Author's note: Song interwoven in the chapter is by Sarah McLachlan

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

By Akane-Rei

Chapter Thirteen: Tangled Webs


"What ravages of spirit conjured this temptous rage . . ."

- - FLASHBACK- -

He had to get them out of here.

Right turn here.

They wouldn't help him.

"Hold on tight, Abby," he muttered as he looked at the rearview mirror.

He felt his teeth grinding, his mouth tightening to a thin line just when he saw the car following them. He gripped the wheel tightly, seeing his knuckles turn white. He pushed down the accelerator a little harder, knowing that he was already driving as fast as this Cadillac can go.

Curve ahead.

His own country, a country he had served to the best of his abilities, would not help him.

Damn them, he thought. DAMN them!

He pounded his fist against the wheel, hearing his wife give a little gasp. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, seeing her bite her lip, her hands holding tight at the console. He saw her lick her lips and glance behind at their daughter.

Carla, he thought, before focusing his attention on the road ahead of them. His arms moved with lightning quick reflexes on the wheel resulting from years of training. The turns and twists he'd had to make due to their current speed were too sharp for his comfort, especially with his family in the car with him.

Quick left.

He HAD to get them out of here!

He felt the trip hammer pounding of his heart against his chest, wondering in the back of his mind how his ribs could contain it furious beating. He glanced back at the rearview mirror, hoping against hope that he had lost his pursuers, yet knowing in his gut that he would see the car tailing them as fast as he was driving.

His country, his reason for being in this situation in the first place, would not help him. Would not help his family.

God damn them, he thought.

"GOD DAMN THEM!" he shouted in frustration.

"Daddy?" interrupted a soft, trembling voice behind him.

He felt a burning sensation in the back of his eyes.

"Daddy?" she reiterated with the same tremulous ring.

Another sharp left.

He swallowed.

"Not now, Carla," he replied abruptly. "Daddy's busy."

And a right.

They'll pay for this, he thought. They'll pay for this.

He began to hear the stifled sounds of sniffling, growing louder by the second. He heard his wife give soothing noises from her side of the car. But another sound caught his attention and made his blood run cold.

Guns! he thought.

He . . . Had . . . To . . . Get . . . Them . . .Out . . . Of . . .Here!

"I'm . . . I'm sor-sor-sorry," came the sound of his daughter's voice between her sobs. "Don't be m-m-mad."

"Hush, baby," he heard Abby's comforting voice, "Daddy's not angry."

"I . . . I (hic) . . . I just wanted (hic) . . . to (hic) . . . see the skeletons," came another entreaty.

"Shhhh," came Abby's gentle voice.

He felt more than saw his wife reach out from her seat to give Carla a reassuring touch just when he heard the shattering of glass. He heard both his daughter and his wife's screams of surprise as shards of glass rained on all of them, cutting them. He felt the nicks on his face and turned to his wife and daughter to see how they fared. He saw his wife crouching down at the same time reaching for Carla. Carla looked at him with frightened eyes, clutching her skeleton doll pathetically with her tiny arms against her chest. Blood was beginning to stain the doll. His eyes widened in anger just as another wave of gunfire echoed from behind. The sight of his bleeding wife and daughter was enough to cause break his concentration from the road.

HE HAD TO GET THEM OUT OF HERE!

"D-Daddy?" cracked a voice behind him. "I . . ."

The sound of wheezing breath could be heard.

Hang on, baby, he thought.

"I . . ." came her voice again, "I . . . I h-h-hurt," she murmured this time.

More gunfire.

He felt the wheel spinning out of control from his hands. He felt the car spin, throwing him and his family against the sides of the doors.

And suddenly, there was no road in front of them, only air.

'They'll pay for this,' he thought, watching with an almost morbid fascination as the car begins to rapidly descend. 'I'll have my revenge.'

"DADDY!"

Carla...Abby...

- - END FLASHBACK- -

"Created you a monster . . ."

He stared intently at the dark, clear liquor as it swirled around the glass on his hand. Through the glass, he can just about see the fireplace where the crackling of fire echoed around the hall. The soft shadows that result from the only source of light in the room loomed over him, as if to engulf him, to meld with him. He gave a sardonic smile at his sudden imaginative wanderings and swallowed the contents of his glass, feeling the burning liquid travel down his throat.

