The One and Only Jessie Bannon – A Jonny Quest: The Real Adventures Fanfiction

by Akane-Rei

Chapter Eight: The Haunting

- - FLASHBACK - -

"And what makes you believe that your friend didn't die from her fall?" she asked, looking at him thought the rim of her thick glasses.

"I never said I thought she wasn't dead," Jonny said as he stood up from the comfortable chair he was sitting on and began to pace back and forth in front of her. His agitated movements drew a line of worry in her face, but he ignored it. Right now, his number one priority is to make sure that she doesn't think he's a nutcase despite the almost overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

He sat back down on his chair and stared at her.

"It's just that I . . . I . . . I see her," he claimed almost defiantly, daring her to gainsay him.

He watched his doctor's eyes widen. The amazing thing about the eyes is that most people can't control the emotion behind them. Jonny was sure that had his psychiatrist been less in control of her facial expressions, one of her brows would have been raised in response to his statement.

Instead, she greeted his words with and unemotional, "Oh?"

"I see her everywhere," he continued.

"She . . . haunts you?"

- - END FLASHBACK - -

She haunts you?

Jon shook his head in disgust as he leaned against a railing and looked down at the Seine river. A cool breeze played with the tendrils of his blond hair as he stared at the river's dark waters, flowing gently in its course.

"You idiot," he muttered to his distorted reflection.

He came to Paris to relax and maybe, just maybe, leave his . . . concerns behind for a moment. Just a moment. Was that too much to ask?

"Apparently," he answered to himself. He took a deep breath and expelled it with a sigh of frustration.

It had started again. He didn't know what triggered it or whether it was just him and the fact that he's in Paris, but for whatever reason, he started seeing her again. Everywhere. It's almost as bad as when she first . . . died.

"That's right, Quest," he muttered to himself. "She died. Try to remember that." He buried his head in his hands and whispered, "Then maybe you won't keep seeing her everywhere you go."

Still he stared at the river. A heavy feeling settled in his chest, as it always did whenever he reminded himself that they did in fact lose her that night.

"Jon," he heard someone call behind him.

He closed his eyes. 'Hadji,' he thought. 'Good old Hadji.'

"Yeah," he answered stiltedly.

He heard Hadji approach from behind him and felt his friend's hand touch his shoulder. He waited for Hadji to say something, anything while he mentally prepared arguments in defense to his untimely departure from the café they were eating from. To his surprise, Hadji just stood there and joined him in his contemplation by the river.

Jon glanced at Hadji from the corner of his eye as they both watched stood quietly deep in thought. He struggled to look for the words to explain his actions to his friend, words that won't make him seem like the a lunatic, words that would assure his friend that he is in a stable mental condition.

"Are you alright, Jon?" Hadji finally said.

Jon looked at him closely, debating whether to tell him of his . . . bouts of hallucinations . . .

"Yes," he replied. "Considering."

- -FLASHBACK - -

"Considering everything that has happened," she said, "I can understand why you would like to cling to the hope that she might still be alive."

"I know she's dead," Jonny reiterated to his psychiatrist, running his fingers through his hair.

This time, the good doctor did raise her brows. "Really?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes!" he said with fervor. "I went to her funeral, damm -- darn it!"

He saw her take a deep breath and look at him inquiringly. "Tell me, Jonny," she began with a deceptively nonchalant tone, "if you believe Jessie to be dead, then who is it that you chased to the streets?" She stared at him innocently. "You did tell me that you almost ran down that red-haired girl yesterday, didn't you?"

Silence.

"Jonny," she prodded gently.

"I thought I saw her," he whispered, recalling the embarrassing incident at the restaurant. He had seen something at the corner of his eye, just a flash of red hair, really, but it had him jumping through some tables in an effort to reach its owner.

"I'll ask you again, Jonny," she said firmly, "do you believe that Jessie survived that fall off the cliff?"

- - END FLASHBACK - -

Do you believe that Jessie survived that fall off the cliff?

"Yes," Jon whispered to himself. "I did." He gave a self- deprecating laugh. What an idealistic fool he was back then.

"What was that?" asked Hadji.

Jon shook his head. "Just thinking to myself, Hadj," he replied, standing from his leaning position at the railing.

