Disclaimer: I don't own 'Red Eye', 'My Chemical Romance', 'Blood Brothers', or any of the songs from 'South Pacific'.

BTW, the Bloody Mary story isn't mine either. That's a real rumor from when I was a little kid, though. Scared the crap out of me, too.

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"Shoes upon the table
And a spider's been killed

Someone broke the looking glass

There's a full moon shining

And the salt's been spilled

You're walking on the pavement cracks

Don't know what's gonna come to pass

Now y'know the devil's got your number

Y'know he's gonna find you

Y'know he's right behind you

He's starin' through your windows

He's creepin' down the hall"

-'Shoes Upon the Table' from 'Blood Brothers'

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That night, Lisa had some of her worst nightmares yet. They all seemed scrambled together, but they still managed to terrify her until she woke up in a cold sweat the next morning. When she tried to remember later what she had dreamt about, all she could recall were snippets and pieces. Running from men with guns. Someone holding a knife to her throat. Holding a gun in her hands, only to have someone else knock it away. Feeling a bullet enter her skull. Looking around a small room, and seeing dead bodies laying everywhere. Being buried in a grave, and having the dirt choke her as she tried to scream for help.

As she sat at the kitchen table at 6 AM, eating scrambled eggs, she knew that she wouldn't be getting a good night's rest for a long time.

As she ate her eggs calmly, her dad wandered in, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand. "Couldn't sleep?" Lisa shook her head. "Not very well." Her father smiled kindly, and sat down in the chair opposite hers as she picked at her eggs with her fork. Her dad watched her for a few seconds, then began to speak softly. "I heard about your trip to the hospital yesterday."

Lisa glanced up at him before continuing to poke her eggs with her fork. "The police called?"

"Yeah. They mentioned it, right after they said something about getting a warrant to search your apartment." Joe Resiert watched his daughter carefully as she bit her lip, frowning at her eggs. "Why would they want to do that?" she asked, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

"They're looking for whatever evidence they can get at, Leese. At this point, they're not sure who did what." He smiled a little and patted her hand. "Look at it this way: if there's nothing to find there, then there's less of a case against you."

Lisa appreciated the gesture, but she still felt angry. "I just don't understand…I never thought for a second that Jackson might get off. And now, here I am, about to be arrested."

"Leese, no one's going to arrest you."

"Why wouldn't they? They all think I'm the one who did it, they've said so themselves."

"There's no evidence you had anything to do with the missile…"

"…but there's no evidence Jackson did anything either! And he didn't steal a car, mow down some guy, stab anyone, shoot anyone…"

"Leese." Her father's tone was firm, and Lisa finally turned away from her eggs and looked him straight in the eye. "Leese, this will all blow over. The police are smarter than you think. They'll find something, some clue that will point straight to Jackson. And then you're off the hook. Simple as that." He smiled at her reassuringly. Lisa tried her best to reciprocate his warm look, but doubt remained. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you." Lisa smiled a little more when he said that, but she knew that it was all just false comfort.

'Too many bad things have already happened, Dad…'

Joe Reisert got up and started to pour himself a cup of coffee. Lisa went back to picking at her eggs, until her father began to speak again. "So, how was he?"

Lisa smiled bitterly. "Jackson? He's still an asshole."

"Any chances that those shots we gave him will turn out to be fatal?"

"Nah, he seems to be in good health, unfortunately." She chuckled a little. "Though I don't think he's going to look at pens the same way ever again."

Her father let out a light laugh as well. As he sat back down in his chair, Lisa asked "Did the police say anything else when they called?"

Joe Reisert nodded. "They want me to come in for questioning at around noon. They want to know what I saw when Jackson came into the house."

Lisa nodded, then took a bite of her eggs. When she finished chewing, her father asked her, "Have any plans for the day?"

"I'm thinking of going to see the hotel this afternoon."

"Leese, do you really think it's a good idea to go back to work? You're obviously still not over this thing." Her father's concern for her was evident in his tone, and Lisa felt glad that throughout this whole ordeal, at least she had him.

"I'm not gonna go there to work. I just wanna check on everyone, make sure nothing else has blown up while I've been away."

Her father considered this for a second, then sighed. "Alright. Just…don't let them try and rush you back to work or anything." He smiled a little. "It's kind of nice having you around all day."