Ah...but he outdid himself this time.

He had found a perfect plan to rid his daughter of the Quest team.

Although the plan lacked somewhat of the extravagant flair his usual plans have, it would suit his needs. The only thing it would require on his part was patience.

He poured himself another glass of brandy and toasted an imaginary companion. While it's true that he was gambling a lot on what he knows of his daughter and her personality, it was a gamble he was willing to take. Throughout these years, if there was something he was sure of about Car-- Siann, it was her love and loyalty. He gave a slight sneer and wondered what those damn Quests would think if they knew that in the end, it would be them, and not him who would drive Siann from their grasps.

Ezekiel Rage gave a deep sigh of contentment.

All is about to be well in the world.

"Broken by the rule of love . . ."

- - FLASHBACK- -

He stared at the skies, watching as the slow moving clouds shifted and changed their formations.

She's alive, he thought.

He continued to watch the sky, playing a game long remembered.

"It's a dog, Daddy," she said in her high-pitched voice. "It's a dog with a hat."

"Oh really?" he asked, turning his head to stare at her intent blue green eyes.

He grinned as she bobbed her head up and down.

"Nah," he teased. "Those are just huge cotton balls floating up there for some reason."

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, looking down at him from her lofty sitting position.

He chuckled.

"Alright," he said, making a huge play at giving in to a greater force. "But only if.." he let his voice drift of.

"Only if what?" she demanded.

"Only if I can tickle you nonstop!"

Quickly jumping from his prone position, he grabbed his daughter and started tickling her.

Her shriek of laughter would echo his ears for years to come.

He didn't think he would ever get the chance to hear it again.

He was wrong.

She was alive. And they have kept her from him, depriving him of his only child, his only family.

He looked again at the blue sky and then back down at the green earth.

He had almost destroyed this world, and in turn, almost destroying her as well.

All because they kept her from him. He would never forgive this transgression.

A child should be with its parents just as his Carla should be with him. What right did they have to take her away like that?

He sighed. It matters not now. He will get her back. He didn't know how she survived the crash; but she did, and for that he was thankful. And now, it was time for her to go home.

- - END FLASHBACK- -

"And fate has led you through it you do what you have to do . . ."

"I want an increase in the surveillance of both my daughter and the Quest team," he reiterated.

The affirmative answer at the other end of the line reassured him somewhat.

"All the electronic equipment which you will be using are included in the generous amount I have provided for your services," he said tersely, "I want the video room set up at once."

He walked across the room, listening to the inane babble of this particular lackey.

Finally, he said, "Fail me in this and your fate shall be that of that incompetent fool you have disposed of yesterday."

Silence.

"Is that understood?"

"Very well, Monsieur Colère," was the response.

- - FLASHBACK- -

"And fate has led you through it you do what you have to do . . ."

He watched as she opened her eyes slowly and with great care. He saw the confusion and the fear evident in them as she stared at him and his companion. He felt her instinctive withdrawal from them and he glanced sharply at the man beside him.

With an overdone cough, Dr. Alain Montrachet quickly asked, "Are you alright, child?"

She looked at the fearfully, suspiciously.

"You are quite a lucky lady," he continued with a nervous twitter. "A blow like that to the head could have resulted in a much more serious damage."

"W-What happened?" her voice croaked. "Where am I?"

The good doctor glanced at him swiftly before looking back at his patient.

"You are at St. Michèl Hospital," he replied. "I am Dr. Montrachet."

Getting impatient, he asked abruptly, "Do you remember the circumstance that brought you here?"

He watched as those eyes looked directly at him before looking away.

"N-Not quite," came her soft voice.

"Can you," he began, glancing at Montrachet from the corner of his eye, "remember anything?"

He watched her brows frown with concentration.

"Mademoiselle," he prompted.

"No," she said even more softly than before.

"How about your name?" he queried, throwing caution to the wind.

He watched Montrachet stiffen, awaiting her response, as the girl made a gesture to answer.

Only she didn't. Instead she closed her eyes in concentration.

"Well?" he asked again, giving a show of impatience.

He heard her sob silently.

"I . . . I . . .My name is . . ." she began.

He saw a tension take over Montrachet's whole body.

