The One and Only Jessie Bannon – A Jonny Quest: The Real Adventures Fanfiction
by Akane-Rei
Chapter Twelve: Americans in Paris
Jonathon Quest leaned his head against the window of the hotel, grimacing as the sling in his left arm made his position awkward. He stared down at the bustle in the streets as he once again called to mind the logical reasons which Hadji gave him as to why he's up here instead of somewhere down there, searching for . . . a ghost.
For all intents and purposes, the woman at the café might as well have been a ghost.
A name, he thought. We just need a name.
A name was enough. He could have IRIS give him every other detail he wanted as long as he had a name to work with.
As long as he had a name . . .
Something he hoped Hadji would have at the end of the day.
He closed his eyes, remembering her face. He really needed a name . . . something to call her . . .
If he were honest with himself, he needed the name more for himself than for IRIS. He needed a name to replace the one he'd given her the moment he saw her.
"Uncle Jonny?" came a voice behind him.
Startled out of his thoughts, he turned around and looked at the small red- haired girl who was staring at him with open curiosity in her familiar green eyes. With a grin pasted on his face, he crouched down beside her as he ruffled her hair.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked in a mock-serious tone as he drew her near him and gave her a hug.
Maria Elena Bannon -- or Linna as she was often called -- giggled. "It's not night anymore," she protested, pointing at the morning rays that streamed through the windows.
"Ahh," said Jon, nodding his head sagely. "My mistake," he said with a smile.
But Linna's attention was already diverted. Jon watched as the little girl's green eyes became fixated at the sling in his arm. Her brows marred with concentration as she touched the white material gently with her fingertips.
"Does it hurt?" she asked solemnly, her eyes grim and serious for her age.
"Nah," he replied, watching the play of emotions in her face. "Well, not too much," he revised as he watched the confusion in her countenance.
She pursed her lips and continued to stare.
He almost laughed. It always amazed him whenever he noticed the degree of resemblance between Race and Estella's second daughter with their first. He had seen some pictures of Jessie when she was Linna's age, and he would have sworn they were one and the same had he not known that Jessie's pictures were taken over a decade earlier. And right now, Linna had a very Jessie-like expression on her face. It was an expression of exasperation tinged with the frustration of being unable to do anything about it.
Linna frowned.
Yep, he thought. Jessie all the way.
"Momma said that some bad guys hurt you," she informed him. "Did you get them back? Did you shoot them back?"
He made a rueful face. "Not quite," he replied, remembering the circumstances of the encounter.
Her frown deepened. "That's okay," she said comfortingly. "I'll punch them for you."
Her arms went around his shoulders as a gesture of her support. "I saw on TV this guy punch this one guy and he bled a lot. Papa said that he'll teach me how to fight bad guys so that they won't hurt me. Didn't your daddy teach you how to fight bad guys, Uncle Jonny?" She looked at him earnestly. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."
"Thank you," he replied seriously, knowing that for all her innocence, Maria Elena Velasquez-Bannon meant every word she said.
He laughed as he saw her chin jut out in determination.
Yep, he thought. More like her everyday. He tried to lift her up, only to remember that one of his arms was incapacitated.
"Tell you what," he said in a bargaining tone, "when this sling is taken out, I'll carry you around Paris." He held out his hand. "Deal?"
Linna nodded up to him as she waved to someone behind him.
Turning, Jon saw Race Bannon approach them with a mug of coffee in his hand.
"Jon," he said gravely. "Awake at last."
Jon sighed and stood up. To be honest, he had never been asleep since the moment he got back from the hospital. However, he was prudent enough to want to avoid discussing the situation until he found who he was looking for. He didn't know how Race and Estella would handle the fact that a woman who looks exactly like the reincarnation of their dead daughter exists.
"Race," he said, clasping the other man's arm with his own.
"Mind explaining that?" Race said in reply, pointing at the sling in his arm.
"Ah, Race," he cajoled. "You know me."
