Lisa is on her much deserved holiday on a cruiser across the Atlantic. Of course, nothing turns out to be as planned but this time it isn't only her who is annoyed by this turn of events. She maked sure of that...
A/N: I'm working on the plot of a longer RE fanfic, but in the meantime I wanted to get this out of my system. It's not as serious and emotion-analyizing stuff as my usual fics but hopefully it's not that bad either.
Disclaimer: Wes Craven isn't too intimidating but his lawyers surely are so hereby I state I don't own here anything.
Cruise control
Chapter 1: Clingy past
Blue, blue and blue. Up and down, around, everywhere. Dark, light, whitish, greenish, turquoise. To be honest, it was getting a little bit old by the fourth day. Lisa Reisert didn't quite know what she'd been expecting, if expecting anything at all, when she'd decided on this trip. Actually, since she hated flying, she didn't have quite a lot of options of vehicles but an ocean cruiser if she wanted to visit Barcelona.
And she really wanted to, even if she had spent the previous months with headstrong denial that everything around her was all right. She had been able to keep up the front exactly till one day she found herself coming out of unconsciousness on the floor right behind the counter of the Lux Atlantic, blurry faces of her colleagues looming over her. Denial had its own byproducts, she of all people should have known it: while through work or whatever activity she chose it could provide the much needed ignorance and a narrow-minded oblivion, the very fear of catching herself in the spontaneous act of thinking, almost unbeknownst to her, compelled her to jump headfirst into the activity till it stressed her out to an actual unconscious state. She had gone through this before, marked and defiled, terrified and humiliated: work, work and work, and when she finally had the courage to go home, she watched movies and made scrambled eggs into late night just to spend as little time as possible in the much hated state when her mind was the most vulnerable and less controllable: namely, during the idle hours in bed. After the Red Eye flight - no, actually after that she felt victorious and bold -, after a phone call from a faceless police officer who had been working on the case she had learnt that Jackson Rippner was set free (no explanation on how and above all why, just a when in a very authoritative tone), all her newfound peace was thrown out the window. She would admit that she slept with various objects scattered around the bedroom floor, jingling, clinking, clattering objects like cutlery and Christmas bells and boxes of paperclips, whatever she could find so she would be jolted awake had anyone unwanted broken into the flat at night. She wasn't that much afraid of him as she should have been (it was more that she was angry with everyone responsible for letting him go after what she'd had to go through to hand him over to the police) but being caught off-guard wasn't a desirable prospect.
She had to admit, in the past few days on the ship, despite the swaying and surge of the water, she had the best sleep she'd gotten in the past two years. No constant glances back over her shoulder, no need for ridiculous objects for her homemade alarm system, no need to sleep with a hockey stick under the blanket.
She could literally see the dark circles subside under her eyes. After all, all she did was relaxing and tedious as it could get, it felt fabulous. The cruiser was enormous with maze-like corridors and a huge deck, all perfect for wandering around. She went to the spa every late evening when she was sure no one was there – she wasn't too comfortable in swimming dress around others, truth be told, she'd had to buy one before the trip because although she lived in Miami, after the hideous incident two years ago she wouldn't even think of wearing anything so small as a swimming dress (it was hell of a mission to find one that covered her scar because she wanted nothing less than explaining to strangers in what circumstances she'd obtained it). Fortunately, the cruiser seemed to be full of middle-aged or older divorced women who inclined to go to bed till midnight. The spa was fabulous; the green and blue lights illuminating the pools between the marble columns gave the premise a mysterious atmosphere. She especially enjoyed it the previous night when the ship got into a smaller storm and the swaying kept them being thrown around. She had actually laughed out loud as she got almost sloshed out of the pool when the cruise was most probably facing a particularly rough swell. It was fun, reminding her of old times with her father and brother, playing and being lifted out then hauled back into the ocean. So far she had tried all the different pools, plunge pool, therapy pool, Jacuzzi, sauna; she felt like a kid in a toy store.
In the morning she would let herself sleep in, nestle between the sheets and stretch like a lazy cat. Luckily, she brought a few books with her, so when she went up to the deck she had something to occupy her with. After the first day she had quite quickly enough of cruise talk, all the impersonal and trite questions about where she was from and if she had ever been to Europe, or if this one was her first time on a cruiser and why a young woman would travel alone. They bored her to the core, and truth be told, she wasn't too interested in other people's lives right now. She had her own fair share of meaningless polite talk (bullshit chatter, as Cynthia usually called it) at the Lux, she had no intention to reenact it on her much deserved holiday. So without better option, she put on her headset and read all those books she had been wishing to plunge into for months. She was already producing a nice suntan which was pretty ironic for someone living in Miami but beside work she never really had time or opportunity to bask in the sun. Dinnertime she would take her meal in the restaurant but make it quite short because the show during it was mostly pretty cheesy; she found the cocktail bar up on the deck more tempting (even if she had to fight off advances from men; she was in mood to be hit on) and the view with the open endless sky and stars was breathtaking. In the city she never had an opportunity to see the whole firmament in its beauty; the colors were deeper, the stars brighter and she was completely captivated.
