I'm back! So sorry for the space between updates!

This is a bit shorter than normal-hope you guys don't mind.

Part Four: Ethics

The next morning, Lisa was heading to work and about to step out the door when her phone started to ring. She paused and looked back to the phone on the table in the hall behind her. It continued ringing, begging her to pick up. She checked her watch. She had to leave now, or she'd be late. And she'd already been late once this week… Without a second thought, she closed the door on the ringing phone.

Cynthia had called in sick. Lisa, remembering the number of margaritas her friend had downed the previous night, could guess what kind of 'illness' Cynthia had contracted.

The day went smoothly, with plenty of jelly doughnuts. The Rileys left around ten-skipping the Continental breakfast.

Again, the spring break crowds hadn't started filling in yet. Everyone in the hotel was grateful for the period of slowness before the big rush. Spring break was not only busy, but it was also the time of year when the people with the worst personality 'issues' came around. Typically, the Lux would be populated by a bunch of spoiled teenagers from up north who were screwing their parents out of hundreds of dollars on room service, expensive suites, and so on. But, it was all the better for the Lux. Spring break was their best business season.

On her break, Lisa decided to call 'Floridian Florists', though this time she'd be calling a different store. She really had considered Cynthia's advice (whether it was influenced by alcohol or not) but had decided not to make a big deal about what had happened.

So she called the next one, where she spoke to a very pleasant young man. This time, Lisa just gave her address. Despite the man's nice attitude, she didn't want a repeat of yesterday. It turned out that she wasn't on the list.

Lisa bit her lip as she dialed up the next store listed. If this wasn't the one, she'd have to call the first one back…

Please…

"Floridian Florists, Herald's Street branch," an elderly woman's husky voice greeted with professional friendliness.

"Hello, I received some flowers two days ago, and they were sent anonymously. I was wondering if you could tell me who sent them?" Lisa said, a bit of wariness in her voice. She did NOT want to call the other store.

"Could you please give me the address that they were sent to?" the woman asked, still keeping the same tone.

Lisa gave it.

There was a pause and some clicking of computer keys.

"Yes… Lisa Reissert?"

Lisa felt a little fear creep into her heart.

"Y-Yes…" she said hesitantly.

"Yes, we have you in our computer. You received pink carnations at four o'clock on Tuesday."

It wasn't really a question, but Lisa said 'yes' anyway. Lisa pondered about the time for a minute, and then realized that she hadn't been home all day anyway.

"Well, we don't have a name from the sender, but we do have a credit card number…"

Lisa couldn't help but feel wrong. And she knew that it was because she was doing something wrong.

She was sitting in her car, sipping coffee, waiting outside the home of Timothy Berge. Timothy Berge was the name on the credit card, and only a few flips of pages in the phone book had led Lisa here, to the blue bungalow-style home where he lived. He lived in middle-class style. She didn't now what he did for a job, but she had already decided to find out. But first she'd wanted to see him.

Lisa didn't remember ever meeting anyone named Timothy Berge. But that didn't mean that they'd never met. He could've stayed at the Lux once or even multiple times. Actually, that wasn't a possibility anymore; Lisa had checked every file she could find from over the past seven years (since she'd started working at the hotel) and no one under the name Timothy Berge had been listed. She'd also checked employee records-Timothy Berge had never worked at the Lux either. But maybe he hung around the bar she and Cynthia went to after work, maybe he worked at one of the various stores she shopped at. As for how he knew where she lived, he could've just looked her up in the phone book like she had him.

She checked her watch. It was about six o'clock. She'd been waiting for an hour for him. She'd check out of a work early with a made up doctor's appointment.

Finally, a gray pickup truck came down the street and pulled into the gravel driveway. Lisa sat up and tensed herself. She was going to see him. Maybe she'd remember his face and know how he knew her.

He got out of the truck. He was white with brown hair that was cut close to his square head in a military-style cut. He was about average height. He had broad shoulders and he seemed like he had some muscles, like he'd played football for his high school and maybe in college. He looked to be in his early thirties, possibly late twenties. He was wearing a red plaid jacket that was loose around the collar, revealing a white T-shirt and jeans and brown work boots. He looked like he'd stepped out of a Men's Fashion magazine or something. And he wasn't bad looking…

Lisa shook the thought from her head. She didn't know this man. She didn't know anything about him accept for his address and that he'd sent her flowers.

As Lisa watched him, she felt fear and guilt begin to sink in. This was just what Jackson had done to her, wasn't it? Camp out and watch her to learn from her. She tried to tell herself that she was wrong, that what he and done and what she was doing were different because of their motives. But that was an excuse, and she knew it.

For a minute, she thought of leaving. Of just averting her eyes, starting up her car, and leaving.

"Get a grip," she told herself, "You can do this."

But as she watched Timothy Berge walk up to his house with a brown leather carrier bag, she was becoming more and more afraid of herself. They'd both done this. Not just Jackson… But before…

She whirls around. The bright sun shades his face, but she recognizes the hair. She opens her mouth to speak, but he claps a rough hand over her lips.

Lisa snapped back to the present. She's shaking and breathing too fast. She calms herself using the technique the therapist recommended (the therapist was the idea of her friends and family, but the therapist let her go after only a few months). Oh god, she can't do this. She's too close, too close to them.

It's only flowers. He hasn't done anything wrong. He didn't give a threatening note or anything. Just flowers, just flowers.

With newfound resolve, she starts up her car and drives home.

When she got home, her message machine was beeping. Lisa remembered the call from hours ago and quickly hurries over to the machine, knowing that the caller has been waiting all day for a response.

She hit the 'play' button.

The voice was a young woman's: "Hello, Lisa Reisert? This is Kylie Richards. I'm the manager at the Orange Groove branch of Floridian Florists. I would like to apologize for what was said to you yesterday when you called. I was nearby and I listened to the conversation. After Burt-that's the man with whom you spoke with-hung up, I confronted him. He's been fired. I can't tell you how sorry I am that this has happened, and now that Burt's been fired, it won't even happen again, should you want to use our store again. I was wondering if you could come by so that I could apologize to you in person."

As Lisa listened to the message, she felt a huge wave of relief and thankfulness wash over her. Despite what had happened just minutes before, she felt happier than she had in a long time.