Author's Note: My last. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I like the angsty ones. Can you tell? I may have lost a reader or two because of that… but I write what I like, what I feel. My inner is dark rather than cheerful, and somehow I write it off me, for a while, projecting it onto my poor (borrowed) characters.

It is almost scary, but I had this story set out from the beginning, with every little twist and turn, the dramatic turning points, the deaths and all, as it turned out to be written in the end. It was a writing experience that was one of the hardest I've put myself through so far. I hope the ending speaks for itself. If you have questions, feel free to ask. I will answer each and every one to the best of my knowledge.

I am REALLY going to try to write original stories now. I've said it before, and meant it. It didn't happen then, I have hopes it will now.

I love you all for the support and all the thoughtful, beautiful reviews. /Nicolina.

-

Chapter 21 Nobody's Business

Finally, I lift my head and look around me. Where did he go? Everything is still. Just as I raise my gaze to the tall dark trees behind me the first flakes of snow hit my nose. They are of another kind - wetter, larger, and the forest gets increasingly dusky and silent.

"Jackson," I say, hesitantly. Everything is quiet. I clutch Cecilia hard to my body and stand carefully for the first time since I fell. "Jackson!" I call. A little louder.

No answer.

Did he leave us? A claw of a new kind of fear nips at my already battered heart.

"JACKSON!" I cry and Cecilia stirs in my arms. A ghostly echo rolls over the mountain. That's the only answer I'm getting.

I stand absolutely still, at a loss as to what to do. I don't understand. I slip and slide, fighting my way up the slope. Then I wedge Cecilia behind a rock, making sure she lies safely before I, with violently trembling legs, walk all the way down to the edge. The ravine is cold, beautiful, and quiet. In the bottom I see the half-frozen river with cascades of ice crystals along its sides in gracious formations and the cold black water hurling in between and underneath.

I feel physically ill. Where is Jackson? I lie down prone and slide further to look over the edge, terrified that I'll fall if I slide too far. I follow the trail of ice, the frozen formations down there, and then something disrupts the vision, a dark speck on all the white. Frowning, I stare at the object. Realization comes slowly; it's as if my mind is as unmoving as the world around me.

It's a ski cap.

It's a dark grey ski cap.

Jackson wears a dark grey ski cap.

Wore.

A sudden wave of dizziness rolls over me and I hold on hard not to topple over. As I stare at the piece of fabric, it is bit by bit covered in snow until there's no trace of it any more.

He fell.

He's gone.

I'm alone.

I'm alone. In this desolate forest, I'm suddenly left alone. My heart pounds so hard that it feels as if my chest is going to explode and I struggle to inhale. I panic when I can't feel my hands and stare at them, clenching and unclenching them to try to find them again, to see if they're still attached to my body.

And then I realize that he's GONE!

I don't know what to do. Still on my knees in the snow the cold has started to leak through to my skin and a shudder ripples across my back. A whimper from behind the rock higher up on the slope startles me.

Get up, Lisa. Get UP! You continue. And you FINISH! His words ring in my ears as I struggle back up to Cecilia, lift her from her cold cradle and start walking, turning my back to him, wherever he is.

Dead.

I shake my head and keep walking.

He's dead, Leese.

My legs march to the rhythm of my heart, faster, faster, downwards, faster.

He's gone.

Legs. Snow. Heavy weight in my arms. Walk. Walk. Walk. Focus. I try to grab on to some of his strength, repeating his words, his last testament to us.

Continue.

Finish.

I lose track of time. I don't feel anything but the little body I'm carrying, the burning exhaustion in my legs, back, arms, and the numbing cold.

I know that we're going to die out here too. And that it's all my fault. I made the decision to move here. I made all the wrong decisions.

Early signs of dusk are creeping upon us and the air is getting increasingly chillier.

I stagger and stumble. I can't continue. I'm lost. It's no use. We'll die. I can't even muster enough energy to care about that.

"Lisa?"

I'm dreaming that someone's calling my name. I don't recognize the voice. A man's voice. Funny. I would have thought that it'd be my father… or my grandmother.

Not some stranger.

I fall on my knees, I think I'm still holding on to Cecilia, but I can't feel my arms anymore. I can't feel my body.

"He's dead," I croak.

"Ray's dead?" Another voice.

Ray? Who's Ray?

"Let me take her." Someone takes the weight out of my arms and I clutch the air, knowing I've lost something important.

"Get her in the car."

"Careful."

"Lisa! Lisa! We need to know! Where's Ray?" I think I know that voice. Anderson. Mr. Anderson. Ste- Stephan? Yes. Stephan.

I see the heap of snow before my eyes. Heap of snow. Ray-shaped snow. "Cabin," I whisper.

