Chapter 2

Lisa Reisart grabbed her keys and headed out to her car. She stood warily outside of the glassy Luxe Atlantic doors, and studied the parking lot. It was a habit. She finally sighted her old blue Cadillac and began hurriedly towards it. Unconsciously, she heaved a sigh of relief upon unlocking the doors and sliding inside.

It had been like this, the jumpiness, the constant feeling as if she was being watched, since him. As soon as these thoughts entered Lisa's head, she wanted to shake them out again, because with them came Jackson's face. For some odd reason, she had taken to imaging that he was with her throughout the day, and now she imagined him sitting next to her in the car. He would lean his chocolate-brown head back and watch her from slightly lowered lids, and smirk and say, "Feeling jumpy?"

Lisa snapped at him. "Shut up, Jack. You're going to jail, and you'll never see me again." She then felt stupid for talking to herself, and briefly wondered if she was going crazy. Why had she visited him while he was in the hospital? Why had she even bothered to save his life, to come with him to the hospital? Why? It should have been enough to simply know he was alive. Seeing him was torture.

He had somehow managed to stay awake halfway through the ride to the hospital, and when his eyes had finally closed, Lisa had found herself praying that he wouldn't die. Why? It was the question she had asked herself a million times, and she hated him for it. She told herself it was because she hadn't wanted him to escape. He didn't deserve to die. He deserved to be punished, to be hurt as much as he had hurt others. And that's why she refused to let him escape his punishment through death.

But she had reached the hospital and immediately left for the hotel, upon receiving calls from an agitated Cynthia, and something had happened. Instead of being placed in the locked ward, where he belonged, Jackson had been placed in a normal room, free of cameras and locks and things people like Jackson should be surrounded by.

Maybe it was simply the incompetence of the hospital staff. Maybe it was something worse. Either way, two weeks after Jackson had arrived; an obituary appeared in the newspaper with Jackson's name on it. Lisa should know. She had been asked to write it herself, but declined. She had felt vaguely disappointed that Jackson had escaped, but had been relieved all the same.

The small announcement was submitted to the newspaper the same day as Jackson's "death". Dr. Jones, who had sent it, had returned to the hospital to find out that he had committed a horrible mistake: Mr. Rippner was, in fact, not dead, and simply in a coma. How in the world had he been mistaken for dead? The truth was, another clumsy doctor had tripped over the heart monitor's cord and pressed some random button. The machine had let off a noise like a vacuum cleaner, and Jackson Rippner was pronounced dead at 10:38 a.m. Ten minutes later, the announcement was being sent, and Jackson was pronounced alive. Dr. Jones returned to find a miracle: he still had his job.

In order to cover up this colossal mistake, Jackson was allowed free hospitalization until he recovered.

It's amazing how things can move on so quickly, leaving practically no remnant of evidence behind. In two weeks, the Miami police already had bigger things to deal with, and it seemed as if Lisa, her father, and Cynthia were the only people who even remembered what had happened. Jackson slept on, safe in his coma, separated from the outside world, and the fact that he wasn't recognized as a felon went unnoticed. And that's how he had managed to simply walk straight out from the hospital without so much as a "By your leave."

Lisa, of course, didn't know he had left yet. When she had visited Jackson, upon hearing that he was alive, he had been asleep, and she assumed that upon his recovery he would be shipped to the nearest penitentiary. The police chief himself had assured her that this would happen. Never mind that she had not seen said police chief since he made that statement. Lisa believed it would happen because she wanted to.

Deep in a little corner of her mind, she knew, though. She knew. It would take more than the Miami police chief's word to lock up Jackson Rippner.

She smoothly pulled up in front of her house. She looked behind her before opening the car door, just a quick peek, to make sure no one was approaching her, and then hopped out of the car and tried to look calm as she walked towards her front door. There was a thick rectangular package sitting on her front stoop, and Lisa bent to pick it up as she stepped inside.

Her house was neat and tidy; magazines in a pile on the coffee table, her coffee colored furniture perfectly matching the cream carpet, the kitchen sink empty and the counters spotless. Lisa collapsed on her couch and pulled at the brown paper covering the package. She rarely got mail, mostly bills, and so a package was a definite surprise.

Lisa finally got all the paper off and stared at the notebook in front of her. Her address was printed neatly on the sea-green colored cover, and slowly she opened the book. The words, "JACKSON RIPPNER" stared up at her. Lisa slammed the book shut and dropped it on the ground with trembling hands. Jackson had been right with the idea that just his name would terrify Lisa.

Cautiously, tentatively, Lisa bent and picked up the book. She knew it was from Jackson. No one else knew his name except him, herself, and her father. Her father would not send her some random notebook. She gathered her wits and opened the book again. Flipping to the middle, she was surprised by an amazing likeness of herself. Intrigued now, Lisa began thumbing through the pages of the book, skipping the first pages where her death had been described in gruesome detail.

Something caught her attention and she began reading.

I hate you. You've done this to me. You've nearly killed me, lost me my job, lost me my life. I sit in this awful hospital and hate you, and see the scars you've given me, and I want to return these scars and infect you with them.

In the course of hating you, my hate has grown so strong that it's completely consumed me and now has become a sick sort of love. I spend so much time hating you and thinking of you that I ca—

Here the writing stopped.

- - x v x v x v x v x v x v x v - -

Jackson drove silently up the street and towards Lisa's house. The sun was setting and everything was bathed in an odd purple light, and he wished it would just get dark already. He had spent his time arranging his apartment, drawing money from one of his many different bank accounts, and wondering if his company knew he was alive. He had finally decided that they didn't. He was right.

