When she arrived at her father's house, it was already late afternoon. The sun was seated low in the sky and the clouds were lovely shade of golden pink.
The house was dark and still. She pulled into the driveway slowly, the flowers seemed to droop slightly. The air in the car became thick and she suddenly longed to be free of it, but when she opened the door and stepped out, the air became cold and nippy, chilling beneath her skin. She shivered, and not from the cold.
"Dad," she called too softly for him to have heard. She fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the front door. It creaked uncomfortably and closed with a loud click. "Dad?"
Sunlight dripped lazily into the room, speckles of it splattering the floor and walls.
But as Lisa looked closer, she realized it was not just sunlight that littered the room. Not just sunlight warming her feet as it seemed through the thing material of her sandals.
Lisa reached down with frozen fingers and touched her shoe. She brought her finger up to her face as slow as her shaking hand would allow. She had not breathed since she walked through the front door.
Blood. Wet, thick, warm and red. Lisa's heart stopped.
No.
She might have said it out loud. But she didn't think so. Her voice had been shoved deep into her throat and balled up into a rock, clogging her breathing. Every swallow was a nightmare.
"Dad..." She whispered one last time before she turned the corner into the kitchen-knowing that what may lie there might ruin be the most horrific sight she could ever see. Might ruin her life. She wanted to close her eyes and wake up. Because surely. Surely this was one of her dreams. Surely fate would not be so cruel and ironic.
Never again. Over and over again she'd said it. And over and over again she's say it now. Please, never again.
Her father lay in a bed of blood under the counter. He looked like he might have been sleeping. Serene and at peace, with the sunlight dancing on his cold face, glistening on the red liquid covering him.
Lisa may have screamed. Or not. She may have knelt over him on the floor and sobbed on her father' still chest. Or perhaps not that either.
Perhaps she just stood there in the doorway for a while, her eyes burning but not one tear ever falling. She did not feel devastated or hurt. Nor was she disturbed.
She felt destroyed. Defeated. She wanted to shout out at whatever God above thought He was funny.
She was thinking about never again.
She was thinking about crying on a plane, begging-demanding that her father may live. Risking her life so that he may.
Risking the life of a famous politician and his family.
Risking everything, so that her father may live another day.
A few months. Just a few fucking months after all that-he dies. He's killed, in fact. Because another sick son of a bitch pulled the rug out from under her feet.
Call the police, Lisa. Call the police. Stand up straight, square your shoulders, stop looking at it. He's gone.
Lisa wavered. She could not breathe. She couldn't. As hard as she tried the air would not fill her lungs not could she release any. She couldn't move either. And every blink felt Earth shattering.
Cold. So cold. She felt like an avalanche was crashing down on her, a blizzard raging in her bones.
Breathe. Snap out of it. Call the police.
A flash of darkness drew away her attention. Her neck snapped away from the bloody scene and she winced as she fixed herself on the nearest window.
Faster than before, although her limbs had turned to jelly, she scrambled out the front door and ran in the direction she thought the darkness had gone.
The bushes on the side of her house rustled audibly. She crept towards them, all the while visions of Jackson and her father lying cold clouded her senses.
The uneasy sensation was pulsing through her harder and clearer than it ever had. Violently, it took hold of her. She knew. She could tell. She was close to him. Somehow, someway...she could feel him.
Before she would have run away as fast as she could, terror stricken. But now, as rage and loss battled inside her heart, she realized this whole time, she hadn't ever been running for herself.
She hadn't ever been crying or shaking or coughing up tears in an airplane toilet for herself. It had always been her father. The threat of her father's life had turned her into a useless little girl.
But when he'd come to her house, when she'd moved her father and knew he'd be safe, when she'd clutched her old cane and readied herself to strike-she had not been afraid at all. And she was not afraid now.
They'd taken everything from her. Whoever they may be. She had nothing to lose now. If she was crazy, if the darkness she chased was just the projection of her nightmares, so be it. She would lose her mind before she lived out her days afraid and grieving. And if she was not-if a killer lurked nearby and she chased death, then so be that too.
She slid between the neighboring houses and scrambled through the prickly rose bushes, a figure in suit just feet away.
"Hey," Lisa said sharply, powerfully. The figure seemed to stiffen-and then broke out into a run.
So she did as well.
