Lisa felt like hell. The only thing she could feel was the throbbing pressure on her temples. She groaned, trying to move her head. It felt like her brains had loosened and were rattling around against her skull.
What had happened? Was she hungover? If so, this was the worst, albeit few, hangovers of her life. What had she had to drink?
Wine. Just wine…with Jackson….
Jackson Rippner. The memories came flooding back to her, killing her head, making her cry out with pain and fear. She told herself it was pain. Don't let yourself be afraid, she told herself. Dr. Phil…Dr Phil. His book tells you not to be afraid. You told yourself this would never happen again, that you wouldn't let a stranger control you. She slowly opened her eyes. And she promptly screamed, curling up into the fetal position.
Jackson relinquished her feet and shot from the couch, smirking. "Nice nap?" he checked his watch. "You were out longer than I thought. Half an hour."
"Why were you holding my feet?" Thank God the tremble wasn't present in her voice.
"I wasn't," he replied, but she thought she noticed a small quiver of embarrassment in his voice. "How does your head feel?"
Lisa sat up, trying to defy the ache. It didn't work. She moaned, rubbing her head. Jackson reached into his pocket, extracting two small white pills. She gazed suspiciously at them, shaking her head.
"What?"
"Why should I trust you enough to take drugs from you?" Lisa hissed. "I don't even know what that is."
He held it closer and tilted it so that the light settled into the grooves of the brand name etched into the small pills. Tylenol. Lisa begrudgingly took the pills. "Good, Leese. I need you coherent for this."
Her head snapped up and the pills slid slowly down her throat, tearing at the skin. She coughed. "W-what?"
Jackson rolled his eyes. "We've already been through this. Keefe. Switch him. 4080. Now. Or your dad dies."
How could he be so matter-of-fact about this? His nonchalance was annihilating her. She studied him carefully. His blue eyes pierced their way back to her and she tried not to shudder. "I want--I want to call him first. To make sure he's okay."
Jackson stared, aggravated, at her. "No."
"How do I know you haven't hurt him yet?"
Growling, Jackson told her, "I, Lisa, will not be touching him. I have a very faithful little dog sitting outside his house in a silver Beemer…probably sharpening his very new, very nice Ka-Bar."
Lisa swallowed hard. The words registered and sank in her brain like weights. Jackson took her silence for stupidity and added, "That's a knife, Leese."
"I know," she hissed, her breathing growing more labored by the minute. Tears streamed down her face. "But how do I know you haven't already…already told your dog to kill him? How do I know that once I make the call, your guy won't kill him anyway?
Jackson smirked. "He won't do anything until I tell him. He's a good dog. Trust me."
Trust him. That was fresh. This man wanted her to trust him after she'd already given him so much. Lisa silently resolved to never speak to another man as long as she lived. Her days of naiveté were over.
"Let me call him, or I won't make the call."
She watched as he chewed on his lip, thinking it over. She crossed her fingers, but she had already won him over. Naturally, she wanted to make sure her father was still alive before she did anything for this lunatic--but she was also begging for time. Jackson picked up her phone from the cradle and callously tossed it to her. She juggled with it before securing a firm grasp and staring back at him.
"Your dime," he shrugged, crossing his arms. "You have one minute."
Lisa quickly punched in her father's number, her brain on overdrive while she did so. She wasn't focused on the digits her fingers pressed, but on what she was going to do next. The ringing jarred her, and she listened carefully as it continued. Three rings. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Nine. Eleven. Terrified, she stared at Jackson. "You said he wouldn't hurt him."
Jackson shrugged his shoulders again, and mouthed to her, What do you expect me to do?
Lisa hung up when she reached the answering machine, feeling her throat close, and dialed again. Jackson made an impatient noise, shuffling his feet. It rang again. One. Two. Three. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine--
"Hello?" her father's snappish, irritable voice answer. Lisa was reminded of their fight just days ago. She felt a surge of guilt, her emotions tangled in her chest as she wished desperately that she could take back her words. "Dad!"
"Leese?" she heard a long sigh, and then a pause. "It's after midnight. Why are you calling so late? Is everything alright? Should I be worried? What do you need?"
Lisa began to cry harder, out of relief and out of guilt. She had to save him. She had to save her dad, even if it meant, "Dad, I'm fine, I…I just…I needed to--"
Jackson ripped the phone from her hands and set it back on the cradle. "Satisfied?"
Lisa swung at him. Her fist connected sharply with his cheek, and, as she hadn't thought out their combat before she'd begun it, she hesitated. Her pause was brief, but it was enough time for Jackson to grab hold of her wrists and throw her up against the wall. Her head cracked painfully against the sheetrock and she moaned, massaging it as he walked over to her. Her body slid slowly to the floor and she looked up at him, terrified but resolute. "Leave me…" she gasped for air. "…the fuck alone…"
Jackson seized her elbow, wrenching her to her feet. He shoved the phone back at her, and hissed through his teeth, "Make the call."
Dizzy, and with the worst headache she'd ever had, Lisa reluctantly accepted the phone. She dialed the Lux Atlantic's number, having to restart three times because her hands were shaking so badly. It finally rang through. Cynthia picked up on the second ring. "Lux Atlantic, this is Cynthia. How can I help you?"
"Cynthia, it's Lisa."
"Lisa!" Cynthia cried. She was always frantic. "Where are you? You said you'd be back by eleven, it's already twelve-thirty, I'm freaking out, I--"
Thunder crackled outside and a gust of wind pushed a surge of rain against the apartment. Lisa heard her windows creak in protest and looked at Jackson. His expression was noncommittal, but at her gaze he raised his eyebrows and waved his hand to urge her forward. "It's a long story, but, I…I, um, need a favor…"
"Sure, but listen, when are you getting back?" Cynthia rushed her, distracted. "I really could use your help. All this Keefe stuff is overwhelming, the cigars, the Cristal…I just can't--"
Her voice faded. Lisa frowned. "You can't what? Cynthia?"