"Steve! Take them to the hospital. Fast as fuck. They're frozen blue. We'll go find Ray."

I'm moving, rocking, a humming sound, soothing. A car? CECE!

"She's right next to you, Lisa. We're taking you to the hospital. You're lucky to be alive."

I didn't even know I'd said something.

Cold. I'm so cold.

-

Light.

I close my eyes again. I squint hard and open one eye just a tiny crack. Light! I close it again.

Someone's sitting on my chest. I inhale, try to inhale, try to expand my chest, but it's impossible. Then I fight to breathe through the eruption of coughs that follow. I need to open my eyes. Who's sitting on my chest?

Light. Hard, white light. Snow? No. Not snow. White ceiling.

I'm alone.

If no one's sitting on my chest, then why does it feel so heavy?

-

A soft, steady bleeping penetrates my snow-filled mind and a stream of cool air fills my nostrils. Panicking, I tear at my face and end up with some sort of cord between my fingers.

"Lisa."

The voice is soft, female, caring.

"Lisa."

I open my eyes to stare at a woman I've never seen before, and a white ceiling that I have seen before. I recognize her voice. I've heard it in my dreams.

Cecilia! I gasp and try to sit up but her hand is stronger. "Ce-" I rasp. I cough myself sweaty and not until my chest calms down can I hear her again.

"She's doing fine, Lisa. She's in the pediatric ICU but she's a strong girl, she's doing fine." She reattaches the cord to my face and adjusts it. "Don't take this off, honey. You need the oxygen."

"I need to see her!"

"You need to get well, but we'll arrange for her to be brought here. You're worse off than her actually. You're really lucky to be alive."

I stare at her. I'm not the one who's ill. "What?"

"When they brought you in you were critically hypothermic and you have developed bilateral pneumonia. We had to support your breathing the first night."

The first…?

I try to sit up again but she holds me down. "You need to take it easy. You need your rest." She adjusts something where bags of fluids are connected to lines that disappear into bandages on my arms. "We'll bring her to you a little later today, okay?"

"How long have I been here?"

"You've been comatose for two days. Today is your third day here."

Jackson! "Have…" I lick my lips and fight the intense urge to cough, I need to ask this. "Have they found him?" My voice wavers pathetically.

A fleeting look of pity passes over her features. "Your friend was found under the snow right next to your porch. I'm sorry." She lays a hand on my arm and holds it there, for comfort, to keep me still. "You've been through a lot."

Next to my porch? How did he get there? Then I realize she isn't talking about Jackson.

She clears her throat. "Actually, there's someone who will be very happy to hear that you're awake. Officer Petit has requested to see you on several occasions."

The door falls closed with a whisper.

The curtains are half closed. It's dark outside.

-

Officer Frederic Petit is a misnomer. I lay my hand protectively over Cece's sleeping form in the bed next to me as the hulking giant of a man invades the room. Taking off his cap, he pulls a visitor's chair closer, scraping it across the floor, the sound cutting painfully into my overly sensitized mind. He is surprisingly graceful as he folds his body into a sitting position before extending a hand to me.

"Lisa Reisert. I'm terribly happy to see you awake." His voice is deep and husky. He sounds like a friend, like a father would. I suddenly miss mine so much that my chest tightens and I grimace from the pain.

I wet my dry lips and give him my hand. It disappears completely in his large paw.

"Do you need anything? Water? Ehm…" He looks around him and then back at me.

I shake my head. "No. I don't need anything."

"Are you sure?"

I have to bite my lips to not start crying. "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks."

"Miss Reisert, there are some inconsistencies in your story. For instance we've found that you have never been married. Yet you have told everybody that your husband was after you. Why is that? I don't understand."

"He… yes, I thought it'd be easier. I didn't want people to know… to ask."

"About the attempted assassination on Charles Keefe?" he asks softly.

"Yeah… that," I whisper.

"You've been through a lot these last years. The Miami Police have kindly assisted us with our investigation. We believe that the recent events may have some connections with your background." His eyes narrow as he glances from me to Cece and back again. "Are my assumptions correct? Is there something more about your background that you wish to tell us?"

No!

I shake my head and hold his gaze. "No."

"Ray McGonaghan has been found dead outside your house. Everything indicates homicide. Miss Reisert… we need to know what happened. Who killed Ray?"

For a moment I'm back there, tied up, screaming at him to leave Ray alone. I fight against the memories. They hurt. "His name was Jackson Rippner… he's the same man who threatened me into changing Keefe's suite that night… who tried to kill me and my dad later… and…"

He nods. "Go on."