By this point her dress was in rags and her calves were bleeding from thorns and sharp leaves-but she didn't care.
She pushed her legs as fast as yet could move once they were through the right place between houses. As she pushed through she found herself in a fenced off area, a little gate closing her off to her neighbors backyard. She was alone.
She knew her prey had to have jumped the fence, so she braced herself for an ungraceful maneuver.
She gripped the top of the fence and heaved herself over it, landing flat on her side on a pile of leaves. Her hands had splinters wedged into their creased. The ache was drowned by her pounding heart and the sickness in her stomach.
Inside her neighbor's backyard now, she pulled herself up and looked around. The fence was high around the entire backyard. Very high. There was no escape.
Lisa breathed deeply. Something glinted out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to see a large root hook glinting in the last light of the afternoon sun. She reached over and wrapped her splintered hands around it, raising it over her right shoulder in a batting stance as she crept around the back of the house.
She did not shake or tremble. She was steady, smooth-every step deliberate and calculating.
Her heart leaped as she heard the sound of water hitting the side of the house. She could barely see a green hose coiled up on the side of the house like a giant snake, but anything beyond that was blocked from her view. She looked ahead. Before her was grass and a few small, decorative trees, a bench and a fish pond. There was absolutely nowhere to hide.
Her vision snapped to something creeping from behind the trees. Her breathing hitched.
Her heartbeat slowed as a small black cat with flashing yellow eyes slid around the base of the tree that stared her down.
She sighed inwardly. Just a cat-
But the cat was staring at something else now. Staring, with its hackles raised and claws out. Peering right around the side of the house, where the hose was.
Her eyes slid to where the cats were as she side stepped closer, her back against the house.
Another step-she heard someone else's step further away. One more step-she was so close now-and another light step sounded from around the bend.
Okay. Just do it. Strike. You are the attacker. You are the predator. They should be afraid. Not you.
5-One more small step.
4-She raised the root hook higher.
3-A long, deep breath.
2-This is for you, dad.
1-She sprang around the bend and slammed her tool down-on a man in suit, with ruffled brown hair and terror stricken face with sunken cheeks and wise blue eyes. He yelled out as she came crashing down on her-causing her to scream as well.
She roared as she attacked, madly and sloppily, before he grabbed the tool out of her hands and flung it across the yard. He slammed her body into the side of the house by her wrists, and she used her legs to knee him between the legs. He cursed loudly in her ear and winced as she untangled herself and used the opportunity she had been given to rake her nails across his neck down to his chest-when she retracted her fingers were bloody.
The moment she took to gawk at her fingers had cost her. He sent a hard kick into her ribs that sent her flying to the ground. She cried out-but before she could make another move the man was down on his knees with a hand wrapped around her mouth. She struggled for a moment before she heard the sound of voices coming from inside the house.
"I don't know, I thought heard the cat or something," said a woman's voice from inside. Lisa heard the sound of a door opening and then closing. The woman-her neighbor, whom she'd never bothered to get to know-was outside with them.
"Joffrey? You okay boy?" The woman's sweet voice sounded close, causing Lisa's fists and toes to curl.
She wondered why she wasn't screaming. She wasn't a trespasser. She was a victim. A man had her pinned to the ground. He father was dead-murdered-Lisa was sure of it.
But for some reason, she kept still and quiet.
The cat-Joffrey-was staring straight at them. She willed it to look away, but its focus would not be broken.
"Whatcha staring at, Joffrey?" Her neighbor's voice sounded even closer now, causing Lisa to jump out of her skin. The man above her squeezed her still, his weight crushing her. She shuddered into him.
By now, she already knew who it was. Somehow. It was him. Back from the dead.
She didn't know what to believe anymore. But she did know that there was nothing she wouldn't believe at this point, including this. That Jackson was alive.
And had just killed her father.
Her blood boiled as she shifted, ever so slightly and painfully slow, and took in his face.
He looked different than before. Thinner and gaunter, though stronger judging by their fight a few minutes before. His jaw was more defined, his eyes angrier. There was light stubble on his cheeks.
There were memories of Jackson that Lisa hadn't locked away in her mind only to be unleashed in her dreams.
There were a few memories of Jackson that remained simple and strange, memories of drinking at the airport bar and laughing and awkward jokes and flirting...a little bit of flirting, though mostly just chatting.