"Exactly," replied the former bodyguard. He turned to his daughter and said, "Linna, why don't you see if your mom's awake, alright?"
Linna nodded her head and ran to the bedroom.
As Linna left, Race turned his attention back to Jon. "I know you," he continued, "which means that despite all the trouble you seem to have a talent of getting into, you rarely seek them out."
Jon shrugged. "The authorities think it may just be a random shooting," he said lightly.
A sound of disbelief escaped from Race. "I've lived with your family long enough to know that things like this are rarely, if ever, random where the Quests are concerned," he said tightly.
Jon turned to look out of the window, raising his good arm to touch the glass.
"I know what you mean," he replied quietly.
In his pursuit to find the identity of the woman in the café, he had deliberately put off all concerns regarding the shooting. When he should have been investigating the cause and finding the culprit, he instead had Hadji running around the city searching for her.
"I'm going to look into this," stated Race, interrupting his thoughts.
Jon nodded imperceptibly. He could feel Race's eyes boring the back of his head, almost willing him to look back.
"I'll help you with it," he said after a minute. "I just need to tie up some loose ends."
"Loose ends?" asked Race, perplexed.
Again, Jon nodded and left it at that.
He felt more than heard Race leave the room after a while.
Estella Velasquez Bannon glanced at her husband from the corner of her eye as he dazedly entered their bedroom and leaned against the door he just closed. She felt her heart skip the beat it always does when she sees him. She almost blushed at her girlish response. Race always had that effect on her, even during their divorce years ago. She wondered whether it will always be that way. Giving him another quick look from her position by the window, she observed as his forehead creased the way it usually did when he's deep in thought.
"Well?" she asked in a somewhat impatient voice after five minutes of waiting in silence.
She watched as he slowly sat on the bed, an inscrutable expression on his face.
"I don't think he knows anything more than we do right now," he said tersely.
"What about the girl?" she inquired, somewhat mollified after his inattention.
"What girl?" Race asked, looking up at her.
"The girl Hadji's looking for," she replied, beginning to get irritated. "Linna told me that Hadji told her that he's off to look for a girl that Jon had met."
She looked closely at her husband, searching for a sign that this was a male conspiracy to keep the female uninformed.
"This is the first time I've heard of this," stated Race, confusion evident in his face.
She sighed. She had been hoping that Linna was talking about some woman that Jon might be seeing. Heavens knew it was time that boy had a serious relationship. She had thought maybe that Hadji was looking for her because she might be concerned about Jon's condition.
"Oh well," she said, disappointed.
She saw Race come up in front of her and take her shoulders.
He smiled, pulling her chin up for her to face him.
"You're not thinking . . .you know..." he let his voice drift.
She felt her color rise at her cheeks. There were times when it just didn't do to be a red head.
"Aww c'mon, 'Stella," he said teasingly, his finger rubbing her cheek. "He just got shot, for crying out loud. He has no time for--"
She poked his ribs. Hard.
"Who knows?" she asked defensively. "She could have been a nurse who held his hand in the hospital--"
He snorted.
"Or someone he already knew," she finished, giving his ribs a playful punch.
Race laughed. "I doubt it," he said. "Benton hasn't said anything about it and I got the impression that Jon's too much of a workaholic nowadays."
"Stop laughing at me," she ordered. Grinning mischievously, she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him, teasing, "Is it wrong of me to hope that he's lucky enough to find someone who could make him as happy as you make me?"
He smiled. "You're as bad as Neela," he said, "you know that, don't you?"
She nodded unrepentantly.
"So tell me, what else did Linna say?" he asked, gently touching the strands of her hair that escaped the loose bun on her head.
She leaned against him, resting her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat.
"That's it," she replied. "From the impression I got, Hadji was off somewhere in a hurry to tell her anything more than that."
"Hmmm," he said, almost thoughtfully, kissing the top of her head. "Where is Linna, by the way?"
She smiled. "With Benton having breakfast," she replied, before kissing his mouth.
