Who is Jackson Rippner?
Note: This chapter is a bit shorter, as I wanted to leave you hanging at the end… remember, I do not own any of these enchanting characters!
Chapter IV: The Airport, Again
Jackson stared at her, his Lisa, the first time he had been this close to her since the incident. He watched her, awed to see her in person again. He even noticed the two moles on her throat and the one on the right side corner of her mouth, and even the one under her lips.
Shame washed over him; the last time he had looked her in the eye; he had failed, she had beaten him, and her look of pity and confusion had disgusted him.
After he lay on the floor, shot twice, stabbed twice, and bleeding from the head as well, he had looked into her eyes. There was understanding, he thought, as he looked at her; respect, maybe. Maybe not – maybe it was just the pity he initially thought, but he hoped he was wrong. He couldn't keep her gaze; he had to look away. He had failed, he was a failure. He didn't want her to ever see him in that position again, which is why he wanted her to discover how strong he had been in the past, how successful. How certain he had been about everything, on top, and in charge.
But he wouldn't let her find out about his fall, about his realization, and what had made him turn to the other side. Jeez, he thought, I am really thinking in such a corny manner – my turn to the other side? The Dark Side, as in the Force? What was this?
He needed to stop thinking of that.
How Jackson loved her nickname, he now thought, pretending to read a Time magazine as he saw her pacing around their gate. He had arrived before her and had positioned himself strategically, so he could see her, but not she him. Jackson knew how terrified she was right now, and it thrilled him, not just a little, to see her like this. To see her so vulnerable. But she needn't fear him, he wouldn't hurt her. She had become too fascinating to him; he thought about her all the time, and if he had been the type to believe in love, he might have thought he was. He didn't much indulge in these types of teenage feelings, but it was just something about her, about her way, about her.
He sat up straighter, cleared his throat and reestablished control of himself. He was glad that his nameless associate had been able to conceal his throat scar; he wasn't self-conscious about it, but he didn't want to be recognized by Lisa.
His voice was a bit raspier these days; he expected that he would never have the same voice he had once had, but it had improved a great deal since the attack, and he lived with it.
Lisa was pacing around, stopping in the many shops that surrounded her gate. She was almost ready to run home, to her safe place, she was so terrified. Planes had never been easy for her to endure, but now… after that flight... She wanted to go home; what had she been thinking, booking this ticket on a whim and flying all the way to Virginia based on a notecard in her mailbox that she wasn't even sure had meant anything.
Was she crazy? Had she lost her mind? She didn't want to get on any airplane. She began to walk away, quickly, changing her mind and scanning the crowd for anyone suspicious.
Jackson, on the other hand, was wondering what she was up to. He could tell that she was completely freaked out and watched as she headed away from the gate. He fought the urge to run to her and grab her. But he was rational, and decided to wait. If she managed to get far enough to escape his view, he would then take action.
Lisa stopped in her tracks. No, she told herself, I must see this through. I will be careful and I will see this thing through. It's the only way to end this thing once and for all. I have to be strong, but I sure could use a little help. She put her hand to her purse, protectively, and then to the cell phone, hidden beneath her shirt. She had made sure to wear baggy clothes this time, to conceal her extra phone, and extra pens in her pocket (although she knew she probably couldn't use it as a successful weapon again, against Jackson. If he were around, he would be smarter than last time, and he wouldn't take his eyes off her).
She was right. Jackson was watching her, and his eyes narrowed as he saw her put her hand over her purse, and then her hip. He had noticed her clothes of choice; baggy jeans, like himself (he guessed they had both learned something), an oversized sweater, and sneakers. She was ready to run if she had to, and he didn't doubt for a second that she had weapons on her!
She visibly relaxed, seemingly reassuring herself with her foolish precautions. Didn't she know that he could foresee her every move? Well, almost every move, he thought, running his hand over his throat. He sighed as he saw her reach into her purse and pull out a prescription bottle, walk to a water fountain, and swallow several pills. He knew it was Xanax; he knew that she had filled the prescription and kept it on her person at all times. Not only could she not leave the house without weapons, but without her crutch.
He thought she would be stronger. He felt disappointed in her. A young guy sat next to him, and he realized this would be to his advantage. He made small talk with the kid who was dressed in almost an identical manner as he was.
Lisa swallowed her pills. At least if anything happened in this flight, nothing would be able to revive her, not even Jackson. She would be out like a light soon.
But first – first she must survey everyone at the gate. She looked around, seeing the typical travelers; some families, people alone, two young guys sitting next to each other and talking animatedly; some older people, and a pregnant woman. Other various kids and people - so far, nothing out of the ordinary.
Jackson, adept at doing many things at once (he hated the word mult-taking and refused to use it at all costs), saw her regard the crowd closely, and she had passed over him and the young man without any worry on her face. He continued to talk to the kid, pretending to be interested in the video games and popular television shows of the day, putting on a show that would fool anyone.
