Disclaimer: I am a poor college student – I don't own any of the characters here and I'm not making any money off of this. Woe.
A/N: To everyone who's reviewed this story thus far: thank you so much for the encouragement and enthusiasm! All of your wonderful reviews have certainly lit a fire under me! I hope I can live up to expectations.
So far, I've been leaning heavily toward developing Jackson, but the chapter after this will see more development for Lisa. I probably won't be able to keep up this blistering writing pace for long, because my design prof is going to notice soon that I haven't been doing much work for his class this week. But I hope to continue with weekly (or heaven forbid, biweekly) updates even when I am forced to slow down due to schoolwork.
I get the feeling that this is going to seem like a really strange or perhaps repetitive chapter to some due to the concepts involved, but bear with me – I am going somewhere with all of this. :)
An hour out of Miami, Lisa at last found the nerve to break the silence. "You know, you once said you never lied to me, but you did."
Jackson's blue eyes narrowed and he spared a glance at his captive. She'd been remarkably compliant during the clean-up in her apartment, and had followed his instructions perfectly and without protest. This, naturally, had aroused his suspicions, but he'd been interested in seeing where she was going with her little act. He knew with rock-solid certainty that her brave face was just that – it showed in the occasional quiver of her bottom lip, in the shaky exhalations she tried to disguise as yawns, in the way she started every time he shifted in his seat. Now she stared out the window at what little of the landscape she could make out – at this time of night, there weren't many headlights to break the long stretches of darkness on I-75 northbound. He'd been lost in thought, but her censure got his attention.
She took a deep breath and continued, assuming he didn't mean to rise to the bait. "Everything you said might have been true, but everything you did was a lie. Back in the airport, when you were trying to pass yourself off as a charming stranger. And on the airplane – everything you did for that blonde, every new face you presented the flight attendants." She turned away from the window and crossed her arms. "So much for Jackson Rippner's unflagging honesty."
For a brief moment, Jackson's face was a rictus of disbelief and he felt the anger start to bubble up – if Lisa was trying to provoke him, she was doing a damn fine job of it. But he refused to let her have the upper hand, and quickly flashed her his most supercilious smirk. It was best to let her think that her words couldn't phase him; it would go a long way toward depriving her of about the only weapon she had left against him.
"So you want to talk about character flaws, do you, Lisa? Then let's talk about yours." His smirk broadened as her body stiffened; she suddenly seemed harder around the edges, almost brittle. "Ah. I seem to have hit a nerve. How careless of me," Jackson said. "It's only fair, though – you had your shot at me." He tilted his head to one side, as if listening for the response that would never come. "I must admit, I was rather surprised when you went out and got shitfaced last night. I didn't think you had it in you."
He looked over to gauge the effect of his words and was pleased to see her blush. It was a powerful feeling, knowing that he could induce such a reaction in her with so little effort, and he savored it as he would a fine wine. "Oh, yes," he assured her, "I saw that. Tell me, Lisa, did you manage to drown your sorrows in an ocean of vodka?"
"No," she said softly, unsure of what compelled her to actually answer.
"No," came the mocking echo, "No, you wouldn't find comfort there, would you?" He opened his mouth to go on, and then paused as if reconsidering. When Jackson finally spoke, his voice was laced with bitterness. "There's no easy way out for people like us, is there?"
Lisa's brow furrowed at the odd comment. She chanced a look at Jackson, but his eyes were fixed on the highway ahead and he said no more. The white of his knuckles on the steering wheel betrayed him, however, and added another layer of surreality to the exhange. What was he getting at? She hated him, hated his taunts and his threats, hated that he'd hijacked her life again, hated that she was at his mercy...
But she suspected that she'd just had her first glimpse of Jackson Rippner sans artifice, and that was food for thought.
Dawn found them on the outskirts of Macon, Georgia and nearly out of gas. He'd refilled once already since leaving Miami, but that pit stop had been less of a logistical nightmare: in the dead of night, there were few, if any, people around who would be inclined to come to Lisa's aid. It had been a moot point in the end – she'd fallen asleep, exhausted by the stress and constant fear, and stayed that way for the better part of the night. At the time, Jackson had been pleased; it saved him the trouble of drugging her to keep her under control, and spared him any more of her rhetorical bravado. But now she was awake, fairly well-rested, and no doubt occupying herself with a variety of ways to throw a monkey wrench into his plans. Add that to the fact that he was about to fall asleep at the wheel and Jackson had a recipe for disaster.
