The dull vibrations of rubber on gravel filled Lisa's weary, painful head as she leaned against the window pane. She felt weak, her body tapped out and spent, from the spikes of cortisol coursing through her body. Her chest felt tight, her breath felt labored. Every inhale felt like a Herculean effort to get oxygen into her flooded lungs.
She gazed outside the window, watching the passing scenery with a deep sense of foreboding envy. She briefly wondered whether she would ever see scenery like this again. Her eyes refocused, catching the light reflection in the window. She could see the outline of Logan sitting behind her, keeping a watchful eye on her as she twirled her long knife between her French tipped fingers.
Lisa's eyes flickered toward the front seat, and locked onto the back of Jackson's head, onto his floppy, brown hair. She focused intently on him for a moment, as if wishing she could destroy him with her gaze alone. But it was impossible. Everything felt impossible.
She glanced back outside the window. The rural Florida roads were long behind them, and now Lisa could see they were in some urban center she vaguely recognized. There were large buildings, skyscrapers, a bustling city built on hilly, crowded streets. She felt her body tense with anticipation as Jackson steered the car toward a large, ominous, blue-windowed skyscraper. There was a large circular drive in front of the building, with a large, ornate fountain in the center. It almost looked like a luxury hotel, or a major financial institution.
But Lisa knew better. It was all a tame façade, much like Jackson had displayed on that Red Eye flight. It seemed fitting that his company, an organization that specialized in killing and kidnapping, would hide behind a business-like façade. Just like Jackson.
She swallowed hard as Jackson pulled up through the circle drive. A large man clad in a black suit hurried toward them. His demeanor was intimidating and threatening, but it immediately softened once he recognized Jackson.
"Mr. Rippner, sir, it's excellent to see you again." The man exclaimed, his voice a little too polite.
Jackson smiled at him pleasantly. "Always a pleasure, Anthony. I have some special cargo in the backseat. May take a minute to unload. She tends toward dramatics."
Anthony's eyes flickered toward Lisa and he nodded. "Of course, sir." His eyes lingered on Lisa as if he were trying to place where he had seen her before. Suddenly it seemed to click. "This is the Reisert woman isn't it? The one you…" A cutting glare from Jackson forced him to trail off.
"Uh, Mr. Leyva has been expecting her." Anthony quickly corrected himself and tried to avoid looking at the scar on Jackson's neck.
"I'm sure he has." Jackson replied curtly, adjusting his tie. He was well aware of what Anthony was trying his best not to look at. The scar on his neck. It was like a souvenir from hell, a lasting reminder of his failure on that fateful flight. He carried it around the office, around the company, a heavy, visible shame, etched into his neck. Associates would whisper, gossip.
His boss, Mr. Leyva, had graciously allowed Jackson to live after his catastrophic failure, but his scar would remain there forever, a visible reminder of his shortcomings, his failings, the pain he tried so hard to hide. His mind wandered as he thought of the scar on Lisa's chest. It was a visible, heavy shame, a painful memory, etched forever into her skin, just like his.
He shook the thoughts from his head as he put the car in park and turned toward Lisa. "I am going to get out, and unlock the door, Leese." He said slowly and matter-of-factly. "You are going to walk with Logan and I through the lobby, and to the elevators, so that we can start to get you settled. Keep in mind, this is a privilege, Leese. Most of my company's long term 'guests' come in through the back entrance. I'm only too happy to show it to you, should you misbehave."
Lisa fixed him with a cold stare as he looked at her expectantly. She felt nausea settle in her upper abdomen. She tried to swallow it, to swallow all of this discomfort that gushed forward every time he looked at her.
"Understood?" Jackson asked, his voice bringing her back to the present.
Lisa looked at him stone-faced. "Yes." She said softly, her voice curt.
"Good." Jackson replied coldly. He stepped out of the car. He stretched out his arms briefly, and moved toward the backdoor. He popped it open and grabbed Lisa by the bicep. He pulled her out of the car and adjusted Logan's jacket so it stayed draped over her shoulders, hiding her handcuffed hands from plain sight.
Lisa looked over to see Logan emerge from the car. She re-sheathed her knife in a small holster and attached it to her belt before turning to look at the pair.
"Watch the coat." She chastised Jackson, who merely rolled his eyes and smiled back at her. She looked Lisa up and down darkly, and turned toward the building.
Jackson led Lisa toward the double paned doors. Two burly men in black suits rushed forward to open it for them. Lisa looked around uncomfortably as the three of them entered a large and ornate lobby. The floor was a soft, almost pearl colored tile, and there was a large oak paneled reception desk near the back of the room, ringed by several dark wood coffee tables, and plush, overstuffed leather chairs.
Several groups of people, a mixture of all nationalities, were huddled around the tables. Important looking men, and women, clad in the finest of suits and clothing were pacing, arguing, talking. Some motioned loudly with their hands, while others quietly muttered into cell phones pressed to their faces.
It was strange to see such a normal looking, busy lobby. To Lisa, it almost looked like the Lux Atlantic during a business conference. It made her skin crawl to think of how matter-of-factly, how formally, all of these business people were likely discussing topics like assassination and kidnapping. Her eyes lingered on a sad looking woman, who was sitting docile and defeated next to a large man in an Armani suit. For a moment, Lisa felt an ominous sense of kinship with the woman.
Jackson quickly hurried her along. "Respect our client's privacy, please, Leese." He admonished her.
Lisa frowned and shot him a hateful look as he led her past the reception desk. All it took was a subtle nod from Jackson for the one of the receptionists to wave them past. The trio approached the marble-lined block of elevators, and Jackson swiped a special keycard across the panel and hit the button. Lisa watched as it illuminated a dull, golden yellow.
She looked from Logan to Jackson, as she watched the floor numbers illuminate in a panel above the elevators. There were still 20 floors to go before their elevator would arrive.
"Where are we going?" Lisa worked up the courage to ask, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.
Jackson shot her a smile and exchanged a dark look with Logan. "Processing." He said simply.
"Processing." Lisa repeated numbly. She looked at Jackson uncertainly.
"Onboarding is the company's preferred term." Logan interjected, shooting Lisa an icy look. "Call it a company orientation."
Worry spread across Lisa's features. Before Lisa could open her mouth to respond, there was a loud ding and the elevator doors slid open. Jackson gave her a light shove inside.