Benton Quest smiled as he listened to Linna's laughing chatter over the breakfast table. It had been a long time since had had listened to such carefree laughter. In fact, it had been a long time since he had heard the sound of any child over the breakfast table.
Perhaps too long, he thought, giving he son a speculative look, through the open doorway. It had been a long time since he had been able to call Jon a child. Although there were times when, as trite as it sounds, his son's childhood seems just like yesterday, all Benton had to do was look into Jon's eyes to bring reality back to him. Jon's eyes no longer had the bright and innocent glow it used to have; instead, Jon's eyes exceeded his age.
Benton looked thoughtfully at Linna, then back at Jon. This relaxing trip to Paris was not turning out as it was supposed to. Not only was there someone taking shots at his sons, there's this latest development regarding a double ringer for Jessie. After demanding to know why is it that Hadji had not taken a more thorough search for the sniper at the café, Hadji had reluctantly informed him of this . . . complication. He did not quite know what to make of this situation. He admitted to Hadji that he did not quite know what to make of this situation. Although he had nothing against this girl they say, he couldn't help but wish that his sons had never laid eyes on her at all.
Jon was much better in regards to his mental and emotional health regarding her Jessie's . . . death; but Benton would be the first to admit that Jon was far from a full recovery. The occasional presence of the nightmares that plague his son as well as the insomnia that often results from those nightmares were enough to give one pause for concern. However, Jon had stopped seeing Jessie in the crowd and this incident, Benton feared, could be enough to revert his son back to his old ways.
He looked back at Linna and watched her daintily, and yet with gusto, finish her food. He looked at the miniature version of the face that haunted his son's sleeping moments and took a deep breath. Despite being a man of science, he had a bad feeling about this whole thing.
She was cold.
She felt the coldness caress her . . .
We had so little time, the coldness said.
She felt the coldness wrap her in it arms . . .
And for a moment, she thought she heard a heartbeat. The heartbeat of the cold.
She felt the coldness suffocate her . . .
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't breathe.
SHE COULDN'T BREATHE!
She was light . . .
SHE COULDN'T BREATHE!
She was floating . . .
SHE COULDN'T BREATHE!
She screamed for help . . .
And opened her eyes.
Siann stared at the ceiling, blindly looking at the morning rays of the sun as they streamed through the glass window panes. She stared, as the light scattered and separated, creating the array of rainbow colors. She stared at the ceiling, feeling the sweat drench her nightclothes.
She had woken up to the sound of her own scream. Again.
She glanced at the doorway, wondering if Luc heard her. She wondered where he was. Usually, at this point, he would come barging into her room, demanding to know what's wrong. Or, in some cases, just sitting down to hold her. There were times when his comforting was welcome, but there were times -- rare ones, at that -- when his very presence almost feels like an intrusion. In those times, she often wondered at her almost instinctive withdrawal.
She wondered if he ever felt her wince at his touch at times during her nightmares.
She wondered a lot.
Funny that she should think of that now.
She turned her head back and resumed staring at the ceiling. She shivered and felt the familiar clammy feeling take over her body. Rubbing her damp arms with her hands, she curled into a fetal position and burrowed herself deeper into her blankets.
She was cold.
Hadji sat by the pavement of the small café and waited. The garçon had informed him that the children who played around here usually arrived by midmorning and he was anxiously awaiting for that time. In particular, he was waiting for Michèl, the child that Jon had tried to protect. With luck, Michèl could give him the name of the woman. The unfortunate thing with names was that there exists a number of spellings for a particular one. While Hadji was almost certain the girl's name had been Sian, the fact that he did not have a last name to go with it makes the search a trifle harder.
The regulars at the café had been unhelpful in this extent. For some reason, they seem quite closemouthed about giving any information regarding the person in question. This brings to mind the question as to why they would be so reluctant to give him a name in the first place. There were times when he would swear that they seemed almost afraid.
He wondered if it was his imagination.