After leaving Nassau, Bahamas behind a few days ago, all interaction with her family and friends (which had been actually limited to her father and Cynthia) came to an end. There was no signal to make phone calls and the bandwidth was hair-raisingly insufficient, immediately ruling out browsing on internet as pastime. Until they would reach the Canary Islands five days later, she wouldn't be able to contact them but, albeit a bit reluctantly, she realized she enjoyed her temporary freedom.
On the fifth day, she decided to stay in bed a little longer, not hungry enough to crawl out from under the blankets. Simply out of habit she turned on the TV but just as on the previous days all she could get was snow on the screen or FOX News. After a boring hour of news watching (new tax laws rejected by the Senate; some North Korean military issue; the impending exhibition of a lost and found Caravaggio in Rome; doping scandal of a basketball player), she dressed up, took her purse and rode the elevator up to the deck. In the café she had a cup of coffee with a cheese-cream bagel and sighed contentedly as the sun caressed her cheek. Oh, dolce far niente, she smiled to herself.
She skipped lunch due to the late breakfast, and headed back to her room to grab a book so she could easier avoid any tedious chatter with the other passengers. I'm so antisocial, she chuckled to herself while shuffling down the corridor to her suite. If she had any more analysis of her current behavior about to be born, it died a very quick death when she bumped into someone stepping out from a side-aisle.
There was a moment of exchange of apologies, then a moment of standstill and finally the moment of utter panic and surprise.
No matter how hard she tried to see things -him- differently (maybe it was just the light or the angle or the cheese-cream had been tainted and she was having visions, she guessed, no, hoped) but, in fact, there was no doubt the person before her looked very much like Jackson Rippner.
"You…" she blurted out incredulously and accusingly too, and without further thoughts and words she turned around and bolted for the elevator door. He was, however, faster and she didn't take two steps when he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. There was a creak and before she could start to puzzle her brains where the noise came from, she was shoved into a crumpled, dark room. As the light switched on and she was rewarded with the sight of the most eerie eyes she'd ever seen, she realized they were in a storage room, undoubtedly too small for her liking.
"Hi Leese" he stretched the syllables, menace and astonishment mixing in his voice. Her mind quickly flashed back to the restroom on that fateful plane, and had to fight back the memories, knees going rubberlike, but before she could grab a mop and pound at his head, he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Manners, Leese? Hello Jackson, it's so good to see you," he scoffed with a singing voice.
"What are you doing here?" she ignored his sneer, completely frozen in his grip. He didn't change much, his hair was cropped a bit shorter but other than that he looked just as she remembered him (and she offhandedly realized she remembered him very vividly). Her gaze dropped and did a double take at his clothes. He was clad in a white golf shirt and khakis, and she was stunned how harmless and unsuspicious he appeared without the tailored suit, exactly like someone on holiday. But he couldn't be, it was impossible, murderers didn't go on holiday like normal people – this idea was thrown back unprocessed by her brain.
"I need you to make a phone call," Rippner snickered and watched delightedly as her eyes darkened. "Relax, I was just kidding!"
He gritted his teeth in an effort to try to immobilize her again. He grabbed her arms and tightened his grip more than it was necessary, and he obviously reveled in seeing pain crossing her face.
"Holiday?"
Lisa pressed her lips together defiantly and didn't answer. She was still under the shock of meeting him here of all places. It was surreal, being inches from him among mops and plastic buckets and cleansing lotions. She felt the memories she had tried to forget so desperately uncoil in her mind and limbs. Mixture of fear and disbelief was washing over her, nailing her feet to the spot.
"Of course it is," he nodded to himself, looking slightly annoyed. "Travelling alone?"
Lisa lifted her chin, nostrils flaring and glared at him. "No."
He studied her face for a minute, blue eyes sweeping over her features, and she found it extremely uncomfortable.
"Lie. Again," he snarled angrily and suddenly she remembered how much he hated when she lied. She prepared herself for the unleash of rage but it didn't come. "You came alone."
"What are you doing here?" Lisa repeated impatiently, trying to elicit an answer. He hesitated, before pulling her closer and lowering his voice. His face was calm but his eyes moved over her face restlessly.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Lisa, I didn't even know you would be on this ship but if you do something silly… if you do something…" he shook her for emphasis. "I have to get you. You and daddy and mommy and Cynthia. Understood? I so much as see a uniform at the port during disembarkment, I call my associates and your beloved ones are gone. So keep your pretty mouth shut about me, no chitchat with anyone on board, no phone calls to the police or daddy, nothing at all. You leave this cabin and enjoy your trip, sunbath, swim in the pool, play the cards, whatever, and forget that we ever met."