Lisa smiled back. Joe Resiert stood up, walked around the table, then kissed the top of her head.

"Don't worry too much about everything. It'll all turn out fine in the end."

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At about four that afternoon, Lisa found herself at the Lux Atlantic, feeling somewhat awkward not wearing her normal business attire. Unlike her usual apparel, she'd shown up in a more casual outfit to alert the staff right away that she wasn't here to work. She wanted them to know she was just there to check in on things, to make sure everything was fine.

As soon as she walked into the lobby, the first person she spotted was Cynthia, whose eyes widened when Lisa arrived. "Lisa?"

Lisa smiled at her. "Hey there."

Cynthia quickly made her way from behind the front desk, smiling. "Hey! What are you doing here? I didn't think you'd be coming back for awhile…" She pulled Lisa into a hug, which Lisa reciprocated warmly. "Oh, I'm not here for business, I just came to see how this place is holding up." She let go, smiling. "So, how is everything over here?"

"Well, no more missiles. That's always a plus." Cynthia giggled and Lisa couldn't help but laugh as well. "We're getting some contractors together to rebuild the wing of the hotel that was destroyed, so this place is a little busier than normal. Oh, and Bob and Mary Taylor haven't made a return appearance yet." Lisa couldn't help but notice how wide Cynthia grinned on that last statement. She could see Cynthia envisioning herself telling them to shove a comment card up their asses.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to mourn the loss of their patronage in silence. Why don't you show me how the construction's going?" Cynthia nodded, then called over one of the other hotel workers. "Kim? Can you cover me at the front desk for a little while?"

Kim nodded, and Cynthia turned to Lisa, grinning. "Shall we?"

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About an hour later, Cynthia and Lisa were sitting at the bar, chatting eagerly about the hotel. To her surprise and delight, Lisa was truly enjoying herself. The last time she'd felt relaxed was…well, the last time she and Cynthia had drinks in the bar. Except this time Lisa wasn't touching alcohol. Not after that incident in the police station.

Still, it felt so good to be doing something normal for once. No feelings of worry or anxiety, just relaxing and chatting. It felt good to unwind for awhile.

The hotel was doing well, from what Cynthia had showed her. The builders had started fixing the wrecked part of the building, and it already started to look better than the gaping hole that had preceded it. Thankfully, the missile hadn't destroyed any of the building's foundation, or there would have been an insane mess to deal with.

Lisa and Cynthia were in the middle of a conversation when Kim from the front desk interrupted them, seeming very panicky. "I'm really sorry, but there's this woman that asked for a non-smoking room, but I guess someone put her in the smoking wing, because now she's all upset and we don't have any other rooms available…"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down Kim," Lisa said with the air of an expert. Kim took a deep breath, then started to speak more slowly. "I checked all our files, even the backups, and we don't have any non-smoking rooms available. Plus, she's really pissed, and it looks like she's gonna have a meltdown in the lobby."

Lisa pushed out her chair, about to tackle the problem when Cynthia cut in. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just gonna go check out what the woman…"

"Oh, no you're not. You're on vacation." Cynthia smiled confidently. "I'll take care of it. You just wait here until I come back." And with that, Kim and Cynthia marched off to the lobby.

Lisa smiled. Cynthia was learning.

Lisa glanced over at the bartender as he poured one of the hotel guests a drink. In her mind, she tried to think if there would be much harm if she ordered a drink. She wouldn't get drunk this time…plus, the police were too busy searching her apartment and haranguing her father to come and get her for more questioning. So there was very little chance of another embarrassing incident at the police station…

Knowing full well that she had absolutely no willpower, Lisa scanned the drink menu. She felt in the mood for vodka…but no Baybreezes or Seabreezes. Or tequilas, for that matter. All three of them had gotten her into enough trouble.

"Um…can I have a Bloody Mary, please?" she asked the barkeeper politely. He nodded, and in a few seconds, Lisa was sipping at it merrily. 'Not bad' she thought, and she began to muse to herself as she drank.

She remembered being about 10 years old and hearing a rumor that, if you drank your parent's Bloody Mary, you'd find yourself in front of a mirror at midnight. You'd have to walk around in a circle three times, chanting 'Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary'. Then Bloody Mary would appear in the mirror, and you'd be sent straight to hell, screaming and wailing.

