Considering Bruce is a billionaire who owns a private everything, Jazz expected to be flying to Barcelona in a private jet. Instead, she finds herself on a very commercial airline, stuck in coach between a snoring man and a loud gum-chewing teenager.
'So much for perks,' Jazz thinks to herself as she pushes the sleeping man off her shoulder for the fourth time.
Although Terry was hesitant about it, it was Bruce's decision to send Jazz to Spain for two reasons, one of which unknown to her. The first, and obvious, is because Jazz has yet to fully recover from her injuries and go out on patrol in Terry's absence. The trip theoretically shouldn't be physically straining in any way. The second reason is Bruce's way to test her restraint. The trust and respect he put in her at their first meeting was lost when she continued to disobey rules. Now he needs a reason for it to return, and the best way he knows how is to send her straight to her foe. It's a risky plan with consequences that could turn either good or bad, but he knows whatever happens, it'll give him a better insight into the type of person she is.
Before she left, Bruce reminded her of the goal once she arrived in Spain: just watch him, don't try anything else; he kept her suit as insurance. Jazz couldn't help but notice how tight the leash felt, believing that if they pull it back just an inch further, she would definitely choke to death.
Relieved to finally land, she can't get out of her seat fast enough to escape her two neighbors. After claiming the small bag she brought with her, she grabs a cab and, using her high school Spanish, asks the driver in a broken accent to take her to the hotel Bruce had booked for her. The drive doesn't last long and she soon finds herself stepping out onto a small, somewhat busy street facing a small stone covered building. Coming from a big city with skyscrapers that could live up to their name, Jazz feels awkward and uncomfortable in such a "quiet" town. According to the driver though, this is considered rush hour: a barely crowded sidewalk and about ten cars whizzing past. Maybe she misunderstood him.
Jazz enters the small building to find a modestly furnished lobby with one person working behind the reception desk and a teenage bellboy lounging on a couch, playing on a hand held video game. As she walks towards the receptionist, she studies her surroundings wondering if time decided to give up on progressing this little hotel sitting in a shy town on the outskirts of a bustling city.
"Hola," she greets. "Se habla usted ingles?"
Looking up, the receptionist gives her a warm smile as she nods. "Yes, of course," she replies with a Spanish accent that could seduce any man. Pushing a brown strand of hair away from her face, she looks down at her screen. "What name is on the reservation?"
"Jasmine Douglas."
"Ah, here you are. You're room is on the third floor," she explains, sliding a key card through a slot before assigning the room number. "Will you be needing any help with luggage?"
Jazz turns to look at the bellboy still lying on the couch with legs resting on an armrest as he vigorously presses a button on his controller. "I'll manage, thanks," she replies knowing nothing is going to tear the teen away from a heated video game.
Taking the card, she starts heading up the stairs since the elevator is apparently out of service, while wondering if Bruce is using this as a way of punishment in his absence.
"I wouldn't put it past him to plan a situation like this just for me," she mutters to herself when a reminding pain shoots from her shoulder, stopping her halfway up the third flight.
Although her bag isn't too heavy, her shoulder is still too sore to handle any strain or sudden movements. Having no choice in the matter though, she heaves the suitcase up the last few steps and lets out a sigh of relief. Glad to finally reach her room, she holds her breath with anticipation as the door swings open to reveal a small but cozy room. The simple bed has clean and pressed white sheets, in a corner is a small desk complete with pen and paper, and they even managed to squeeze a small sofa chair next to the window. The wallpaper looks new, and the carpets have recently been cleaned. Impressed at the pristine condition being maintained, she walks in thinking that staying here for a few days may not be so bad after all.
Rolling her bag into a corner, she takes out her phone to update Bruce on her whereabouts. "Any particular reason why I'm staying here?" She asks as she checks the spotless bathroom.
"Less suspicious than posting you in front of Nick's building. You're a ten minute bus ride away from him."
"Hard to believe considering how sleepy this part of town is."
"You're staying with locals who hold on to tradition and community values, but don't be fooled. They have the same technology as any other city."
"So now that I'm here, what's next?"
"Barbara has alerted the Spanish police, but since they have to follow protocol and their tangling judicial system before they can produce a warrant for arrest, you have to make sure Nick doesn't suddenly disappear."
"Can't I just use a tracker on him?"
"No. He could recognize you if he sees you and know we're on to him."
"You're doing this old school," Terry's voice explains in the background. "You remember the lessons I gave you on that, right?"
"Yes," Jazz lies, regretting the fact she didn't pay enough attention at the time.
"Keep your distance, stay with a crowd, look casual, fit into the background," Terry reminds her; she could tell from his tone that he's rolling his eyes. "And always have a valid alibi explaining you're presence."
"And remember Jasmine," Bruce starts before she interrupts.
"Yeah, yeah, there to keep an eye; I know. Any idea how long I'm going to be here?"
"Three to four days in the least."
"Fine, anything else?"
"Yeah," Terry replies, "Bring back a souvenir."