The line was dead. She glanced briefly at the screen of her cradle. It was usually illuminated, but now it was dark. The storm must have knocked the power out. She bit her lip, suddenly inspired.
"Oh," she said to nobody. "Well, I completely understand…I'll be back as soon as I can. But listen, Cynthia, I need you to change Keefe's room. We've had an issue with maintenance….yeah….he's in 3825.…What? No, don't worry about that. Move him to 4080. I'll give you my login information…it's lreisert, the password is--"
When she had begun to think her façade was successful, Jackson ripped the phone from her hand and threw it forcefully onto the cradle. She stumbled away from him, backing towards the couch. Now what? Her brain wasn't creating ideas quickly enough, and she panicked, her throat dry. She couldn't scream anyhow. She'd seen how effective that was. Her head throbbed as Jackson strode quickly towards her.
He didn't touch her, but stood too close for comfort. She could feel his hot, angry breath on her as he spoke, and his flashing teeth made her think of a snapping, vicious dog. "That was clever, Lisa, thinking on the spot. I wouldn't expect it from you. You know, when this gets over, I may have to steal you."
Lisa cringed, horrified. She could hardly hear him as the rain further intensified outside. She hadn't thought it could get any worse, but it was. Was there a hurricane approaching? She began to fear for her life. If he killed her, there was a good chance that nobody would ever find her. Her body could easily be swallowed by the encroaching sea. "Why are you doing this?"
"Well, sometimes bad things happen to good people," he snidely replied, taking her chin in his fingers and squeezing it tightly. She closed her eyes, forcing them shut.
"You lied to me," she whispered. Lightning flashed again, illuminating his milky skin. "You're not the man you pretended to be."
He smirked as he ran his finger along her lips. "I lied to you? Leese, I left out information that you didn't need to know yet. If anybody's a liar, it's you."
Her heart skipped. The rape? How did he know? Instinctively, she tried to struggle from his grasp. His grip tightened around her forearms, and as she moved to pull away, another bolt of lightning flashed outside the window and the room was thrust into darkness. Her microwave made a buzzing noise as the power was extinguished. "Fuck," she whispered to herself. Jackson heard her and laughed.
"This makes things more interesting, doesn't it?" he murmured, pressing his face closer to hers. In the darkness, he was only a shadow, but as he came even closer his eyes glinted. She tried not to cry out. "We can't make that call until we have an operating telephone." He let her go.
"So what should we do?" he spread his arms wide, gesturing about the airy living room. The rain formed a curtain between the window and the rest of the world. Lisa trembled. As a child, she'd been terrified of lightning storms. Her fears were exaggerated by the hurricane warnings and the frightening man in her living room. "We have the whole night ahead of us. Just you and me."
Lisa turned away from him, catching a glimpse of her scrapbook station out of the corner of her eye. A new pair of scissors sat on the counter next to her latest project. She edged towards them, her fingers grappling for support on the countertop. She found the scissors and felt a sudden drop in courage. Her grip slackened. What if I kill him?
Jackson stepped closer, returning to her, and she knew her time was waning. "Hm, Leese? You have time before you need to make the call. It's ten o'clock now, and Keefe won't be in his room until five. What do you say? Got some time to kill?"
Kill. He could kill her. He wanted to kill Keefe. She had to do this. Grabbing the scissors, she emitted a high-pitched cry as she drove them towards his neck. He caught her wrist and slammed it against the edge of the counter, twisting it sharply and pinning it behind her back. She yelled in pain, dropping the scissors. They clattered to the floor, ignored, as Jackson slammed her against the refrigerator. The handle drove into her back and he let go of her arm only to use his hands to viciously squeeze her face.
"I guess you aren't interested in quality time with Jackson, are you?" he hissed. "That's fine. That's just fucking fine. How about some twenty questions, hm? Why don't you tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours? Why don't you let me in on why you're so fucked up, why you won't go near a man and if one comes near you, you break down completely."
She opened her dry mouth to reply, but before she could do so, she was being thrown to the floor, her head cracking against the hardwood. Her feet kicked out towards Jackson, aiming at anything they could reach, but he caught them with his own as he knelt beside her and deftly pinned her to the floor. She flailed beneath him, attempting to claw at his face before he caught her hands in one of his and tucked them above her head.
"What happened, Lisa?" he cooed, leering down at her. "Was it the divorce? Was it really the divorce that you claimed to have destroyed your life so badly? You're a grown woman, certainly mature enough to handle your mommy and daddy sleeping in separate beds. What is it, then? Bad breakup?"
Tears began to stream from her eyes as Jackson's weight shifted atop her. His hip bones dug into hers, and the hard floor beneath her was far too much like the hot concrete. She emitted a cry, but it was stifled by the tears in her throat.
"I'll bet he was handsome," Jackson mused. "The business type. Too invested in his career, Leese? Were you going to get married? Did he want kids too? White picket fence? A puppy?" As Jackson spoke, his fingers trailed her stomach. It was the last straw. She screamed at him and lifted her knee, directing it to his groin. He slid to the side just in time, avoiding her blow and managing to maintain his control.
He hesitated. Looking down, Lisa saw that her sweater had shifted slightly with her movement, exposing the skin just above her breasts. She watched, wincing, as Jackson's fingers pulled it down further. The rain was the only sound as he ran his thumb along the outline of her scar. "So that's what it is, then."
