--Disclaimer-- They aren't my characters. They belong to Carl Ellsworth. And you can tell because if they belonged to me, Jackson's pretty voice wouldn't have been wasted in such a shocking manner in the film.
--Summary-- There is an old cliché that history repeats itself. As it often happens, cliché is truth.
--Rating-- M, because the main characters in this story all appear to have potty mouths. I tried to scold them, but they ignored me.
History
She was running late.
She hated that. She liked to be on time, especially when she traveled. And she traveled a lot. She was pulling her suitcase behind her when something made her stop for a second. A man, standing off the the side. Wearing a crisp suit. His intense eyes were what originally attracted her attention. A flash of déja vu hit, making her whole body feel slightly off kilter.
It was almost as if she'd seen him before, but that didn't make any sense. He was probably about fifteen years older than she. His hair was going gray.
She shrugged and sat down in the terminal, preparing herself for boredom. He sat there, too. Once she looked up from her book and he nodded at her, as if acknowledging her presence. She managed a wane smile and went back to her book, trying hard to forget the fact that her cheeks were hot and probably red.
"Passengers from seats 18-A to 19-A can now board," the polite airline employee said, her voice soothing and calm.
And then she stood, having to walk past him in order to give the employee her ticket and get on the plane.
She liked window seats. She liked watching as the plane became higher and higher, eventually escaping even the clouds. Since the age of twelve, she'd flown with her parents, ever since her father started working for the vice president. She was pretty sure she'd seen every state in the union. But today she was flying back to California after her winter break. Her father was now working for the man who was running for president, so she was constantly flying back and forth across the country. It was a relief to go back to school and not have to worry about campaigning.
Someone sat next to her, fiddled with the seat, and sighed. That was when she looked over. It was the man in the suit she'd seen earlier. And then everything hit at once. She remembered the first time she'd flown alone. The bathroom. Woman stumbling in, shaking and looking as if she was about to cry. Looking behind her and seeing the expression on his face that looked so hard and cruel.
Rebecca felt as if she needed an air mask, although judging by the expression on everyone else's face, she knew she was the only one who felt that way. The temperature was suddenly cold. She pressed the button in front of her, feeling trapped. At least someone could help her now...
"I wanted to wait to tell you this," the man in the suit said, "but you press that button and your mother dies."
The plane took off without a hitch, although Rebecca was grasping on to her seat for dear life.
"What do you need?" he asked, his voice surprisingly low and thick, despite his small stature. "I know how you like to drink water when you fly, so I can order you some." He licked his lips in one slow motion.
"What do you want from me?" Rebecca asked, struggling to keep her voice down.
"Your father is good friends with the man who's running for president. It just happens I don't like this guy. Your father could kill him for us, thereby forcing him to go to jail and lose his presidency. I want to use you. For leverage." He grinned. His voice was smooth, like molasses. "So, I want you to sit back and enjoy the flight, because we've got a long way to go until we get to California."
Jackson would not have imagined that they'd have put him back on a plane after what had happened ten years ago. It wasn't his first choice, but, as some new kid said to him once, "You're scary, man." So everyone had elected him to be the one to follow the kid from Florida to California.
For a slightly spoiled politician's daughter, the girl flew coach a lot. Thank God. It was much easier to harass someone in coach, since everyone payed attention to their own mundane lives and no one else's. The people on this flight looked so self-consumed he wondered if he could stand up and yell, "I'm going to kill the president right now" and get away with it.
Even the flight attendants weren't doing their jobs very well. The last time he'd done something like this, they'd come over and at least pretended to care when she'd started to cry. However, Rebecca wasn't crying and so went entirely unnoticed.
"Who are you?" she finally asked, her voice just barely a whisper.
"Well, I've given the name Jackson Rippner before, so I'll do that now. Can't have you finding anything else about me, can I?"
"Why are you doing this?"
The girl's questions were getting annoying. He clenched his arm rest, gritting his teeth. They were sore from doing that often. "Don't ask questions and you'll find this a lot easier."
"You at least should tell me that much." The girl's chin tilted upwards slightly and she gave him a defiant glance. "I want to know."
Rebecca was starting to whine a little, despite her best efforts to appear strong. He recognized this. He'd done this too often to not recognize it. Good. She was starting to feel the terror inside of her.
He smiled to himself and leaned back. "We've got a long ride ahead of us. Maybe if you're a good girl and don't make too much of a fuss I'll explain everything."