She opened her eyes and looked at them pleadingly.

"I don't know what my name is," she whispered. "Who am I?"

He felt Montrachet relax beside him, and felt himself release the tension which he did not know he had until this moment.

"My dear girl," began Montrachet ingratiatingly, "we were hoping you could tell us that yourself. After you have tried to steal the wallet of Monsieur Colère over here during his sightseeing at the garden in the Tuileries--"

"I'm a pickpocket?" she cried out.

Montrachet nodded sadly. "It would seem so, child" he replied.

"I had the sense to recognize that I don't know how to let you go."

He watched her by her bedside, drinking in her presence.

She was here, with him.

Several weeks have passed and her memory had still not returned.

He took that as a good sign. He wanted a new life for her, a fresh start. Hence, the need for Montrachet.

He gave an almost giddy sigh of relief.

She was here, with him.

He watched as she slowly opened her eyes. Getting over her initial surprise at seeing him, she smiled carefully before asking, "Have you been here long?"

He shook his head.

"Have you given a thought to our discussion these past few days?" he asked.

She nodded her head slowly.

"And your decision is?" he inquired.

"I will agree to let you . . . help me," she began, "as long as we are in the understanding that I would repay you every franc in the end."

A wave of relief swept over him.

She was here, with him.

He looked at her pride-filled eyes and the determined curve of her mouth before nodding.

"Have you given a thought as to what we shall call you?" he questioned. "We cannot keep calling you 'girl' all the time, you know."

She smiled and nodded.

"I would like to be called Siann," she replied, "Siann Jacobsen."

He frowned.

"Any particular reason you chose such an unusual name?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"It would not leave my head, Monsieur," she replied in a perplexed voice. "But it is a pretty name, non?"

"I guess it is a good name as any," he commented. He stood up. "Well," he said, "I must be going."

He felt him grab at his hand.

"You will come back, yes?" she asked hesitantly.

He smiled.

"But of course," he replied before disengaging from her and walking to the door.

For some reason, his heart felt lighter.

She was here, with him.

And for the first time in almost a decade, the cloud of loneliness that hung upon him seems to have disappeared.

- - END FLASHBACK- -

"Every moment marked with apparitions of your soul . . ."

Jean-Luc Rénard looked carefully at the woman who had become his sister not only through the law, but through spirit as well. She was staring at him intently, awaiting an answer to her query.

"I'm quite alright," he insisted for the second time. "The ditch I landed into was not very deep."

He saw her brows frown. He had a feeling that she disbelieved his whole story of falling in a ditch but he was thankful that she didn't pursue it any further.

"You are in pain," she stated plainly. "Perhaps it is better if you have them look at those ribs in the hospital, yes?"

"It is just a bruise, Siann," he replied. "I know what a cracked rib feels like and this isn't it."

"Luc," she said with pleading eyes, "you do not look good at all. Maybe --"

"No!" he exclaimed. "And that is my last word on that. Respect my wishes, Siann, the way I respected yours when you came home bleeding two days ago."

He watched her withdraw from him, not just physically but also emotionally. He watched as her eyes shuttered behind a blank look.

She took a deep breath.

"Will you at least stay in bed and recover for awhile," she asked softly. "You look very tired."

He looked at her closely before agreeing.

"I'll prepare dinner and bring yours to your room," she continued.

He was about to refuse such treatment when she interrupted him.

"Leave it be, Luc," she stated tersely.

He nodded slowly before heading to his room.

It had been a long day and he was tired.

"This is not your concern," stated Jonathon Quest. "It is my choice."

Benton stared at his son's eyes, willing him to give in.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" he demanded. "That woman is NOT Jessie! When are you going to admit to yourself that she's --"

"I know that, Father," his son interrupted him, his voice tight. "This has nothing to do with--"

"The HELL you say!" he shouted furiously. He tried to calm down, knowing that this is not the time to lose control. "Tell me something, Jon. If this . . . woman . . . did not have red hair or green eyes or any of Jessie's features, would you have had Hadji searching the streets of Paris for a glimpse of her?"

Jon stared silently back at him.

"I thought so," he said softly. "I thought so."