Lisa smiled a little. Kids found such interesting ways to scare themselves. She hadn't even known who Bloody Mary was, but the rumor had still kept her up at night for almost a week. Her father had kept checking on her at night, telling her "It's just a story, Leese. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you." Eventually, the kids a school had moved on to other things, and the story scared Lisa less and less. But the thought of standing in front of a mirror at midnight had frightened her for years to come.

If only the scariest thing Lisa had to deal with was Bloody Mary…

Lisa shook that thought out of her head. This was no time to feel depressed. She was having a good time being here. More so than she had for the last two weeks. Who knew? Maybe she'd feel better if she started going back to work again. At least then, she'd have something to distract her, and she would have more to do then just mope around the house all day. Maybe she'd just start off slower, working a few hours less a week than usual…that way, her dad could see her more often, and the other hotel workers wouldn't have to nag her so much about taking a break every now and then.

That sounded like a good idea, actually.

Lisa felt a bit better as she took another sip of her Bloody Mary. She'd have to try these more often. Her drink tasted really good. She'd never fancied herself a tomato juice fan before.

Hmm, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary…wasn't there a song called 'Bloody Mary'?

'Bloody Mary is the girl I love…' Lisa smiled. Now she remembered it. It was from a movie she'd seen with her dad once. She couldn't remember much about it, but she remembered the song. Lisa started to drum her fingers on the counter, singing it quietly to herself.

"Bloody Mary is the girl I love

Bloody Mary is the girl I love

Bloody Mary is the girl I love…"

"…now ain't that too damn bad?" Lisa froze as a masculine voice from to her left sang the next line of the song. She turned her head to see who it was, hoping against hope that it wasn't who she thought it was.

As soon as she did, the barkeeper smiled. "South Pacific, right?"

Taken back slightly, Lisa nodded. The barkeeper grinned toothily. "Good movie. Good play, too."

Again, Lisa nodded, then turned back to her drink, feeling somewhat foolish. Just because she heard a man's voice didn't mean it was necessarily Jackson. She'd been singing a song, and the barkeeper just happened to know it. It really wasn't something to get so jumpy about.

Just to reassure herself, Lisa glanced down at her purse. Quietly, she unzipped it, and felt calmer once she saw her father's pistol nestled there. Even if Jackson were here, she'd be able to take him on.

Lisa gathered her purse, then pulled some money out of it to pay for her drink. She figured she'd go out to the lobby and find Cynthia, rather than sit there and get herself all worked up over nothing.

Just then, she thought she saw someone familiar standing on the other side of the bar.

She blinked, then peered towards one of the darker corners of the room. There was a man sitting at one of the tables, sipping something. She thought it might have been Jackson's head, but she couldn't be sure. His head was turned away from hers, and she couldn't see him very well…

As though he read her thoughts, Jackson turned his head towards her, then smirked. She watched him lift his drink as though toasting to her, then he drank it all down in one gulp. Lisa recognized it. He was drinking a Seabreeze.

Bastard.

Calmly, he stood up from the table, putting down his glass and quietly making his way towards the back door, as though he were heading out for a cigarette. Lisa, enraged by his mere presence, slapped some money down on the counter for her drink. As soon as she did, she quickly made her way towards the back door, still swinging in Jackson's wake. As she did so, she rummaged through her purse for the comforting presence of the gun.

As soon as Lisa entered the alley, she stepped out a few feet, glancing wildly in all directions to see where he was. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the air from all the patrons who had ever taken a quick puff outside the hotel. The ground was littered with beer bottles and cigarette stubs, along with all manner of food wrappers.

Twenty feet away, Jackson stood calmly, as though expecting her. He stood in the shadows of the alley, and Lisa had a difficult time seeing his face. The only things she could see clearly were his blue eyes, staring at her coldly. "Knock-knock."

Lisa, already angry, merely growled, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Jackson pouted and made a tsk-tsk noise. "Now, honestly, Leese. That's not how the joke goes at all. I say 'Knock-knock', and you say 'Who's there?'"

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"…then I say 'Jackson'! And you say 'Jackson, who?' And then I say, 'Jackson Ripner!' And then you laugh and laugh and laugh, right before I riddle you with bullets as I listen to your dying wails of agony." Jackson smirked. "Didn't you ever hear knock-knock jokes as a kid, Leese?"

