What have I done? Jesus Christ, what have I done?

He had no idea what was going on. It felt like a bad nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Everyone was still staring at him and he felt hopelessly trapped. He just stared at his bloody palms with a blank stare, contemplating on what to do.

"These aren't my hands," he said to himself. "Not mine. Not Jackson Rippner's."

Jackson was on the verge of going on a rampage. He couldn't stand this attention; not unless he knew what had happened and why his hands were stained this horrible crimson. He quickly busted to the aisle and ran towards the back of the plane to the stewardess' station. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get an answer to what happened and he could clear this clutter from his head. Jackson felt everyone's eyes stay pinned to his figure as he ran. He pushed the curtain aside and almost had a heart attack.

"SANDRA! You're… you're… alive!"

"Oh, hello Jackson," she said in a nasally tone as she held an ice pack up to her nose.

"What did I… I thought that… you were…" He paused in stunned silence.

She's alive. SHE'S ALIVE.

Sandra had bruises all over her face. Just like Jackson's palms, her face was stained in blood.

"What happened?" Jackson continued, trying to catch his breath from the shockwaves sent through his body.

"You must have had one hell of a nightmare and mistaken me for somebody else, somebody you must really hate. You started grabbing at me and punching me in your sleep. You punched my nose," Sandra paused, slouching down onto the floor, as she winced in pain. "I think it's broken now."

"Oh dear god, Sandra. I am so sorry. I… what can I do to ever repay for this? I have money, if you want money," he said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

"I don't want your money, Jackson. Just watch yourself when you fall asleep on a plane next time," she said, becoming more and more irritated.

Jackson felt so embarrassed. In addition to beating up a fellow passenger, what happened if he revealed something in his sleep? Something about his past? Something pertaining to case 29847? That thought scared him and he had enough of scaring himself today, considering how much he had already. Stuck in complete silence, he turned to the sink behind him and thoroughly washed his hands to remove all of the horrid color.

"Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?" he asked, drying his hands with one too many paper towels.

"Just pretend like this didn't happen. That'll work for me."

"I think I can manage that," Jackson said, managing to crack a smile. "Well, I guess this is goodbye, Sandra?"

"Goodbye, Jackson," she said as animate as possible with the ice shoved up to her nose.

Jackson smiled at her one last time and began to walk back to get his bag when she stopped him.

"Oh, Jackson," she said, questioningly.

"Yeah?"

"Have fun with your family too," she said, trying to smile.

"Have fun at your business meeting," Jackson replied and walked back through the curtains.

That was the oddest moment of my life.

He very casually walked out from behind the curtain, like he had promised to Sandra. Everyone was standing up now. Passengers were busy away stretching their legs and grabbing their carry-on bags from the storage but, Jackson certainly didn't go unnoticed.

Blood? What blood? The woman in 12C? What woman in 12C?

Yeah, he could play that role with no problem. He did it a lot. His job was high-profile assassinations, for god's sake. But, the passengers didn't need to know that either. He quickly grabbed his computer bag from the overhead storage and looked down one last time at 12C. Jackson shivered and got the hell out of there. He busted past passenger, after passenger until he finally got inside BWI airport and let out a sigh of relief.

I'm here. I made it.

Jackson scanned the airport for an empty seat to sit down for a minute. Before anything else, he needed to call 'the boss' and check on his back up. Jackson knew without back up, his plan was over and if his plan was over, so was his life. He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. He checked his recent received calls and found the number he was looking for. He dialed it. Jackson always felt intimidated by his boss and his heart, once again, started pounding nervously in his chest.

"Talk to me," the deep voice answered.

"I've arrived in Baltimore. I'm sitting in the airport now. Soon, I'll be on the way to Bryan's house," his voice trailed off as he got up to find a more secluded location. "Have you found any back up?"

"Two people. Joe and Alex. They're stationed around Bryan's house right now," the man answered.

"How did they know where Bryan lives?"

"There are a lot of things my men know."

It was answers like that that made Jackson even more intimidated.

"What about the phone line and the phone call to Bryan?" Jackson continued.

"Taken care of. When you want the call, signal to Joe or Alex. Or use your cell phone to call one of them."

"Okay."

"Get the job done, Jackson. Remember what I told you."

Click.

He hated when their conversations ended on such a threatening note. He had enough stress going on right now with the current situation and then the boss had to add more. He slapped his phone shut and returned it to his pocket. He just stood there for a moment, absorbing his surroundings. After gathering up the courage, he began walking towards the exit of the airport. His eyes darted from restaurant to restaurant and terminal to terminal until he stopped dead in his tracks.

Beep beep beep.

It was the unmistakable beeping of a metal detector. Jackson looked straight ahead and sure enough, a security check was dead ahead of him. After all the shocks this morning had brought him, he completely forgot about a security check leaving the airport.

"Shit, not again," he thought to himself, staring at a security guard as he ran his detector along a man's side.

Injured at wartime. Metal hip. Just do it.

"Okay, I think I can play with these morons again."

Taking a deep breath, Jackson started walking again towards the security check. The only part of his luck today was that he didn't have to wait in ridiculous lines to get through the check. In the Dallas airport, he had 8 people in front of him. Now, he only had 5. He patiently waited for his turn while he went over his lines and the BSing he had to do again. It reached his turn and he placed his computer bag, cell phone, wallet, and watch into the scanner.

"Well, isn't this a déjà vu," he thought to himself, sarcastically.

Jackson proceeded to step through the detector. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

He was now on the other side of the detector and he hadn't heard a single beep. The alarm didn't go off. Pretending nothing odd was going on, he grabbed his things from the scanner and walked away. A safe distance away from the security guards, he slipped his hand into his left pocket.

The tracking devices.

They were gone. His left pocket was empty. He frantically checked his right pocket. His wallet and his cell phone were safely tucked inside. He checked everything he owned. Jackson looked inside every pocket of his computer bag, even though he knew there was no chance they were in there. Everything was in place except for the tracking devices. If they weren't in his pocket where he put them, then where were they?

The plane. They're on that fucking plane.

"They must have fallen out of my pocket in my sleep," he paused on the verge of kicking the wall behind him. "This day fucking HATES ME!"

He began to rant in his head, standing in the airport lobby trying to figure out what to do. He couldn't get back on that plane and he was already in Baltimore. Joe and Alex were waiting on his arrival and he still had to call Bryan to tell him that he was stopping by for a little visit. But gradually, a villainous smile crept onto Jackson's face.

"Well, there's always plan B…"

When there's a plan A, there's always a plan B to Jackson Rippner. Sometimes, even he fails to remember that. In his current scenario, he no longer had a plan A. He no longer had 2 options. There may be more potential bloodshed involved with plan B, but what other options did he now have? None. Stick to your ideology, Jackson.

Get a job done and don't ask any questions.

And even now, that's exactly what he intended to do. Jackson proceeded to walk out of the airport, leaving the noise, confusion and frustration behind him. Once safely outside, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and began dialing the digits of Bryan's phone number.