He watched his son's fist clench before they slam down against the dining table. The ensuing silence that followed the clatter of the dishes was thick as he watched him struggle with his emotions before slowly looking up at him.

"It's not what you're thinking, Dad," he answered with a sick smile. "I'm not going to suddenly start making claims about how she's my long lost best friend." He paused, looking out through the window. "If there's anything I've learned throughout all those sessions you had Hadji and me attend, it was that the Jessie we knew and loved was dead." Looking back at him, he continued, "And I can't bring her back no matter what."

Jon shifted his feet, looking at the ground. "This thing," he began again, "I know it's not Jessie, but the fact that she looks like her makes me want to get to know her." He stared at his father's eyes. "Can you honestly tell me that if you saw someone who looks exactly just like Mom walking down the street, you wouldn't do your damnedest to meet her?"

Silence.

Benton sighed.

"And aren't you just a tiny bit curious to see what she's like?" insisted Jon.

Benton sighed again, finally looking at his son directly.

"Yes," he replied, resigned. "I am."

Jon smiled.

"She's beautiful, Dad," he said slowly, "and caring." He grinned. "She almost beat me up with a spoon when she thought I was harming a child."

Benton nodded, and then broached the subject he knew would have to be tackled eventually.

"Have you thought of the Bannons, Jon?" he asked. "Do you know how this is going to affect them?"

Jon began shuffling his feet and Benton smiled sadly. At this moment, Jon reminded him of the Jonny of the past. The Jonny who got in so much scrapes and who had to explain how he got into them.

"I was thinking of not mentioning it until later," Jon replied quietly.

"Lie to them?" asked Benton, raising his eyebrows.

Jon shook his head. "Not lying exactly," Jon said carefully. "I mean, they don't have to meet her right away, do they?" He shrugged. "In fact, we don't even know if I'll see her again after this."

"I don't like it," he stated adamantly.

"Look," Jon said, "this Siann person could take one look at me and decide that she doesn't ever want to see me again or be reminded of how we met. Why put the Bannons through this when nothing might come out of it? As you said before, this is not Jessie and seeing her might only hurt Race and Estella more."

"I still don't like it," he stated.

"However swiftly moving I'm trying to escape this desire . . ."

He wondered if there was a penalty for lying by omission.

"Dad," he said, almost wheedling. "We'll tell them about it eventually. Just not now. Think about it, they're happy. It couldn't hurt to keep them in the dark longer until . . . until we're sure they can handle it."

"My friend," interrupted a voice behind him, "you are perhaps underestimating their resilience in handling difficult situations. This is the Bannons we are talking about, yes?"

Jon turned to smile at his adopted brother.

"What's the use of dredging up painful memories for them and ruining their vacation?" he demanded. "The girl is not Jessie as both of you have reiterated to me. Is there really an immediate need to tell them about her?"

He can see that his father and Hadji were reluctantly agreeing with him and he sighed with relief.

Maybe it was wrong of him, but for some reason, he wanted to protect Race and Estella. That couple has been through a lot to get to his point, and he would hate to see anything change their current status. He grinned inwardly at the reversal of status between him and Race, then frowned as he realized something. No matter how much he confidently reassured his father regarding his feeling for this double ringer, he knew how easily it would be to let Siann be Jessie. In fact, his mind had started doing it the moment he saw her. Which is why he would really, really like to meet her again, perhaps get to know her. Knowing her would hopefully distinguish her from his Jessie.

His Jessie.

He grimaced.

The fact that this look-alike can replace Jessie so easily had brought him several pangs of guilt. He felt as if he had betrayed Jessie's memory in a way.

And maybe, just maybe, he had.

"The yearning to be near you I do what I have to do . . ."

He turned to Hadji.

"Well," he asked, "do you have the address?"

Hadji nodded.

"Just one more thing," said Hadji. "You are not going there alone. I am coming with you."

"Look, Hadji," cajoled Jon, "I don't need a baby-sitter. I'll be fine--"

"Did I mention that I received an update from the police regarding their search for the sniper?" interrupted Hadji. "It seems that they have found who they think to be the sniper."

"What!" gasped Jon. "Why didn't you say so? Let's go to the precinct and ask him some questions."

"I am afraid," Hadji said, restraining Jon's eager sprinting, "that you would have to go to a much higher authority to question him."