Lisa, not particularly giving a damn what the hell he was talking about, greeted him with a smirk of her own. "Really now? Because I thought that I was the one who riddled you with the bullets." When Jackson's face refused to let any flicker of real emotion through, Lisa tilted her head and asked sweetly, "How was your hospital stay, Jack?"

Jackson refused to let her affect him. Rather, he responded with a sickly sweet smile of his own. "Oh, they let me out early for good behavior. Saying 'please' to the nurses can get you very far." Jackson pressed two fingers to his throat. "The nurses seemed very sympathetic about the pen wound. Always going on about what a rotten little bitch that Lisa Reisert must be." He shrugged casually, as though to say 'What can you do?'

Lisa seethed. "What are you doing here? Why are you following me?"

The smirk on Jackson's face slowly faded, and was replaced by a cold, stony look that reeked of repressed anger and condescending attitude. "Well, Leese, I'd have thought a smart girl like you could figure out something as simple as that." He smiled almost playfully. "I'm here to finish the job."

Lisa stood there, somewhat bewildered, but determined not to let Jackson see her confusion. "The job? What job? The Keefes are perfectly safe, from what I've heard. Their security's been increased a hundred times more, and they're in some undisclosed location until this whole thing blows over."

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "Well, Lisa, haven't you read the newspaper word-for-word. But no."

Lisa frowned. "No, what?"

"No, as in, the Keefes are not in an undisclosed location, they're merely in a very nice little villa in South America, where two very unfriendly people are posing as members of their security detail. And, no, I'm not here to finish that particular part of the job. I get the fun assignment. My job is to make you disappear."

Lisa paled. Was he serious, or was he just trying to mess with her head again? Lisa took a good look at him and decided that Jackson probably meant what he was saying, and it frightened her. "You…you can't kill me here. We're right outside the hotel. Someone would notice…"

Jackson chuckled cruelly. "Kill you? No, at this point, it's unnecessary. I simply get to tarnish your reputation, drive you to the brink of insanity, then make sure the cops arrest you so that all of the blame for this little Keefe incident will fall on you."

Lisa frowned a little. "And how exactly would you be able to do that? I'm no terrorist. There's no evidence that I actually had anything to do with the missile, just that I did all those things after the flight."

Jackson laughed once again, and Lisa could feel her blood boil; partly, she was angry, but his constantly condescending attitude was making her feel frustrated. "And what exactly is so funny this time?"

Jackson merely smiled. "Honestly, Leese, you've had nothing to do for the last two weeks but think about that damn flight, but you haven't realized anything yet, have you? You haven't had work or anything for two weeks, but a smart girl like you couldn't figure out what might be going on?"

Lisa stared at him for a few seconds, and she was about to come up with a retort when she realized something. "How do you know that I haven't been to work?"

Again, the condescending smile. "Guess."

Lisa felt a sense of panic begin to well up in her, and her voice trembled a little. "You've been following me again. You must've been watching me…"

"Now, Leese, honestly. I've been in a hospital ward for the last two weeks. I haven't been able to leave that building until this morning. How on earth would I have been able to follow you?"

Lisa considered this, and arrived at the answer fairly easily. "Your company. They've been sending people to watch me, haven't they?"

"Exactly. Apparently, the Russians are pissed that their little missile scheme didn't go as planned, and my employers have been trying to calm them as best they can. And the number one way to calm them down right now is to make sure no one believes a word you're saying."

Lisa glared. "You still haven't told me how exactly you're going to magically prove to the police that I'm some sort of terrorist."

As Jackson continued to smirk, he played with a beer bottle on the ground with his foot by rolling it back and forth with his heel. "Well, let's see: the police finally got the warrant to search your apartment, what, last night? And let's also assume that they've been doing a lot of searching inside there…"

"They're not going to find anything. You know that I haven't got anything remotely suspicious in there."

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Lisa blinked. "What?" The look on Jackson's face reeked of utter glee upon hearing this, and it seemed as though he could barely hold in his delight at her ignorance.

"Honestly, Leese, you seem to think that I haven't taken any kinds of precautions with this job. You knew that I already used an alias, didn't you figure out that I may have taken other measures to make sure that all of the blame would fall on you?"

Lisa furrowed her brow. "Like what?"

