Chapter 9: Jackson's Notebook

Beatrice Clark was an outspoken woman. She could hold her own in a debate. Cunning ideas flew from her mouth when needed. She had been trained by her husband, Arnie,long ago in the late '50's after they were wed. The thought of constructing situations to foil plans against the United States government was blindingly exciting. Bea soaked up everything her husband taught her.

But in 1967,Arnie's mission to stop underhand weapons trading in Viatnumwent a rye and he was taken as a prisoner of war. He was never released or rescued, and Bea had to go on alone. For many years she worked at Headquarters intersepting phone calls and was a consultant for setting up missions. In her mid-fifties, she was ready to retire and became a handler for one of the several dozen safe houses owned by the League. Her and Arnie had no children together, so many of the young recruits who came to stay with her she treated as if they were her own.Lisa discovered that as she entered the kitchen that morning.

"Morning, deary! You like waffles, don't you?" Bea asked, a largemixing bowl in the crook of her arm. Her other arm was stirring the contents vigiously with a wooden spoon. Her open smile was bright and friendly, and Lisa felt her dreadful mood lighten.

"Yes," she replied, hoarsely. She cleared her throat and said more plainly,"I eat waffles."

"Then take a seat at the bar. I'll have one up for you in a jiff." Bea opened the waffle iron, and poured some batter onto it.

Lisa settled down on the middle barstool. She watched Bea for a moment then peered around the kitchen. "Where's Jackson?"

"Outside fixing up his car," Bea answered, wiping the excess batter on the egde of the mixing bowl. "So he took you hostage on a plane then tried to kill you in your father's house?" she asked after a minute.

Lisa was taken aback by the blunt question, but then she nodded, wondering if every detail of her ordeal with Jackson was on file. "Yes, he did."

"Damn bastard," Bea hissed, shaking her head.For some reason, the statement tickled Lisa and a smile broke out on her face, the first smile since before Ethan betrayed her.

"He definitely is that, but he also got me away from a man who probably would have done more damage to me than Jackson did. I still don't know if I should trust him though."

"Well, here's how I see it, deary," Bea started. She pulled the waffle iron open, and with a fork, stabbed the newly formed waffle and set it on a plate in front of Lisa. She leaned against the counter. "He saved your life, brought you here, and is risking his freedom to protect you. Maybe he's making up for what he did to you. Who knows? Just stick with him, and I'm sure everything will be okay. You got Grandma Bea's word on it."

Lisa nodded absently, still unsure. She began eating her waffle as Bea made two more in the iron. Jackson emerged from the side door, reporting he had covered the broken car window with plywood from the shed out back and cleaned the blood stains off the seat. He sat beside Lisa, eating his breakfast silently. Bea talked for a while about her career in the League, but left after the dishes were cleaned to check the daily news from the League.

"I have something to show you,"Jackson said withoutemotion. Lisa wiped her hands on the kitchen towel, looking at him suspiously. He pulled a notebook from his bag sitting against the bar, opened it,and handed it to her.

Lisa stared at it confused then asked, "What's this?"

"Read it," Jackson commanded, lightly.

At the top of the page there was a title - Demise. Lisa began to read:

What are her thoughts as I squeeze her throat? Was she thinking of how she would die? Was death knocking on her mind's door asking her to come out?

Pulling her up by her hair, yanking them from her head. I can feel the agonizing pain shootthrough her and it electrifies my desire, it courses in my veins. Her pain is life to me. I want more.

But sirens call and I must finish the job. I stand her against the wall. She can't escape. She looks at me in fear and shock. She's beautiful that way. I want her to be my masterpiece I can hang on my mind's wall and stare at it's glory for the rest of my days.

My hand is around her neck. Only one hand is needed. She seems to shrink as I grow taller. I'm inches from her face,aching for her pain to touch my skin. She chokes and gasps, the noise ringing in my ears. She fights to live, her spirit denying what I give it. She can't take it forever, and finally her eyes roll back and she stops struggling.

I loosen my hold on her neck. Purple, almost black, marks snake their way around her neck. I can see the imprint of my hand and it thrills me. I let her drop to the floor, her body like a ragdoll now.

My greatest challenge is over.

For a long moment, Lisa didn't move or speak. She knew the story was about her and that fact made her stomach drop to her feet. She turned the pages of the notebook finding onegruesome stories after another. Finally, she closed it, horrified by what she saw, and raised her eyes to meet Jackson's.

"This is suppose to make me feel better about you?" she asked in a strangled tone.

Jackson nodded slowly. "It should."

Lisa slammed the notebook to the counter, a look of disgust on her face. "You write about murdering me! You're sick in the head, Jackson!"

She knew it was coming when he lunged at her. There was one thing Jackson Rippner had always failed to do and that was controlling his temper. Lisa darted out the way, knabbing a butcher's knife from the counter. She pointed it in front of her, ready for him to retaliate, but Jackson just stood there staring dangerously at her. His chest rose rapidly, him breath between clinched teeth.

"Don't you understand, Lisa?" he started, keeping eye contact with her. "I wrote those stories because I hated you and wanted to kill you. But writing them, I found myself hating you less and less. Those stories helped me get through the failure you caused me. I don't want to kill you anymore. That's why I'm protecting you from Ethan."

She hated the fact that he never lied. It made him seem more dangerous in a strange way. Writing the stories seemed to have a therapeutic healing on Jackson. She didn't know how, but it did. Lisa lowered the butcher knife, but did not put it down. "What do we do now?" she asked.

"We need a plan to take out Ethan and we only have two days to construct one." Jackson pushed off the counter, taking a step forward. "Will you work with me?"

Lisa nodded, determination on her face at the thought of getting Ethan. "Let's get to work."