Lisa's heart leaped when he put on the turn signal for the next exit and pulled off the highway – a stop at a gas station presented her with an opportunity to escape. She took a calming breath and tried to quell the sick fear doing a number on her empty stomach. Afraid of broadcasting her anxiety, she laced her fingers together to keep from fidgeting. She didn't have much of a plan, really – just get out, run for the store, and hope against hope that the attendant kept a gun behind the counter.
The early morning mist swathing the deserted parking lot of the Exxon station set an eerie stage for their conflict. It was as if they were the only people left in the world, locked in a struggle that neither one could fully comprehend. A feeling of foreboding suffused Lisa's body – if her attempt to escape failed, Jackson's reprisal would likely be swift and furious. The thought nearly set her teeth chattering.
Jackson killed the engine and fixed Lisa with a warning stare. It was difficult to maintain the delicate control required to manipulate her when he was this tired, but he made an effort. "I would tell you not to try anything, but I'm afraid the admonition would fall on deaf ears." He made a show of taking the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, not bothering to lock her in.
Lisa leaned forward to study her nemesis while he watched the digital readout on the pump. His stance was relaxed, but she could see evidence of weariness in the slump of his shoulders. He kept his hands in his pockets.
With a click, the pump shut off automatically. Jackson straightened and reached for the nozzle.
As soon as he was distracted, Lisa pulled the handle and threw herself against the door of the car. It popped open and she tumbled out, grateful that she had been wearing flats instead of heels the night before. In the moment it took her to gain her footing, she heard a muffled curse from Jackson and the sound of metal clattering against concrete.
It was a footrace, then, over the fifteen yards to the convenience store - Lisa with a head start, Jackson with longer legs. She beat him to the door, hitting it at full speed, only to be stopped dead. It was locked. Panic growing, Lisa rattled the door and pounded on the glass. She craned her neck to try and catch sight of anyone inside, but there was no one. Where the hell was the attendant? "Is anyone in there? Please help me!" she cried out in desperation.
All hope died when Jackson grabbed her from behind, wrapped an arm around her throat and drew her close. Lisa clung to his arm with both hands as he increased the pressure just enough to make her eyes swim with painful tears. "I didn't think you were this stupid, Leese," he whispered in her ear, almost rueful, his breath ragged and hot against her skin. "I think the outcome of our little tiff at your dad's house has gone to your head. You can't beat me even when I give you a head start. "
There was the sound of metal against leather, and a long knife entered Lisa's field of vision. It was black from hilt to point, and glinted dully in the weak light – no tell-tale flash of cold, hard steel would herald a strike. She shuddered, and Jackson smiled into her hair. "Don't make me use this," he said, flourishing the blade once for her benefit before resheathing it. The ease with which he handled the weapon unnerved her almost as much as the knife itself, but at the same time, his mastery was reassuring. He was deliberate, in control, purposeful – his hand wouldn't slip. "Are we on the same page now, Lisa?"
She waited a moment before nodding slowly. Her vision blurred, but not as much has the lines between their encounters. Her encounters. It was hard to breathe, hard to stay in the present.
"Good girl. No more foolhardy antics for you."
With a wary glance into the store – still no signs of life – Jackson forced Lisa back to the car and into the passenger seat, confident that this aborted escape attempt would disabuse her of the notion of physically besting him. He replaced the nozzle in the pump and screwed the cap back on the gas tank as if nothing had happened, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins had erased all vestiges of his exhaustion. The physical strain of the chase had triggered the rush, but there was something else there, something more subtle that he struggled to put his finger on as he tore his receipt from the machine and got back into the car.
He looked over at Lisa, who sat stock still, staring steadfastly out the window, and his brain finally made the leap. It was her – the feel of her pressed against him, the softness of her hair against his cheek, the fading aroma of her light perfume.
Jackson's mouth tightened as he started the car and pulled out of the station. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing.
He was wrong.