Rebecca's first thought was that he enjoyed saying the name 'Jackson Rippner'. He had paused as he said the word 'Rippner', exaggerating the two syllables and savoring the moment.
The rest of his words were cold and detached, almost as if she was boring him. However, she'd read enough criminal justice textbooks to know that they always enjoyed knowing that their victims were terrified. So she tried hard to pretend that she wasn't.
The flight attendant stopped by to ask if they wanted anything. She tried to catch her eye but the woman was focused only on Jackson. She wanted to scream, throw things, do whatever it took to get her to pay attention, but Rebecca was ignored.
"Just some water for my friend, Becca, here," Jackson said, slightly nodding in her direction.
Rebecca's insides clenched in disgust. There were only two people in the world who called her that-- her father and her newest boyfriend, the one she'd been discussing marriage with for the past two months. Where did this man get off--
"Oh, you're Mr. Killmore's daughter," the flight attendant said, eyes widening in recognition. People often did that. Her father, being so close to the vice-president, made her somewhat of a celebrity.
"Yeah," she said, dryly. She tried to mouth that this man next to her was a killer, but the flight attendant's attention was back to Jackson.
"And how do you know this woman?" she asked. It was obvious she was confused as to why a man pushing forty was good friends with a woman who had just turned twenty.
None of your fucking business, Rebecca thought angrily.
"Oh, I'm actually good friends of her father's," he said, smiling, as if he wasn't a total monster. "Asked me to watch out for her on our trip to California. Isn't that right, Becca?"
No! "Yes," she lied.
"How nice," the flight attendant said, flashing a toothy grin and heading off to ask someone else if they needed something.
"I thought you never lied," Rebecca said, quietly.
"What?" the innocent tone of voice was gone and it was back to being quiet and menacing.
Everything was coming back to her. Standing outside the bathroom door and listening to everything he said to the woman with the brown curls, until the flight attendant ushered her away. "In the bathroom on that flight we were all on. You told the woman you never lie."
Suddenly, crushing pain on her wrist. His hand wrapped around it, squeezing tightly until she longed to cry out. Doing so, she knew, would only make it worse. So she closed her eyes and bit her lip.
"How much did you hear?"
"Mostly everything," she said, voice strangled. She just wanted this to be over. "You told her off for lying and then I heard some thuds and the flight attendant came over and ushered me away."
"What are you saying?" he said, voice thick.
"You just lied, didn't you?"
That was rewarded with more crushing pain on her wrist. It throbbed angrily, until he let go, suddenly. It was with such force that her elbow banged against the side of the arm rest.
"I need to go the bathroom," she said, not looking at him.
Besides the fact they'd shared a flight before, he reminded her of Lisa. Poor, stupid Lisa. She was the one woman he would have liked to have had dinner with. Or fucked, maybe, even.
He laughed, unable to help himself. Of course she'd have to pee. He'd watched as she drank the water the flight attendant had so helpfully given them. The in-flight movie was some romantic story that was probably going to end tragically. She'd been watching half-heartedly, as he'd recommended. "I don't think so."
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears for the first time. "I really have to go."
"I've learned my lesson. How about you sit back and cross your legs."
"Fuck you," she whispered angrily, which rewarded her a small, subtle punch in the arm. No one had seen it, for he was the master of subtlety.
"Ow," she whispered, tears spilling over until they cascaded down her cheeks.
"We only have an hour and a half," he said. "You can hold it until then."
She crossed her legs and looked as if she was straining against something. She fidgeted for a few minutes. "I have to go, Jack," she said, the last word full of derision.
"Maybe if you're a good girl I'll let you go later," he said, closing his eyes and learning his head back against the headrest. At this point, he doubted she could be good enough to be granted that privilege. She could be so annoying at times.
"What happened to the woman?" she asked quietly, a few minutes later. He could tell by her expression that Rebecca was truly miserable. He almost took pity on her.
"What woman?"
"You know the one."
"There are so many of them, Becca--"
"Don't give me that crap. You know who I'm talking about."
"If you mean the girl you saw for two seconds on the plane, I killed her."
Rebecca's stomach appeared to be bungee-jumping, which wasn't helping the bladder situation at all. "You... what?"
"I kill everyone I use for bait. You can't have them running for cops, can you? The ironic thing is, she came close."
"I need to go to the bathroom," she said, again.
Much to her surprise, he stood up and let her go. "I'll be right behind you," he whispered into her ear. "So don't try anything funny."
