The One and Only Jessie Bannon – A Jonny Quest: The Real Adventures Fanfiction
by Akane-Rei
Chapter Nine: Last Days of Innocence
"I don't understand," said Siann, confusion evident in her tone. "It is a beautiful day out there, Luc. I'm not about to waste it by staying indoors!" By this time, her voice had risen to a shout as she stomped out of the room.
She made a face at him when she arrived at the safety of her room, then promptly chastised herself for behaving childishly. She didn't know what was wrong with Luc that day -- that week, for that matter -- but she wished he would quickly get over it. It wasn't often that Luc got into one of those moods, but when he does, he usually took it out on someone else -- not her. Now, however, whatever was bothering him was having an unpleasant effect on her and she won't stand for it.
She looked out of the window and saw the sun calling to her. She looked around her room for the baseball cap which she knew Luc deplored for its lack of aestheticism. Finding it, she grinned and tucked her hair underneath it, just to irritate him for irritating her. Gathering her sketch notebook and a few charcoal pencils with her, she took a deep breath and exited her room.
"Siann!"
She headed straight for the door which would lead her outside, not even bothering to give him a second glance. He was in a rare fit and she did not relish being told not to go out of the house like an unruly schoolgirl.
Once out, she basked in the morning sun and looked back at the house.
What was wrong with everyone lately? They all seemed so jumpy . . . even Zechariah. While it's true that strangers have been approaching her from nowhere and asking about her appearance in the telé, she saw no danger in them. They are as irritating as those brash americains, yes, but not dangerous. She sighed, remembering how upset Luc had become when, out of the blue, a stranger had asked her out to dinner. It was another one of those pesky people who have decided that her appearance in the telé meant that they could own her and invade her privacy. Shaking her head, she tried to put the incident behind her and focus on her new project. That train of thought was not the wisest choice, of course, since it put the objects of her vexation right in the forefront of her mind. She was beginning to regret making the men of her life the subject of her new series.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. Perhaps a change of subject might improve her disposition. Just for fun, of course. With this in mind, she headed towards her favorite café for a dose of people- watching.
Hadji grinned.
If his advisors could see him now . . .
Gone was the formal attire that distinguished the Sultan of Bangalore from his subjects. In its stead are the comfortable fit of a well-worn jeans. Feeling the wind ruffle his thick, black hair as he strolled down the streets of Paris, he gave a small smile and headed for the café to meet Jon. Jon had insisted on going to the establishment first and apologizing to the owner for his behavior the day before and Hadji had reluctantly agreed to let Jon out of his sight for the moment.
He was sure that, by this time, Jon had noticed his tendency to follow him around, especially since the incident yesterday. He shrugged. It is important for his peace of mind that he do this, ergo, he does.
As he approached the café, he smiled when he saw his friend seated at one of the outside tables and joined him.
"So, my friend," he said in a bemused voice, "how did your abject apology go?"
Jon gave a small laugh. "It went alright," he answered, drinking his coffee.
Hadji took the seat beside him and ordered for himself a cup of tea while the two of them enjoyed watching the bustle of a Parisian morning. He was about to ask Jon to explicate his answer to his question when he felt something collide with his feet. Looking down, he saw a red ball rolling innocently back and forth between his feet and Jon's.
He saw Jon lean down and pick the ball up as he looked around for its owner. They watched, both bemused, as a child -- no more than four or five, really -- approached them apprehensively.
"M-m-messieurs," the child whispered. "M-m-m--"
"Is this your ball?" Jon asked in an easygoing voice, as he held the ball out to the child.
The boy nodded enthusiastically and held his arms out to receive his treasure.
Jon laughed as he gave the toy to its rightful owner while ruffling the boy's hair with his other hand. It is unfortunate, really, that Jon did not have any children of his own. He was a natural with them and he had heard Estella mention often enough how good Jon was with her and Race's five-year old daughter, Linna.
Linna . . . a miniature version of --
"And did you say 'thank you' to the nice man, Michèl?" a woman's voice said, interrupting his thoughts. The question was asked in French so it took a while for him to process what was actually being said, but the voice had grabbed his attention.
There was something about that voice . . . it tugged at his memory.
He looked up, searching for the owner and found the boy -- Michèl, he presumes -- talking to a person whose back was towards them. He could not really see much of her -- his assumption that she is a she was from hearing her voice -- but judging from her stature and mode of dress, she looked like a teenager. Her loose shirt and scruffy looking jeans along with her baseball cap added to that impression.
He watched as Michèl approached their table again with a small smile on his face, but his attention was still at that voice.
There was a certain quality . . .
"M-m-m-merc-c-ci," the little boy whispered to both of them. Before either could answer, the boy ran back to his friends.
Hadji looked up again and saw the teenage girl find a seat in the pavement and take out a sketchpad and a pencil as she watched the children play their games.
Perhaps it was the tone of her voice . . .
He shook his head, berating himself for letting his imagination lead him astray.
Turn, he thought. Let me see you.
Her face would give him another identity to go with the voice.
Perhaps it was the timber . . .