Lisa gave him a sarcastic stare, clearly conveying that it was hardly anything she could easily ignore.
"I didn't hear you say you got it," he snapped.
Lisa clenched her teeth, and sent him a death glare before nodding. "Fine."
"Good girl. I'll keep an eye on you, for safety measure of course," he added intently, earning another dirty look, before she opened the door and fled the room. She didn't get far either this time for he grabbed her elbow and pulled her back to a window.
"Not that fast." He seized her purse and started to rummage about, suddenly pulling a pen out. His lips curled snidely, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Tsk, tsk. You won't need this," and with that, he threw it out the window. It disappeared in the waves.
Lisa sent him a triumphant look, her raised eyebrows clearly saying she thought him pathetic but Rippner either ignored it or didn't see it. A little more search and he retrieved her cell phone.
"No signal, of course, but to be on the safe side…" he pocketed it, and before Lisa could protest he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "You'll get it back when we arrive and I see you haven't done anything cute. Don't worry, when we have signal again, I'll text daddy that his little daughter feels just peachy."
"You jerk," Lisa hissed, completely appalled.
Rippner gave her an amused smile. "Thanks, I'm trying hard here." To her utter terror, now he had her key card in his hand, and taking a short look at its paper case (she made a mental note not to carry the paper case with her ever again), he dropped it back in the purse. "507. Now I know which room you're staying in, so behave, otherwise I have to drop by."
Without reply, she tore the purse out of his grip and trotted toward her room. This time he let her go.
She almost broke the door off the hinges, she was in such a haste to get in the temporary safety of her room. She could feel his eyes burning a hole in her back. She shut the door, bolted it and pulled a chair against it, propping the door up below the handle.
"Jesus…" a sound between a whine and a sob emitted from her throat and she dropped on the bed, perturbed and numb.
How could it happen…? What were the chances…? Was he really…? Why was he…? What should she…?
There were so many questions racing through her mind that she had no chance to separate them. She dragged herself to the bathroom and rinsed her face and drank some water, then lowered herself onto the floor.
"Breathe… try it logically…" she commanded herself but shuddered because it was something he would have said. She groaned, frustrated. Whatever reasons brought him on the ship, he wasn't here for her, that one was sure. His expression had been full of bewilderment, and even though he tried to pull on the expressionless mask Lisa had seen many times before, it clearly irritated him that he had to deal with her now. She tried not to reflect on why she thought she knew him so much, why she could read his face even when it seemed there was nothing to read there. With a sickening glee she realized she could see through the tiny cracks when his mask slipped: a twitch around his lips, a flicker of eyelashes – inwardly she gloated over this fact.
Suddenly she recalled a talk she'd had with Cynthia a few weeks earlier, embarrassed anew how she could admit all those things to her friend after a few drinks one night. Cynthia had asked her flat out why she was so keen on turning a blind eye whenever a man showed interest in her. She'd glared at the other girl, and with somewhat glazed eyes she'd blurted out:
"You have no idea what it's like. Every man I see in the street, in the hotel, every single one I meet… I try to find something they have in common with him. Anything. A gesture, a feature, scent, the fabric of their shirt, the way they talk, it can be anything. I'm searching for the trace of him in every man, not paying attention to anything else, not interested in anything else just the alarms that might go off if I found any." To her credit, Cynthia hadn't asked who she was referring to, maybe it was plain obvious.
"It's normal, Lisa. It's okay, you are afraid and cautious and mistrustful of men."
Lisa hadn't been that wasted so she wouldn't remember how she had responded, and the memory could still color her face red. "You know what the worst is in this? That I don't know if I were repelled or interested if I found something in common. I don't know if I'm searching for it to stay away or because it's something I want in a man. How sick is that? Seeing him everywhere, in every man and I'm not sure it's only because of fear."
Groaning loudly, feeling overly ashamed of her past self she decided, after meeting him again, it was probably fear. Or disgust. She'd had to be stupid even to question it but what had happened at the Tex Mex somehow blurred her judgment. The two men, the one at the bar and the other from the plane didn't match in her mind, she couldn't correlate one with the other no matter how she tried and it was confusing. And the part of her that had wanted it to work between them before the ordeal blossomed was still in search for someone like him. Yes, it was sick, now she saw it clearly.
Forcing her mind back to the current situation, she realized she had no reason and no means to defy him.
Since she was the mistress of denial, she figured she would just ignore him. The cruiser was huge enough to avoid him, and her life could only be better without partaking in some big brash plot. She decided, teeth clenched, hands balled into fists that she would enjoy her holiday. He had screwed up enough of her journeys, she wouldn't let this one be spoiled too.
A/N: Here nothing special yet, a bit of an introductory part, hope you didn't fall asleep;) Stay tuned.