She'd thought he was pretty attractive in those memories. She wretched inwardly. Still, this close to him, she was forced to notice that he was even more than before. His hair was different. Messier but less dorky. He looked more grown up.
His eyes which were glued upward to the unseen woman and tattle-take cat, flicked down to her suddenly. Chills slithered down her spine as he took her in.
She willed herself to calm down. For her mind to stop spinning.
You. It was you. You killed him.
It might not have been.
For what? For revenge?
It might not have been him.
You died. My father killed you.
Lisa, shhh, his eyes seemed to say. He brought a finger to his lips, their faces so close that it rested on her lips as well. She closed her open mouth and let the questioning expression fall from her face and morph into something like hatred.
Joffrey lost interest and stalked away, finally. Her neighbor walked back inside and shut the door. Lisa and Jackson both released a synchronized breath of relief.
She glared up at him.
"How?" She asked.
He glared back down. "Are you surprised to see me, Lees?"
The sound of his voice rattled her bones and the name made her flinch hard enough to cause pain in her ribs where he'd kicked her. Fireworks exploded in her brain and her eyes burned.
Jackson smiled. "Aw, you know, the last time we were this close-"
"You threw me over my banister and watched me roll down the stairs," she finished for him.
"Actually, I was going to say you called me 'pathetic'. But that too I guess," he shrugged off of her and pulled her onto her knees.
"How?" She asked again. He back faced her as he stood.
"We have to get out of here," he mumbled. "We can-"
"Did you kill my father?" Lisa interrupted, speaking with a deadly calm.
He turned to face her. "So he's gone."
She cocked her head to the side in answer, her right eye finally releasing a drop of water that darted to her chin as soon as it left her eye.
"That explains a lot," he mused, fumbling with his suit and touching his neck and chest where red, fleshy, fresh skin was visible and clotted with blood.
"Did. You. Kill. Him." She said through her teeth.
"No. Let's go." He took her arm and crouched forward, tugging her as he scrambled to the other side of the house to the shorter fence. He jumped over it first, and it sounded like he landed as sloppily as she had by the curse he let loose on the other side. As she heaved herself up and over, she landed in his arms, and he kept her upright in a gentlemanly fashion. She would have rolled her eyes if not for the circumstances.
"Who killed my father, if not you?" She said as squeezed through the houses and onto the driveway.
"Someone like me," he answered her. "But not me," he added pointlessly.
"Who?" She pushed.
"A man in my department. Your father was a target. He was assigned to me but I refused," he spoke quickly and quietly, his eyes darting around.
Lisa closed her eyes. "What-why would my father be a target...please tell me this doesn't have to do with me."
"Of course it does." He said simply, his voice coated in darkness.
She felt like throwing up. She found herself sitting on the ground, curled into a ball.
"Get up." He said harshly.
But she couldn't.
Jackson stomped over to her and kneeled in front of her. He took her face in his hands and squeezed her cheeks together like she was a child. She thought about spitting in his face.
"Lees, do you remember when I taught you to bottle up those emotions? Well, it's time to do that again. Do you think you can do that for me?" He asked her mockingly.
She looked up at him slowly, her eyes gleaming.
"Or what, my dad dies? Well guess what, he's already gone. You have no leverage over me. You can't walk on me like you could on the plane. I don't have to listen to a word you say," she spat.
"Fair enough," he said with a grin. "How about a trade, then? Suck it up and come with me for all the answers you want."
"Come with you where?"
"We have to run. Someone is after you. You're going to, despite your better judgment, have to trust me." He added a lazy smile after this that made her want to hurl, but she stood anyways.
"What about my dad? I can't just...I have to call-"
"The police can't help you. My people have set up you up. Call the police and you'll be turning yourself in," he said.
"My God," she breathed into her hands. "Oh my God..."
"No time for that," he said, slipping his hand over hers and rubbing it slightly-she assumed to make her uncomfortable or anger her. She did not give him the satisfaction of yanking her hand back.
"If they're your people-why on Earth would I go anywhere with you?" She demanded, wiping at her face with her other hand, her voice shaking.
"Like I said, you're just going to have to trust me. By the way," he said as he broke out into a trot down the street as he gripped her hand. "This dress-" he gestured to it, "I like. Did you wear it for me?"
She made a face and he chuckled. "Good color on you."