He slipped into line as she slipped into the tiny lavatory. Knees shaking, she managed to lower herself on to the toilet. He was going to kill her. Well, maybe he was lying about the woman on the plane. The woman who had offered to let her go first... the woman who had looked so terrified. That was going to be her. That was her.
Was he lying?
Maybe she was still alive.
Her hands shook violently as she soaped them. She'd never get out of this.
Please let it be a lie.
He should have known better. The bitch was taking years in the bathroom. He'd heard the water running a few minutes ago. She should have been out by now.
God damn it. She was probably writing a message on the mirror.
When would he learn his lesson?
He waited for her to open the door so he could talk to her in private. He didn't like doing this kind of thing. Did these women think he enjoyed pushing them against the wall and yelling at them? Of course not. That kind of thing took time and energy, when it should have been spent doing other, more useful things.
And now Rebecca was trying to get out of the situation she'd found herself in. Poor thing. He hadn't wanted to kill this one, but she was smart. Almost as smart as Lisa had been. These kinds of people asked way too many questions.
Ultimately, killing wasn't his job. It's was someone else's job, but his decision. And right now she was getting on his last nerve.
The door finally flung open. He barely glanced at her blotched cheeks as he checked the mirror.
Nothing there.
What?
"Can I go back to my seat now?" she asked, irritated.
He wanted to nod, but something kept him standing there. What was it? He wasn't sure what was wrong, exactly, but he pushed her back into the room, adrenaline taking over.
And that was when he saw it.
The bitch had taken a pen and written it on the side wall. He slammed the door to the lavatory shut and held out his hand. "Pen."
She looked at him defiantly. Apparently going to the bathroom had made her plucky again. "Why?"
He laughed a little and pointed to his throat. He knew the scar was still there."I learn from my mistakes, Becca. Don't think I'm going to let you get away with this."
Rebecca made no effort to move and so he shoved her against the wall. For a minute, they were both overcome with adrenaline and breathing heavily. That's all there was-- deep breaths and silence.
"Now, just hand it over and we'll go back to our seats and everything will be fine."
She, of course, ignored him. "You're such a liar. Everything will not be fine and you know it."
Boy, had she said the wrong thing. If she was getting on his last nerve mere minutes ago, she was now jumping up and down on it. He twisted her arm behind her back until she whimpered.
"Don't cry out," he said nastily. "You wouldn't want to gamble with your mother's life, would you?"
"Fine, damn it!" she said, eyes filling with tears yet again. She pulled out the pen from her pocket and gave it to him. He watched, satisfied, as her eyes were filled with surrender.
"Good girl," he said, hoping to get on her nerve, too. Apparently he'd succeeded because she was now looking at him with absolute disgust. "Now, you're going to help me get this off the wall and then we're going to wipe those tears off your face and then we're going to go back to our seats. When the plane lands, we're going to order coffee at Starbucks. When I get the call, we're going to go to your father's office and take it from there. Got it?"
Rebecca refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was about to give up, so she didn't nod. He gently squeezed her shoulder in response and then patted it.
She shuddered. It was something her boyfriend did to reassure her. There was something about the way he had been acting, some of the things he had said--
He grabbed her a wet paper towel and asked her to rub the markings off the wall. They both worked at it; her hands shaking, his much more steady.
"I don't know why you're putting up such a fuss," he sneered. "I know you daydream of more excitement in your life. I heard you tell a friend. Isn't this excitement?"
She wanted to punch him. "How do you know everything?"
"I've been following you for eight weeks," he said nonchalantly.
She began to scrub harder, pretending the wall was his face. "Why?"
"I like to know as much as possible about the people I'm working with." When the pen markings were scrubbed off the wall to his satisfaction, he added, "Now, Beccca, I want you to put on a happy face. People are going to be wondering why friends of your father's are in the bathroom with you, obviously. So you're going to tell them you have... bladder difficulties and I was helping you out."
He grinned and threw the paper towels away. Thank God she had looked so miserable when she'd had to go to the bathroom earlier. That would only add plausibility to his story. Rebecca was only making it too easy.
She was glaring daggers at him, but he didn't care.
Sure enough, as he escorted her back to her seat, a flight attendant looked at them questioningly. He told her the story, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," the flight attendant said, looking at Rebecca with sympathy.
He looked at her and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Isn't that right, Becca?"
"Yeah," she said, blushing furiously.
Good girl.