"After… Keefe… and after he, Ja- ehm, Rippner… got away… I kept seeing him around… he kept following me and I knew he would come after me sooner or later… so that's why we moved here."

"Somewhere in all of this you had a child."

"Yes," I say, defensively.

"Where's the father?"

I don't miss a beat. "I don't know."

He doesn't miss a beat either. "You don't know?"

I shake my head. "After… I became reckless… I blamed myself… drank too much… you know… Suddenly, I realized I was pregnant." I grimace and try to mix my real pain into the lie. The pain I felt then, the pain I feel now.

He frowns, and a brief look of concern passes his features. Then he nods and scribbles.

"My father died, and I moved. I didn't feel safe. And then I moved again. Here. I thought we'd be okay…" My voice trails off. My chest feels so heavy, so tight. I try to inhale but end up fighting for air through endless sets of coughs. Finally, I fall back onto my pillow, sweaty. Tired. So, so tired.

Officer Petit clears his throat and hands me a glass of water. "I am sorry that I have to put you through all this, but it is necessary for the investigation."

I nod and drink a small sip. "I want to help. Did you find him yet?"

"What happened, Lisa, may I call you Lisa?"

I nod.

"Did he try to kill you?"

I shake my head.

"Why is that? I'm sorry- He waves his large hands in the air. "This is all a little confusing to me. Are you saying he didn't try to kill you?"

I clear my voice. How am I going to put this? Lies are at their best when they're closest to the truth. "I think… I think he wanted me… to be with me…" My voice trails off. "And I think Cecilia's presence made him restrain himself."

He frowns. "An assassin who develops a conscience… Huh. How long was he with you?"

I bite my lip and try to think. "I'm not sure… the days melted into one another… maybe three days."

"Three." He regards me and his intelligent eyes seem to look right into me. He looks like a teddybear, friendly, harmless, but I suddenly know that his looks are deceiving, that he is very good at what he does - a frightening opponent for those who oppose him.

"What happened between the two of you during all this time?"

"Ahm… the first days… two maybe, I tried to… ahm…" I blush. "Kill him… several times." I glare defensively at him. "I had to try to get away."

He nods and doesn't say anything. It encourages me somehow, that he isn't judging me. "The last day, Cece got sick and I begged him to help us get back here. At that point I didn't care about what he did to me, what his plans were or anything… I just needed to take her to safety. And he did. He helped us."

"What did he plan to do once you got back into town?"

I shake my head slowly. "I have no idea, Officer… and I never asked. I think I was afraid to ask, actually."

"Tell me about when he left you."

I shudder, reliving the horrifying moment, fingering the soft skin on the back of the little hand that I'm holding. "Cece fell - I fell and dropped her - and she slipped over the edge of the ravine… and he… and he… threw himself after her, caught her somehow and pushed her back up." I swallow back the tears. "That was the last I saw of him. I think he must've slipped… and that he fell into the river."

"That… Or he found a convenient escape," he adds.

I grimace. My head spins.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

I know what I think.

The door slides open behind him and my nurse for the day enters. "Officer! Is this really necessary? You have by far exceeded your stay for today, look at her, she's exhausted! You'll have to come back another time." She rushes to my side and pulls a little at the sheet, adjusts some fluid bags and fiddles with something I can't see, showing clearly that she wants him to leave.

He takes the hint and stands. Cap in hand. "I'll need to come back tomorrow."

I hold his gaze. "Did you find him?"

He shakes his head. "Only the ski cap at the bottom of the ravine, and some smeared blood right next to it. We're looking further downstream. We will find him. If he's there, we'll find him. Don't you worry."

"That's not what I'm worried about," I say slowly.

"If he fell into the water he's dead, Miss Reisert. He wouldn't last more than five minutes in that river. We'll keep looking. For closure. But I doubt he's coming back."

"Okay," I whisper and smile meekly. That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried that they will find him. And that he'll still be alive. And I don't know who I worry about more.

Him.

Or them.

-

When I wake, he's sitting patiently by my side, his hands folded in his lap. A day passed already? I attempt a smile. "I must be such a good witness," I croak. "You always know where to find me."

He smiles back briefly but doesn't answer.

I fight my way up to a half-sitting position, regarding him curiously. There's something he wants to get off his chest. I feel it. I fear it.

"This man, ehm…"

"Jackson," I whisper tiredly. "Rippner."

"Jackson Rippner. Right." He scribbles something on a piece of paper. "He ehm… doesn't seem to exist."

I look up at his scraggy features; his stubble is longer, and somehow grayer, than yesterday. "What do you mean?"

"The fingerprints we found on the knife in your kitchen, as well as on other surfaces in your house, don't match any registered felon, or anyone else for that matter who has ever passed through customs, been in a car accident, been arrested for pick pocketing… anything."