The sound of laughing children drew his attention to the corner of the street. There, the sight of children playing could be seen. This time, however, the presence of hovering mothers were also seen. Perhaps the incident yesterday had made them all more careful. He looked more closely. The boy, Michèl, was not among the laughing bunch.
Hadji shrugged as he slowly got to his feet and approached the laughing group of children. He watched as they looked at him with trepidation in their eyes.
"Pardonnez-moi," he said hesitantly, looking at both the mothers and the children. "Je cherche--"
"Vous êtes americain?" interrupted one of the women, approaching him from their circle.
He nodded, watching as the woman slowly drew one of the children next to her, placing a protective arm around him.
"Yesterday," she said slowly, looking at him carefully, "your friend, he protected Michèl, yes?"
"Oui, Madame," he replied, "in a way. I came here to ask if perhaps one of the children could give me the name of the woman who was here yesterday."
The woman continued to look at him steadily without responding. He almost wondered whether she understood him at all.
Finally she asked, "Why do you look for her?"
"I just wanted to ask her some questions," he began, which was true. He did want to ask her some questions. "About the incident yesterday morning," he continued, which was also true. Some of his questions would more than likely pertain the events yesterday.
She stared at him for a few seconds more before answering, "Michèl is my nev-- nephew." Again she stared at his eyes. "I thank you and your friend for your efforts to protect him. Which is why I tell you that you are looking for Madame Rénard. Siann Rénard." She nods her head towards the café. "She usually draws pictures of the children when she is here.
Hadji arched his brow.
"She is an artist?" he voiced the question to himself, only to have the woman nod her head at him.
"Oui," she replied, before turning her back at him and going back to her circle of friends.
"Wait!" he called out.
She stopped and looked back at him with inquiring eyes.
"You do not happen to know where she lives, do you?" he asked plaintively.
The woman shook her head solemnly and again turned her back to him.
Hadji nodded slowly as he placed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He looked back at the café, not really surprised to see the curious eyes of the people sitting on the outside tables. Taking a deep breath, he started the walk back to the hotel.
"You almost killed her," he said softly, looking at the man before him.
Zechariah Colère walked slowly, deliberately towards his prey. He watched his prey close his eyes and swallow convulsively.
"You almost killed her," he said softly again, with a slight edge in his inflection.
He watched the man collapse on his knees, his hands supporting him against the floor. He watched as the man almost slips because of the slippery patch on the floor that resulted from the sweat that glistened across his forehead, dripping slowly against the marble tiles the moment his legs ceased to support him.
"You almost killed her," he snarled softly at the man's left ear, revealing slightly the extent of his rage.
The man on the floor started to sob, his deep breaths echoing the great hall.
Zechariah backhanded the man, sending him across the room. The sound of the man's back hitting the wall could be heard throughout the house.
"I should kill you now," he stated calmly, as he stood over the hunched man, "however, I do believe that you deserve more than what that pathetic excuse of a sniper you hired."
Luc slowly raised his head to look at him.
"What do you mean?" he gasped out, choking a little.
Zechariah crouched before him.
"You will remember this episode, won't you?" he asked softly.
Luc coughed uncontrollably for a few seconds before being able to answer and affirmative.
"Good," replied Zechariah. "Now, I want you to stay close to Siann for the duration of the Quests' stay in Paris."
He stood up slowly.
"Go now," he said quietly and he watched as Luc staggered to his feet, leaving him alone in the room.
The sound of footsteps behind him made him turn and look at the approaching individual.
"Was that just a dead man that walked out of here?" he was asked bluntly.
"Everyone dies eventually," he replied. "Some just sooner than others."
"Poor bastard," the man returned. "He was real worried about her nightmares, you know."
"Be that as it may," Zechariah began.
The man held up both hands in a gesture of mock surrender.
"You don't have to tell me," he stated. "I don't need to know. Just tell me when you want the death certificate and all other pertinent documents and I'll provide it."
"Just like before," Zechariah said softly.
"Just like before," he reiterated.
"Why thank you, doctor," he purred.
Revised October 10, 2004