"Let's see, Leese, you've been staying at your father's house for the last two weeks. Before that, you spent about three days in Texas with dear old mom's family. So, for the last two and a half weeks, you haven't set foot inside your apartment even once. So, of course, it would be impossible for, say, a group of men, knowing full well that they were going to try and assassinate the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, to litter your apartment with suspicious materials. And it would be impossible for some of those materials to link you to a rather infamous terrorist organization."

Lisa stared at him, not wanting to believe what he was saying. "You…you put…"

"When the police go into your apartment, they're going to find a lot of books about all sorts of bad people. They're going to find biographies of Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wilkes Booth, Charles Manson, and all sorts of people who got famous by killing someone really important. It'll make them suspicious, but nothing too damning. Then they're going to find some of your emails that have been saved on your computer. Mostly, they seem to be work exchanges and conversations with someone named 'Sal'. Sal's emails seem to be asking you if you're ready for some sort of 'job' that's going to be happening, while prepping you the whole time, saying 'You only have to do one little thing'. Then they find your diary…"

Lisa, willing to jump on any flaw in his logic, stated rather blandly "I don't have a diary…"

Jackson shrugged, undeterred. "Well, you do now. And that diary says things like 'I hate being alone' or 'I hate being just another face in a crowd', odd things like that. Talks a lot about wanting to 'be somebody', while making vague references to cravings for alcohol. Then the diary talks about meeting some guy named Sal at a bar, and he seems to know exactly what you're talking about, and has a way to solve it. So you listen to him, and he wants you to get involved in one of the jobs he's about to do. Well, you agree, and you're all in for it until you realize that you've gotten in waaaaay over your head. You start to panic, and you wonder if maybe you can bail out. But Sal says no: you're already in too deep, and you've only got one little assignment, anyway. So you agree, but you still seem nervous about the whole damn thing.

In the minds of the police, it'll all works out perfectly: you decide to get in on the Keefe assassination because of a girlish crush and a desire to be famous. Your one 'little assignment' is to switch the Keefes' hotel room on the plane, where you'll have an alibi. But afterwards you panic, and call back the hotel, telling them to get the Keefes out of there immediately. And it'll all make sense to the police; even though they had their suspicions of you before, they had no real evidence that you were a terrorist, just that you were a drunk who rammed someone with an SUV. But now that they have proof, written in your own hand, and it's going to be all too easy to pin the blame on you."

Jackson rolled up his sleeve, and checked his watch. "By now, they're probably at your father's house, waiting to arrest you."

Lisa tried to figure out something, anything to say to him to prove he was wrong. However, her mouth and her mind failed her. She just stood there, not knowing what to say or do, as hot tears of anger welled up in her eyes.

"Everyone who knows me will say that I'm not a terrorist. They all know I'm not like that…"

"Who's 'they', Leese? Your father? The police aren't going to take into account his opinion when all they see him as is an overly protective daddy. Your coworkers aren't going to hold much swaying power, especially since the only one who'd really defend you would be Cynthia. And your friends…well, you seem to be a little lacking in that area, don't you, Leese?"

Jackson smiled, and through the darkness of the alleyway, Lisa could see the way his cold eyes gleamed malevolently. "Honestly, Leese, did you think you were the first to fight back? Did you think you were the first hostage to ever get it into their head to try and get away? Any worthy assassin knows to prepare in case of failure. While you were in Texas, weeping over dear old Granny, I was inside your apartment, littering your room with all sorts of evidence for the police to pick up. I knew how to make the police blame you if push came to shove, and that seems to be exactly how it's worked out." Jackson's grin widened, and Lisa could feel the angry tears flowing over her cheeks. "Though I have to say, I never expected it to be this easy. Stabbing me, running him over with the stolen SUV…I didn't think you'd participate so much in your own downfall."

Jackson checked his watch once again. "The police will probably come here next if you don't show up eventually at your house."

Lisa felt hot, angry tears run down her face as she realized just how much she hated the man standing in front of her. Without hesitation, she reached into her purse, pulled out her father's pistol, and took aim at the man who was ruining her life.

Jackson, for his part, just stood there, smirking as always. "You want to shoot me, Lisa?"

"Yes. I'll make another set of bullet holes to match the first two."

Jack just stood there, smiling. "Well, then, shoot me already, if you're so eager. After all, I doubt that there might be any consequences…"

"Consequences? Like what, getting arrested? Too late! The cops are already after me because of you!"