I need to see your face, he thought. To know that you are not her.
He heard her laugh at one of the antics of the children.
Turn, his mind screamed.
He glanced at Jon and saw his own friend staring at the back of the girl. Slowly, Jon's eyes turned to meet his. They looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity when he heard her laugh again and his mind was sucked into a whirl of memories.
- - FLASHBACK - -
She was smiling at him, at his befuddlement. He could see the mirth behind her eyes as she watched his reaction.
"Don't you get it, Hadji?" she asked, and even in the tone of her voice, he could hear her smile. "She likes you," she said in a sing-song voice.
He shuddered and looked back at the twitching animal in front of him and quickly looked away.
Wait a minute, he thought. Twitching? He looked back down again.
"It is alive," he whispered with horror.
Jessie looked back down. "Well, what do you know?" she asked to no one in particular. "We have ourselves a fighter, here."
She knelt down and gently picked up the little bird. It gave a pathetic chirping sound as it struggled against Jessie's gentle hands.
"Shhhh," she whispered to the bird, making crooning sounds as she brought it inside the house.
He followed her, still in a daze, trying to cope with the fact that a certain female gave him what was supposed to be a dead bird as a symbol of her affection.
"Ummm..." he began. "Will it . . . uh . . . she . . . he? live, do you think?"
Jessie glanced back at him and was about to answer when Jonny came bouncing from the stairs.
"What's that you have there, Ace?" he asked.
With a mischievous grin in her face, she answered as solemnly as she could, "One of Hadji's admirer's left a dead bird for him today -- only it wasn't quite dead yet."
Confusion was evident in Jonny's face as he turned to look at him. "Geez, Hadj," he said in an exasperated tone, "another psycho girlfriend?"
Trying to gather the remnants of his dignity, Hadji said in reply, "She was a cat, Jonny."
"Namecalling, now, are we?" said Jonny in response.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . Counting was supposed to alleviate strong emotions . . . Five . . . He . . . Six . . . did not think . . . Seven . . . it was . . . Eight . . . working right now.
"I meant that it was a cat who left the bird, Jonny," he said tightly.
"Huh?" asked Jonny.
Nine . . .
She started laughing.
Both he and Jonny turned to her as they watched her struggle with her hilarity.
"Your sense of humor is out of place at this time, Jessie," he said.
She started laughing harder and she struggled to gently place the bird on a table. Once freed, her hands immediately went to clutch her sides as she tried to get a word in edgewise.
"I'm s-s-sorry," she said between gasps. "It's j-j-just the look on your face," she wheezed. "And Jonny's s-so . . . so thick --"
He can see the moment she gave up struggling and just let the laughter take hold of her. He looked at Jonny and in their eyes was a tacit agreement: there were times when men must stick together for the saving of their prides against the blatant battering that women and their kind inflict.
Jonny began cracking his knuckles as both of them approached her.
Jessie, it seems, still has all her self-preservation instincts with her despite her condition. He saw her eyes widen as she scrambled to her feet and got behind the table where the bird lay.
"No time for that now," she said quickly, her fit of laughter apparently abated for the time being. "We gotta do something about this bird."
- - END FLASHBACK - -
And that was the last time he saw her laugh.
He stared down at the mass of people below him, going about their daily lives like the drones of a beehive. They exist in ignorance of all the dangers that could be facing them or their loved ones. They exist in ignorance of the fragility of life.
And that's how they prefer it. That's how they are able to walk outside of their so-called safe and secure homes and venture the outside world.
They exist in ignorance of people like him.
If one would disregard all the intricacies of exactly how a job is accomplished efficiently and anonymously, then one might say that a sniper's life is quite simple.
Yes, he thought to himself as he peered down at his targets. Quite simple.
A sniper is given a target and the target is then eradicated. Compensation comes once the target is recorded in his kill book.
"I have them within my sights, Monsieur," he whispered softly, knowing that technology will do its job and allow his client to hear him. "I need only your command."
This particular client had been picky. He had insisted on giving the order before he can fire.
Normally, he would have refused such a job. After all, he was good at what he does and could do very well without the aggravation he knew it would bring him. But the price for these kills were . . . beyond belief.
"Sir?" he said again. "I can take care of them now."
Luc had debated long and hard with himself about his actions. In the end, however, his fear for Siann's safety had overruled any moral dilemmas he might suffer as a consequence of what he is about to execute. So he had hired a sniper to take care of Zechariah's problems. Surely that's not so bad. Presidents do it all the time. Yes. That's it.
He took a deep breath. Siann had been particularly stubborn today. He would have preferred that she stayed indoors today of all days, but she had left in a huff. He sighed with frustration. How can he keep her safe if she insists on going on these jaunts? Now he has to go looking for her after all this is done.
"Sir?" he heard the sniper's voice again, this time with an edge of impatience.
He closed his eyes.
You are not a murderer, he thought to himself. You are a protector. Her protector.
"Monsieur!" he heard again from his sniper.
"Do it," he whispered. "Eliminate your targets now."
Revised October 10, 2004