Hadji nodded. "Then would you mind explaining to me what happened back there, my friend?" he probed.

"Nothing," answered Jon, still looking out at the Seine. He almost smiled when he heard Hadji sigh with exasperation.

"Jon," Hadji said with a slight edge in his voice, "you ran from the café, almost overturning several of the tables. Now would you so kindly mind as to tell me what it was you were pursuing?"

Jon gave an uneasy laugh. "Always so formal," he commented as his brain wracked up ways to avoid looking like a delusional idiot.

Hadji stared at him intently and waited.

Jon sighed. "Really, it was nothing," he reiterated. "I thought I saw something and I had to go check it out."

After another drawn out silence, Hadji ventured to ask, "Did you see her again?"

- - FLASHBACK - -

"Did you see her again today?" she asked casually, looking carefully at him, examining him as she has always done.

There were times when he wished she didn't have so much control of her expression. Just for once, he'd like her to lose her temper or display any emotion besides her usual. He felt like a bug under a microscope whenever they talked and he was beginning to resent her intrusion.

"Ofcourse I didn't see her," he said blithely. "As you've said before, it is impossible for me to see a dead person."

He watched her face for a sign of any exasperation . . . anything.

"You're quibbling," she stated. "Come on, Jonny. You know what I meant."

His shoulders drooped. He can't remember when he started trying to get a reaction from her, or when he started to want to see something other than the serene expression in her face. However, for one reason or the other, he wanted to break through her control.

Actually, he wanted to break everyone's control, but he didn't think he'd have another shot at Hadji any time soon. So . . . he'll just have to settle with Dr.--

"Jonny," she said again, interrupting his thoughts.

His eyes went to the ground, studying the texture, color, pattern.

'Yes,' he thought. 'I saw her again. In school this time. And yes, I chased her again.'

"No," he answered. "I didn't see her."

Technically, that statement was true. He didn't see Jessie. When he caught up with the girl he pursued, she turned to give him a glare and it was definitely not Jessie. So, he didn't see her, right?

He heard his psychiatrist take a deep breath.

"I think this session is over," she said quietly. "There's nothing to be accomplished today. We'll talk again in our next meeting."

With a sigh of relief, he quickly stood up and headed towards the door. He couldn't look at her face. For some reason, he had a feeling that she didn't buy anything he said today. He walked out of the building, one question ringing in his ears.

Did you see her again?

- - END FLASHBACK - -

Did you see her again?

Hadji could have kicked himself for asking that question. And he believed he would have, too, were it anatomically possible to do such a thing. As it is, there were times when his diplomatic skills desert him and is replaced by this irrepressible urge to blurt out the first thing that comes to his mind. His mother tells him that that is a luxury which only the old and cantankerous have, but there are moments when he wondered if sultans can also be excused. Moments such as now.

He wanted to press Jon to verbally confirm that he chased a dead woman down the streets of Paris. Perhaps it was to make him feel better about the whole situation. Because, the truth of the matter is, for a split second, he also thought he had seen Jessie. There had been a force, so compelling that he had looked up abruptly from his meal, in time to see Jon jump from the table and chase Je--

However, rationality had come to his rescue once more and he knew that the red-haired woman could not have been her. No other red-haired woman could ever be her. So, unlike Jon, he had slowly left the café and trotted after his friend.

"I really am a bad liar when it comes to lying to you, huh?" he heard Jon state ruefully.

He looked at his friend again. "Perhaps we just know each other a little to well," he replied stoically. "Years of friendship do that to you."

- - FLASHBACK - -

"Years of friendship," she stated, looking directly into his eyes. "That's what you and Jonny have. Do you really believe that he would give all that up because of an altercation?"

"The three of us had years of friendship, doctor," he replied slowly. "Perhaps the loss of one of us is enough to break whatever bonds that held the three of us."

"Do you believe that?" she asked him, her eyes narrowing.

He thought about it. He really did. In the beginning, his answer would have been an unequivocal no. Yet, during the past few weeks, his certainty had been tested to its limits. Sometimes he would see Jonny looking at both him and Dr. Quest, asking for something he knew not what, demanding something he knew he would not be able to deliver: a confirmation of grief.

Emotion.

He had learned to control that aspect of his life from a very young age. They simmer just below the surface of his exterior, threatening to take over as they did that night. Well, he was not about to let that happen again.