Jackson's expression still didn't waver, frustrating Lisa all the more. "No, I mean the more dangerous consequences, like upsetting that poor woman in the lobby, waiting for Cynthia to take her to her non-smoking room, where she'll be able to gun her down if anything doesn't go according to plan."

Lisa's eyes widened a little, but she tried her best to hold her ground. "You're making this up…she couldn't be…"

"Leese, that woman is prepared to take out as many of your coworkers as necessary, and all it takes for her to do that is a phone call from my higher-ups that I never made it back alive."

Lisa bit her lip, not knowing what to say or what to think. "You're…you're lying, it's not true…"

"Leese, didn't I tell you once that I've never lied to you?"

Lisa laughed bitterly. "Yeah, well, that turned out to be a load of horseshit, didn't it? What did that officer say your real name was? Oh, yeah, Jim Crane, wasn't it?"

Jackson shrugged casually, still using his foot to play with the beer bottle. "Who knows what my real name is? Maybe I'm really Jackson Ripner, a high-profile assassin. Maybe I'm really Jim Crane, some geek from Tallahassee who decided to start working for more important people than his little dot-com buddies. Or maybe I'm neither. Maybe I'm both. The trouble is, Lisa, that you don't know. All that you do know is that if you're wrong, Cynthia dies."

Lisa wanted so badly to say something, anything to prove him wrong, but she knew that she had already used up her verbal ammo. Jackson's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Face it, Leese. I've been one step ahead of you this whole time. The incident with the pen may have gained you a small victory, but in the end, I will win this."

Lisa, still feeling the tears stream down her cheeks, stood there a minute before lowering the gun. Still trying to appear confident, despite the circumstances, she asked him shakily, "Why are you here?"

"Well, doesn't that question sound familiar, Leese? But when I asked you at the hospital, you never gave an answer, did you?"

"Why the hell did you come here?"

Jackson looked up from the beer bottle he'd been toying with his foot, and gave Lisa a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat envious. "Well, there's probably a good number of possibilities. I could be on assignment to follow you again. I could have come here to do something to your hotel, only to incidentally find you here. I could be examining the wreckage of a failed assignment. Or…this could all be one, big, beautiful set-up for you."

Jackson leaned down and picked up the bottle that he had been amusing himself with for the last few minutes. Lisa frowned, wondering what on earth he was doing as he held the bottle in his right hand, his right hand clenched around the bottle's neck.

"See, here's the thing, Leese. I've gotten the police to think you're a drunk, but I haven't quite proven yet how violent you can be while drunk." Jackson turned and looked at the nearest wall of the alley, still speaking casually. "For example, Leese…" Jackson started walking towards his left, to one of the alley's walls. "If this were, say, some sort of set-up, then what I might do is, say, remove all doubts about your crazy, alcoholic nature. After all, you've just had a drink. You might not have the same sort of judgment you did. And that's when you see a familiar face, from the flight two weeks ago." Jackson glanced down at the beer bottle in his hand, now that he stood about two feet from the wall. "And you follow him outside. The bartender will have noticed that the girl singing showtunes has made her way outside, and seems to be following some guy."

With that, Jackson took the beer bottle, then smashed it against the wall. Glass fragments littered the ground and Jackson looked at the severed remains of the bottle. When he saw that only the jagged remains of the neck and part of the body remained, he grinned, satisfied. "So what do you think would happen, if, say, the police show up, looking for you so they can arrest you, and they find a man there. And that man just happened to be someone they recognized; say, someone they had to question not very long ago because he was involved in a high-profile assassination case. And he's bleeding all over, and when the cops ask him who did it, he mentions the name of the woman they had come to arrest. Now, wouldn't that look really bad for her? Wouldn't that help the cops make more of a case against her, do you think? Wouldn't that just prove that, when this woman has alcohol in her system, she can get awfully dangerous?" Jackson smiled as he made his way back towards the center of the alley. "Well, do you think so?"

Lisa raised her gun again, knowing full well that she wasn't going to scare him. "Put it down! Put it down or I'll kill you right here!"

Jackson's expression didn't waver, and Lisa couldn't help but expect it not to. "We both know you won't, Leese. After all, poor little Cynthia is still inside."