"Huh?"

"He is dead," he stated.

"Dead?" repeated both his father and Jon.

"Dead," reiterated Hadji. "They found his body in the Seine. It would seem that his gear was strapped around himself. The ballistics report indicates that the weapons he had with him matched the bullets which were fired in the café."

Silence.

"That's very convenient, don't you think?" said Jon skeptically.

"That is exactly what Race said," answered Hadji. "I believe he is now searching for more answers. He wants the police to tell him of any information they might have as to who murdered this man."

His father nodded.

"That's probably a good idea," he said, frowning.

Hadji turned to him.

"Which is why I thought it prudent to accompany Jon to his little . . . visitation," he added quietly.

Jon began shaking his head.

"Look," he said, "I can take care of myself --"

"We know that," put in his father. "However, it is better to be safe than sorry; therefore, it is better to have Hadji with you than for you to be alone."

He shrugged.

"Fine," he gave in, looking at Hadji strangely. "Let's go," he said, walking to the door.

Hadji stood still for a second before making a move to follow him.

"The yearning to be near you I do what I have to do . . ."

"Good luck," muttered Dr. Quest

Hadji turned to look at him quickly before following Jon outside. He did not think Dr. Quest meant for him to hear that comment. However, Hadji commiserated. For some reason, this whole situation felt like a mission, a quest if you will, for which will require not only skill, but a whole lot of luck as well.

He looked at the darkening sky and hurried his stride to match Jon's.

"The house is not going anywhere," he said conversationally.

Jon ignored him.

"Would you mind telling me why we are in a hurry?" he asked, trying again.

Jon sighed. "Maybe we should have taken the car," he said.

Hadji did his best imitation of a snort.

"With these kind of streets?" he asked. "This kind of traffic? It would be easier to get there on foot."

Jon nodded, not breaking his walk.

"Jon," Hadji said after long minutes of silence. "Jon."

Jon turned to him. "Yeah?"

"She's not going anywhere," he said quietly.

Jon stopped. "I know that," he snapped.

Hadji looked at him squarely in they eye. "Do you?" he asked.

"Yes!" said Jon, agitated. He placed his hand -- the one connected to the uninjured arm -- inside the back pockets of his jeans. "Rather, my head knows that." He gave his trademark lopsided grin. "But my heart, Hadj . . . my heart's not listening to my head. And right now, my heart says 'get there before it's too late.'"

"And I had the sense to recognize that I don't know how to let you go . . ."

'Like last time,' he thought to himself, but he could see Hadji almost read his thoughts.

"Last time was no one's fault, Jon," Hadji said softly. "No one's but Rage's."

He grimaced. "I know that," said Jon, "and you know that and my dad knows that and Race and Estella know that." He turned away. "It doesn't change the regrets, Hadj; it doesn't change it one damn bit."

They stood there silently for awhile.

"What if I ran after her immediately after that fight, Hadji?" he asked, not really sure whether he wanted an answer or not. "What if I talked to her and maybe . . . maybe even apologized? Would she be dead right now?"

He felt Hadji's hand touch his shoulder.

"No one knows the answer to all the what ifs of life, Jon," he stated quietly. "But everyone knows how futile it is to entertain them."

Jon gave a forced and bitter laugh.

"Yep," he said lightly. "Damn right."

He turned back to look at his friend and brother. "Well?" he asked. "Let's go! The day's not getting any younger, you know."

Hadji nodded to him and they continued on their hurried pace.

"I don't know how to let you go."

The house looked peaceful, situated in an isolated area. It was surrounded by flower gardens and trees on the side. The nocturnal sounds dominated the night and lent the area an almost ethereal quality.

They looked at each other before simultaneously stepping forward.

Jon gave a hesitant knock after a brief look at him.

The sound of footsteps can be heard from the opposite side of the door before it opened.

Hadji felt the beating of his heart deafen his ears as he slowly looked at the smiling woman standing under the arch of the door way.

"May I help you?" she said, her voice soft and melodious.

Beside him, he heard Jon mutter something under his breath.

"Jessie."

Rage watched the scene in front of him with an almost stoic stance. The surveillance equipment gave him quite a view of what was taking place.

It has begun, he thought. It has begun.

Revised October 10, 2004