The rest of the flight went by in a blur. The seat belt sign flashed with a ding and Jackson watched her the whole time. No pens from this woman.
He grabbed her carry-on for her and waited patiently as her luggage went by in the airport. She grabbed it, looking numb. Jackson shrugged and escorted her to the airport's Starbucks.
Rebecca couldn't believe her luck. She wondered how this man hadn't thought of it before, since he seemed to think he'd thought of everything. It seemed so simple... so...
She took the top of her drink off, pretending to be angry that the employees had forgotten her whipped cream. And that was when it happened.
She dumped it out over his head, and his brief shock was the window of time in which she needed to run. She ran like she'd never run before, adrenaline carrying her past a comfortable distance. She was panting and out of breath, but that didn't matter.
At one point, Rebecca looked over her shoulder and there he was, sprinting with his arms pumping frantically. She gave a little gasp and flung open the door of the airport terminal.
He was right behind her, and she realized she'd left her cell phone in her carry-on. Back at Starbucks. He had it, damn it.
A few seconds later, the man flung the door open and caught up to her. "Don't move," he said, holding tightly to her arm. "We're hailing a taxi. Put a goddamn smile on your face."
Rebecca tensed and waited there. She wanted to break down, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
The taxi ride seemed to go in slow motion. Jackson watched her every move until they stopped by an abandoned grocery store. He hastily put the money in the driver's hands and the two of them walked out together.
"Where are we?" she asked, wondering where her father was.
"I couldn't have the driver stop where we really need to go, could I?" he snapped. "We're walking."
She was pleased to see that the crisp suit was now wrinkled and stained with coffee. Rebecca looked around. Everything was so abandoned. One car had driven down the narrow road since they'd gotten out of the taxi and everything looked run down, almost like a ghost town. "Do most mafia organizations meet in places like these?" she asked.
He looked almost distracted. "First, I don't work for the mafia. Second, even if I did, do you think I'd tell you how it works?"
She shook her head and looked away from him. He seemed almost human when he didn't talk.
And then, they heard gunfire.
"Stay behind me," he said, grabbing her wrist painfully. "Something just happened."
"I want to see my daughter now!" Rebecca heard, as several men ran from behind the bushes right in front of them. The first man was her father.
"Dad!" she shouted.
"Rebecca!" he shouted back.
"Perhaps you should tell Daddy what's at stake, here," Jackson said, making everyone halt. She was slightly impressed by how much authority he could convey just by talking. "Maybe you should tell him who's standing right outside of your mother's house, poised and ready at my command. Or maybe that doesn't matter to him. They divorced a long time ago, didn't they, Becca? They really must not have liked each other. Maybe having you caused the rift in their relationship."
"Fuck you," Rebecca's father said in response.
"Now, now," he said patronizingly, "You wouldn't want to do anything too hasty."
Rebecca would always have a hard time remembering what came next. Gunfire went off and her father's body fell to the ground. She was pretty sure she had screamed. Then, she had shrugged out of Jackson's grasp and punched him as hard as she could in the stomach. Kicked him in the groin as she'd been taught to do in self-defense classes.
She heard the sirens then, the sound rising and falling in the distance.
"Shit," one of the men said, lowering his gun slightly. "I dunno, man, if they see us here after we just shot a dude..."
"Run for it," Jackson wheezed, doubled over. "Fucking run for it."
They did as they were told. "This isn't the end of it," Jackson had said, pointing at her with a shaking finger. "It isn't the end."
Her father had been taken to the hospital. The bullet had missed every vital organ in his body, thank God. She'd visited him often. Her mother, as absent-minded as she always tended to be nowadays, had gone out the back door of the house to "bring over some cookies" to one of their neighbors. When the men got the call from Jackson, they'd been unable to find her.
They'd lied to him when he asked. "Yeah, sure, we got her," they said. Their hearts were beating hard in their chests-- Jackson hated liars and often disposed of them without much thought.
Rebecca fell back into a somewhat normal schedule. Classes kept her too busy to think about what had happened the night of the flight. Also, her boyfriend proposed on the bridge leading to backcampus one night.
Right before exams started fully, she received a strange phone call. Her roommate shot up out of a dead sleep, answered the portable lying next to her, and mumbled, "It's for you."
"Hello?" Rebecca asked, playing absently with one of her pens.
"Hi, Rebecca? I don't know if you know who I am, but my name is Lisa Reisert. I need to ask you a few questions."