I frown. "So then… that just means he hasn't been arrested, right?"

"Not only that. The name Jackson Rippner doesn't exist."

"Bu- I mean… there must be someone… you mean no one?" I'm at a loss as to what to say. How can a name not exist? A person. A real person. HIM.

"It doesn't match anyone, living or dead."

"But then…"

"It's like he has never even existed."

"But he does!" Suddenly I'm worried he won't believe me. That the hell I've gone through will appear to everyone else as a twisted spark of my imagination.

"We have fingerprints, unaccounted for, a dead body, your statement. We'll keep looking further downstream when it gets bright again. If he's out there, we'll find the man who did this to you, and to Ray."

I nod. "Thank you."

But it's not what I mean.

There's no time to mourn. Mourn? I mean… work through the trauma. Mourn? I don't know what I mean.

-

When I think of him, I don't see the rape any more. I don't see the stone cold manager on the plane, or the furious murderer. I see a father. A man. A man I could have known, and maybe more… had things been different.

When she's older I'll try to explain to her who he was - to the best of my knowledge.

We're free.

But it's not how it feels.

-

"We've stopped the search, Miss Reisert."

"You don't think you'll find him?"

"The river is empty all the way down to the lake which is frozen. There's no use in keeping on looking."

"You do believe me, don't you?"

"With all the blood in the house that matches neither you nor Mr. McGonaghan, the bloodied men's clothes, the car next to Ray's… yes, everything indicates that things happened the way you described them."

I fall back against the pillow. "Good."

"And I read your journals."

I stiffen and stare at him in horror. "You did WHAT?"

"We had to exclude you as a suspect, Miss. Reisert. Initially things looked a little… bleak for you."

I'm too shocked to respond. Everything is in there. All the things that I've never told anyone else.

He nods at Cecilia who is sleeping peacefully next to me, her fever gone, her chest rising and falling evenly. "She's HIS child, isn't she?"

I look away, my eyes brimming with tears.

"Why didn't you tell us? Did you have a relationship with Jackson Rippner?"

"God no!" I exclaim and look back at him.

"Then tell me. I'm a simple man. Sometimes I just don't understand."

My heart pounds. I don't know how to tell him. I don't want to tell him. It's nobody's business.

"Did he rape you, Lisa," he asks softly.

I stare at my tightly knotted hands and then I nod once.

"You haven't reported any rape. Other than the one almost five years ago. Why-"

"Because there's no use!" I suddenly snarl. "Because you don't do anything anyway! And I just couldn't stand going through it all again. To no use."

He is quiet for a while and all that is heard is Cecilia's light snoring.

"You kept the baby," he says quietly.

I sigh deeply. "Are you gonna question that too? Does that make me more or less suspicious?"

He waves his large hands in the air. "You are not suspected of anything. Not anymore. I just don't understand all the lies… You said you had been married, you said you didn't know who the father was…"

I bite my lower lip and think on the answer for a while. "Life has taught me to be careful, Officer Petit. I have a hard time letting people in."

"There's a difference between people and people, Miss Reisert. And lying to the police is never wise." I flinch when I feel his hand on mine, calloused, gigantic on my tiny, claw-like hand. "You have something beautiful there." He nods at Cece. "And you are finally free."

I look at her, then out the window. "Am I?"

The why doesn't it feel that way?

I know that what he says is true.

I just don't know why it doesn't feel like a relief, but… empty.

-

My things are packed, toothbrush, and a few clothes that Mrs. Anderson kindly bought for me. The bed is made. Cece is playing on the floor with some borrowed toys and we are waiting for the doctor to release us.

There's a knock on the door but it isn't the doctor. It's Officer Petit. He holds a bag in his hand and drops it on the bed as he remains standing. Cecilia looks up and regards him curiously, then she seems to decide that he isn't what she was looking for and continues with the doll and the plastic yellow truck. Petit pats her head and shuffles his feet, looking awkward, uncertain. "I heard they're letting you go now," he finally states.

I smile briefly and nod.

"Ahm… I brought your journals. I thought you might want them. They're all there." He waves with his hands towards the bag.

I clear my throat. "Thank you."

I don't know if I even care about them. They're just words on paper. Sad words on crumpled paper. I know what they say. I was there.

"So… where are you going to go, Miss Reisert?"

I look out the window, at the falling snow; the dusky day is grey, sad and suddenly I long intensely to warm yellow sand and white-hot days by the sea. "I hate snow," I whisper.

"I'm sorry?"

Startled to find that I still have a visitor, I realize he asked me a question. I look back out again. "Home," I rasp.

Then I clear my throat.

"Home. We're going home."

-

THE END