Rolling her eyes, she hangs up the phone as a smile crosses her lips. She flops down on the bed and stares at the bare ceiling as she lets out an exhausted sigh. As her eyes slide shut and a tired yawn escapes her, she considers giving Henry a call to let him know what's going on. Before she could act on it though, her body relaxes and her mind quiets down, visiting dreamland within a few minutes.
Sometimes it's hard to decipher dream from reality, especially when the wave of emotions feel so real and overwhelming. Dreams are an enigma because of its strong influence on its sleeper; it's an unconscious state of mind that can make dreamers cry, scream or laugh before waking to realize none of their experiences are real. The most frightening experience they could have before that waking moment though, is watching a good situation unexpectedly turn frighteningly horrible, the worst part being the helplessness that follows.
Jazz's dream takes a sudden turn into nightmareville when she finds herself trying to run from the revving chainsaw somewhere in the darkened distance. Her legs feel heavier than stone, as though running in a knee-deep pool of molasses. As the chainsaw's screaming motor comes closer and closer, her chest tightens with fear, making breathing difficult. She tries to scream, but no sound comes out; she keeps mouthing the word "help" hoping someone could hear her. Soon the roar of the chainsaw is so deafeningly close, Jazz squeezes her eyes shut, covers her ears with her hands, and begins to wheep.
Then, everything falls eerily silent. For a confusing moment, Jazz takes a look around the darkness to find nothing there. There isn't an echo, a movement, or even a shadow. With her voice still muted, Jazz tries to ask if anyone was there, but no sound escapes her mouth. She begins spinning in place, too afraid to venture forth, and after turning for the third time, her father's pale face suddenly appears, making her fall back. Andrew stands at full height, but his body is withered and emaciated, his face colorless and sickly with dark circles around his eyes, red hair turned white with age, and blue eyes dark with disappointment. Jazz crawls backwards as she tries mumbling an apology.
"It was Nick," Andrew croaks in a raspy voice. "Nick. Nick killed me, and you're not doing anything about it. You know, Jazzy, you know and you're not doing anything. Not doing anything." He keeps repeating the words like a broken record, and their effect is clear on Jazz's frightened, tear stained face. "You're not avenging my death. Not doing anything," he continues with a rising tone as he approaches his daughter. "You know it was Nick and you're not doing anything."
'No, please, daddy, please,' she desperately thinks but can't say as sobs take over her hyperventilating lungs. 'Daddy, please; I'm sorry.'
"Not doing anything. Nothing. Nothing!" He yells before the powerful chainsaw appears in his hand.
"Daddy, no!" She gasps when her eyes fly open.
Still panting, Jazz shoots up to find herself in the clean hotel room and the morning sun shining through the small window. Her phone buzzes underneath the pillow she was sleeping on, startling her at first before she realizes the vibration may have been why the chainsaw manifested. As she tries to steady her breathing, she fishes it out and finds Henry to be the caller.
"Hi, Henry," she finally greets once composed.
"I like how you called me the minute you land," he sarcastically starts trying to act annoyed.
"Sorry, I fell asleep before I had the chance."
"So I take it the flight was exhausting."
"Don't get me started," she replies rubbing her eyes with a hand. "How's the cat?"
"Uh, when did you say you were coming back?"
"Don't tell me you hate him already. It's been one day, Henry."
"It's not that. He's just so shy he won't even come out of the closet to eat."
"He'll be fine. Just ignore him," she replies, wishing Zee was there to comfort her. "So how are you?"
"Little lonely at night," he smoothly replies, making Jazz smile. "You never said when you'll be back."
"A few days I hope."
"So do I. Listen," he starts a little hesitant. "I can't seem to find Ethan."
Frowning, Jazz straightens up. "Why?"
"He's changed his alias six times; that makes it kinda hard to track him."
"But is it impossible?"
"I can't promise anything, if that's what you mean, but I know I can't do it before the trial."
Jazz lets out a short sigh. "It's not about the trial. I just want to get in touch with him, to talk to him, you know?" She explains, shuddering when she remembers her nightmare.
Even though she knows her father would never say such terrible things to her, she feels Ethan is the only one who can validate that truth and relieve her fears.
"I know," Henry sympathetically replies without elaborating how much he really understands. "Anyway, my shift is about to start. I'll call you later."
Bidding a good-bye, she hangs up and checks the time, realizing it's time to start the work she was sent to do. Tiredly getting up, she fetches her bag and pulls out some clothes and her make-up bag. If she expects to sneak around Nick, she has to disguise her resemblance to her mother so she can go unnoticed. After changing into a pair of faded and torn blue jeans and a tight green tank top, she begins applying dark eye shadow and eye liner, purple tinted lipstick, and even adds a fake lip ring. Pulling her hair up into a bun, she pulls on a short, bleach blond wig and inserts her pink lenses finishing her make over.
"God, I look awful," she grimaces once she eyes herself in the mirror. After adjusting the wig, she grabs her bag and jacket and heads out the door to start a very long and tedious stake out.