What about that incident at the beach?

He bowed his head in shame. Perhaps that incident had been an aberration. It matters not. He saw it as an indication of his lack of control over something so basic, he had thought he had mastered it already.

Her death taught him differently and Jonny's accusations made a mockery of his presumptions.

Finally, he lifted his eyes and replied, "I do not know," to the question she voiced.

He saw her eyes soften at his uncertain answer. "She must have been a very special young lady," she said softly.

He closed his eyes. "The three of us would have done anything for each other," he said in a far away voice. "Including lay down our lives . . . but she did not even give us a chance."

"She was a very big part of your lives," she said, stating the glaringly obvious fact.

- - END FLASHBACK - -

"She was a very big part of our lives, Hadji," he finally said, knowing that Hadji had probably guessed by now the reason for his abrupt departure.

"Yes, she was," Hadji agreed readily.

Again, they both lapsed into silence, each with his own thoughts as they leaned against the railing and stared at the reflection of the newly risen moon on the river.

How long they were both there, he didn't know, but when a chill began to penetrate his consciousness, Jon knew it was time to get back to the hotel. Heaving himself from the railing, he stretched his unused muscles and said in a whimsical tone, "Her hair really was like the shade of Jessie's hair."

"Yes, it was," Hadji whispered in reply.

Expecting Hadji to raise his brows in disbelief, Jon was more than surprised by his friend's quiet affirmation.

"Too bad I didn't catch her," Jon said deliberately, testing the waters.

He saw Hadji frown. "If I recall correctly," he began, "the last time you caught your target, she was more than a little upset with you. I would count myself lucky this time, if I were you of course."

Jon laughed. "Perhaps I am at that," he replied, his mood lightened for some inexplicable reason. It didn't last for long, however. The initial problem that brought him by the Seine pervaded his thoughts again and a sober thought entered his head.

"I keep seeing her again, Hadji," he said as they walked towards their hotel. "Ever since we got here."

"You do not really think that --"

"I know she's dead, Hadji," he said, repeating a familiar claim from the past. "But dammit! Before I can think, I try to grab hold on to what I think of as her. Maybe those damn therapy sessions should have lasted longer than it did."

"Maybe they should have," Hadji muttered in agreement as he walked beside his friend. Both of them could certainly use a little more counseling if they keep seeing a dead woman in their midst. This was Paris. An ocean away from everything that has happened. And yet, her presence stays with them, stronger than ever.

He sighed. To be truthful, he did not think she ever left. Her memory is always at the surface of both their minds . . .

The passage of time failed to work its magic on any of them. Putting his hands in his pockets, he continued his pace, glancing at Jon furtively at his side. Unlike Jon, he is a little better at controlling his impulses. Giving another sigh, he and Jon walked towards their destination, their footsteps echoing in their wake.

"We think they might have seen her, sir," reported one of his lackeys with obvious reluctance. "One of them tried to catch up with her, but he lost her in the crowd."

'Damn, damn, DAMN!' he thought. Clenching his hands into tight fists, he pounded them against the window sill and asked in a low, but dangerous voice, "So they chased her down, did they?"

"W-well," the lackey mumbled in reply, "if not, then one of them succeeded in giving a good imitation of a pursuit."

"And did she see any of this?" he forcefully drew out.

"We believe she was oblivious of the whole thing, sir."

'But they saw her,' he thought. 'Dammit! They must have seen her to follow her like that.'

"S-sir?" the imbecile said, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" he said angrily, looking at the man impatiently.

"What should the plan of action be, sir?" he asked hesitatingly.

Plan? he thought. There's only one thing to do.

"You will be informed when I see fit," he replied dismissively. "Now leave me."

He watched the man scurry out of his sight in his hurry to avoid his wrath.

'There's only one thing to do,' he thought.

Again, he cursed the fates that seemed to work against his every wish. Of all the multitude of cafés in Paris, the Quests just happen to be at the same one Carla happened to pass by at that moment. They just happen to choose the place she frequented.

He looked at his reflection in the window as he took off his mask. He can see his scarred face within the backdrop of the stars and the moon of the night.

The time has come to resurrect Ezekiel Rage from Zechariah Colère.

Revised October 09, 2004