was raped in broad daylight in a parking lot by a man that never got caught. That was before I stabbed him in the neck with that kid's blue monster pen, in the leg with my $150 heel, before I shot him in the side with his hitman's gun, before my father then shot him again with that same gun in his shoulder.
Jackson Rippner.
Why can't I get his name out of my head? Probably because he escaped from police custody en route to the police station. I mean, good lord, the man has a hole in his neck, thigh, side, and shoulder! How did he do it?
"I'll be seeing you, Leese." Was the last thing he rasped to me as the police hauled him away. God help me if I don't believe him.
After all, "I never lie, Leese."