Jackson pulled his arm back for a second, but he paused as the sound of a police siren steadily increased in volume, and Lisa realized that they must be coming for her at the hotel. Jackson chuckled. "You might want to start running, Leese." And with that, he took the shattered beer bottle and brought it down on himself, glass shards and drops of blood flying. As soon as he did, Lisa ran past him as fast as she could, out of the alley and into the next street, her head pounding.

Where would she go? The police would already be at her apartment and her dad's house, and they were making their way towards the hotel as it was. Lisa's heart pounded as she thought of somewhere to go. Her car…if she could just get to her car, she could drive somewhere…

Jackson's face flashed in her mind. Her blood boiled, knowing that he was going to tell the police that she had attacked him. It would incriminate her perfectly, combined with the evidence in her apartment. And Jackson knew it, too.

If only she'd been able to shoot him…

Lisa glanced down at the pistol, still in her hand. She knew he probably wasn't kidding about what would have happened to Cynthia. As good as it would have been to shoot him, she wasn't about to drag Cynthia into their affairs.

Lisa spotted her car, parked about a block away from the hotel. Thankfully, the hotel parking lot had been crowded when she'd arrived. Now, all she needed to do was get in the car, and start driving somewhere, anywhere where the police wouldn't find her.

As soon as she got within five feet of the car, however, a man in a police uniform stood up where he had been crouching behind the car. He pulled out a gun and aimed it directly at Lisa's forehead. "Freeze!"

Lisa, taken aback, stood frozen as the officer made his way towards her. "Lisa Reisert, you are under arrest for the following charges: assault, battery, grand theft auto…"

Lisa sighed tiredly, mentally smacking herself. Of course they would have had someone posted at her car. As the officer read off the charges, Lisa didn't even bother to respond. She just resigned herself to what was happening, knowing that there was no point in fighting anymore.

The cop motioned for her to turn around, and Lisa obeyed meekly. She heard the clinking of what she assumed were handcuffs as the cop grabbed her hands. She waited for the inevitable clamps of metal around her wrists, right before he led her to the awaiting police car.

Instead, Lisa felt a sharp jab to the back of her head as a pistol butt was brought to the back of her head, and within a half a second she was out cold.

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When Lisa finally opened her eyes again, she dimly saw that she was some sort of dark room. And she was…moving. As her head cleared, Lisa realized that she was in the back of a truck, lying in between stacks of large cardboard boxes. As she tried to sit up, she realized that he hands had been tightly behind her back, and her legs had been tied up as well.

"So, Sleeping Beauty has awakened at last."

Lisa turned her head to see a tall man standing in front of her. He seemed to be in his late forties, and had dark hair slicked back on his head. He had dark, gleaming eyes, and a tiny goatee on his chin. He wore a business suit, and would have seemed like an ordinary businessman if it hadn't been for an almost malevolent look about him.

Lisa fumbled for words, having trouble thinking because she wasn't fully awake yet.

"…you're not the police…"

"Ah, so you've figured as much. Correct, I am not the police. You should be grateful for that much."

Lisa tried to concentrate. What was going on? Who was this man? "Where are we?"

"Right now, we're heading about thirty miles an hour towards Tallahassee." The man put on a condescending smile. "But I suppose you really want to know why we're going there. You'll learn, but not now. Can't have you panicking quite yet." The man made move as though he were about to leave, then turned to Lisa. "I almost forgot. You might want to say hello to our other guest for the evening. I'm afraid he's little worse for the wear, but you should recognize him just fine. He's right behind you."

Before he left, the man pulled out a rather large gun and waved it in front of Lisa's face. "I don't think I need to tell you not to try and call for help." With that, he made his way to the front of the truck.

Lisa lay there, confused. Who was this man? Why would he try and kidnap her? Lisa frowned. He must be one of Jackson's coworkers. Who else would have enough of a grudge against her to do something like this?

Lisa tried to shift over to see who it was that was lying behind her, wondering who else these men would hate enough to kidnap as well. Although her bound arms and legs made it difficult, Lisa managed to turn herself over after a few tries. When she saw who it was, Lisa's eyes widened.

His shoulder was slashed to ribbons, and dried blood seemed almost plastered to his skin. His eye was bruised, and blood was trickling out of his mouth and nose. He, too, had his hands and feet tied together, but he also had a gag. He appeared to be unconscious, and Lisa couldn't help but wonder what kind of fight Jackson Ripner had put up before they'd dumped him behind her.