He also had put his fake, black-rimmed glasses on. He could barely stand talking to this insipid creature any longer, but he kept it up for Lisa's benefit. Soon she would know all that he was doing for her. I should have been an actor, he thought.
Twenty minutes later, they were all on the plane, seated and ready to go. It was a full flight, something Jackson had made sure of. They would arrive in D.C. in a couple of hours, he would grab his rental – no need to follow her beyond the baggage area - head to his hotel, set up his equipment, and then check on her. It was going to be a great night. Then, the next day, her visit to his school, would be quite interesting. He himself had his own copy of his records; he had copies of everything he had ever done in his life, and he had brought them along, but he usually kept them someplace much safer.
She was closer to the front of the plane, but within his view. She was so nervous, seated in the aisle, looking around with worry. He could see her, and it delighted him. He was in a window seat, of course, on the opposite side of the three seaters, and he had a perfect view of her.
The plane began to ready itself for take-off. Before it even left the ground, she was out like a light.
Xanax, he knew, could do that to you. Anyone in his position knew all about every substance used; he knew he could never resort to anything like that, as he had to be alert at all times. He saw it as a sign of her weakness, her inability to cope, and it made him doubt sending her on this quest. Why should he bother with her? She was a silly little girl in a woman's body (one that he found himself quite interested in) who had gotten lucky last time. She wasn't a threat. But yet he felt a bit of worry. Why had she given in so quickly? Why had she resorted to the Xanax to feel better? Why did she have all these crutches?
In her hotel room, Lisa relaxed even more. She still felt sleepy, but calm, thanks to the Xanax. The flight had gone smoothly, and she had no reason to worry. If Jackson were watching her… but she doubted he was. Maybe he had put the card in there, maybe one of his associates did. She was still confused about the whole thing, but felt a compulsion? Obsession - to learn more about him. Even if he was watching her, he wasn't an imminent threat; of that she was unsure. Her instinct told her she was safe for now, despite the fact that she might have reasons to question that instinct right now.
Jackson watched her movements through his high-powered, maximum resolution binoculars. She was off her guard, which was good. He watched her disappear into the bathroom. He then switched to his laptop computer and began to watch her, through the tiny cameras his associates had set up for him. With money and connections, you could get almost anything done with only a few hours notice.
She turned the water on, giving it a few minutes to warm up, and began to undress. He had seen her body many times before, but he never got tired of watching it. He always felt the same lust rising in him, the same futile ability to control it, to tame it. She couldn't know the effect she had on him – unless he had the same effect on her. He had seen it in her eyes the first time they met, but obviously she wouldn't feel the same way now. Yet even as he had lay on her living room floor, bleeding, she watching him with pitiful eyes, he knew an electricity existed.
His anger, fueled with her anger, had been almost combustible. Under different circumstances, at different times, the fight could have erupted into something more… something much more, that he knew they both wanted.
After all, he had invited her to join him in the airport restaurant, that first time they met in the line, on an impulse. He didn't need to do any research, but it was a chance to get to know her up close, face to face. To see what she was like, what fueled the person he had been watching for so long. And his last chance to act as if they were both normal, everyday people, in an innocent surrounding.
She now looked in the mirror… looking at her scar, as she always did. Oh Leese, he thought with sorrow, if I could take that away, I would. No matter what he was, he wasn't a rapist. He wouldn't have killed her, he knew he wouldn't have. He didn't think he had it in him to physically stab her. He knew he was capable of doing it to others, but she was different. The knife had really been for his protection, not hers.
He sighed, supposing that he had invaded enough of her privacy for now. Privacy! She had none of it and never would as long as he was around. Not until he had her, completely, and she wanted him, completely.
The next day, he watched from his window as Lisa left, obviously, to the high school he had attended. Fairfax High School. Ugh… he thought. Part of the reason he didn't follow her was he had no desire to see that place again. He had left Fairfax and never returned. Only now, for her, would he do so.
Lisa went through the preliminaries as she found the high school and guidance office, and asked for Rippner's folder. She got it without comment, by an older woman who obviously was counting the days to her retirement. When Lisa inquired about a photocopier, the woman pointed to a back room and returned her glance to her computer screen. She must love her job, Lisa thought.
About twenty minutes later, she returned the folder to the guidance office, having only stolen a few originals that she had wanted to keep. She walked through the halls, reminded of her own school – were they all like this? Did they all have the same smell, the same feel, the same deserted quality when classes were in session?
She hadn't bothered to even look at the papers as she photocopied the material inside the folder. Now, she picked up her pace as she hurried back to her hotel, eager to see what was inside.
Jackson noticed her return, as he noticed everything. After he had a quick lunch, he turned on his computer to watch her as she read, and he opened his folder, of his own copies, to follow along. What would she think of the material inside?
To be continued…..
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