Stopping his car across the street from Lisa's house, he watched for any signs of movement. He found his throat growing dry at the thought of seeing her again, and cleared it loudly. One light was on in her house, in the living room, and he watched it turn off and an upstairs light turn on. That must be her bedroom, he thought, and grinned.

Jackson slipped silently out of his new car. Its shiny blackness glittered up at him in the dim light, and he patted it fondly. There was something to be said for eight different bank accounts, each with several hundred thousand dollars in them, each provided by his company back when he worked for them. Jackson Rippner now worked for no one. He was freelance. The only business he had right now concerned one Lisa Reisart and Revenge.

Revenge: what an incredible word. It had been Jackson's life's work. He had become an assassin for revenge, the image of his parent's dead bodies burned into his mind, and their murderer's leering face floating eerily above them. It's a childish thing, really, revenge is. But it is a lesson taught that you never forget. Six year old Jackson Rippner learned it too fast, not in the way that goes, "You broke my toy, I get to break yours." He learned, "You killed my parents, I get to kill you."

Rippner walked quickly and silently up the steps to Lisa's house, picked the lock, and stepped inside. He looked around and inhaled the familiar smell. He started towards the stairs, intending to surprise Lisa in the worst possible way, when he stopped. What the hell was that?

It couldn't be. There was absolutely no possible way. Jackson stared. There sat his notebook, its awful green cover seeming to glow in the dark. But was it really his? It couldn't—

In two decisive strides, he stepped forwards and ripped it open. Oh God. It was his. But how--? How in the hell had she--? Jackson's anger began to cloud in him and destroy the carefully sculpted calm he had instilled in himself. Now every thought of Lisa seethed with anger and… what was that? Oh yes, desire.

Jackson raked his hands through his hair and fought for control. When had he begun to desire Lisa? The answer came instantly- when he had spent two months writing her name and relishing memories of her. But even so, how in the fucking world had she gotten that damn notebook? He decided to go upstairs and ask her just that. Never mind that just the idea of seeing Lisa Reisart completely distracted him from his goal.

His foot on the stairs, Jackson stopped. Visions of a sweetly sleeping Lisa filled his head and he felt an odd fluttering in his stomach. This was the woman he intended to… to what?

He would get his revenge. He would slowly and painfully gain it, until Lisa was dead, inside and out. For Jackson knew there were worse things than death. Lisa had put him through worse things, number one being the amount of time he had spent in the hospital. Jackson decided he needed to take his time, and turned around to return to his apartment and form a plan, when a bright light came on.

Whirling to face whoever had turned on the light, Jackson saw the blur that was Miss Reisart raise a mop over her head and begin to bring it down on Jackson's. He rose his hands up in one fluid motion and caught the mop handle and threw it to the ground. It slid desolately down the last two steps as Jackson and Lisa wrestled behind it.

Lisa hadn't even recognized her attacker, and fought wildly, but without fear. Anger had replaced fear long ago; at about the same moment she had visited Jackson. She had seen him lying there, sound asleep on the small hospital bed, and decided that though she had put him there, she still was letting him 'win' by allowing his memories to hold her back. All in one moment, Lisa had become stronger, and though the caution she had adopted after her two horrible experiences still remained, the fear had dissipated, and she had devoted herself to moving on.

She brought back her fist to punch whoever it was intruding in her house at the same time that Jackson grabbed her shoulders and brought his face nose to nose with hers. For a moment, Lisa didn't seem to recognize Jackson, and simply stared dumbly back into his ice blue eyes.

Then she screamed, screamed and struggled and panicked. Jackson covered her mouth with his hand and she bit down hard. He jumped away, swearing. She ran past him and grabbed the mop and stood with it pointed at Jackson, her breathing heavy. He looked up from his hand and saw disheveled Lisa standing there, pointing a mop at him, as if to ward him off, and began to laugh. A little jolt of desire shot through him, reminding him that he'd better not forget that this was about revenge, even if his plans were already getting messed up. Lisa had a habit of doing that.

"What the hell are you doing in my house," she asked flatly.

Jackson strode calmly down the last two steps and collapsed comfortably on her tan couch. "Just thought I'd drop in, see how you were doing. I heard you visited me in the hospital. Did you miss me?"

"You're supposed to be in jail," Lisa snapped, and her anger fortunately covered her shock. She knew something was up with those doctors. They were absolute morons. How could they have let him escape? She backed away from Jackson and towards the phone. He noticed her destination, however, and leapt up and towards her.

She swung out with the mop and Jackson grabbed it. She tried to shove him in the groin with one end of it, and he jumped out of the way, succeeding in pushing Lisa further towards the phone behind her. With one final shove, she was pressed up next to the phone and Jackson neatly ripped it off the wall. The mop handle was the only separation between their bodies, and Jackson leaned in close to Lisa and brushed his nose over her hair, inhaling her wonderful perfume. She recoiled and Jackson felt anger rise in him.

"What are you doing?" she asked nervously. "How did you escape from the hospital? Why aren't you in jail!" She pushed against his shoulders and struggled underneath him, and Jackson felt her chest rub against his and threw the mop from between them. He cradled her in his arms and pressed her as close to him as he could, forgetting to think; only feeling.

Lisa, however, didn't have this advantage, and only beat harder against Jackson's chest. She felt warm and oddly safe pressed against him, and wanted to escape from this scary feeling. Jackson was the wrong person to feel safe with. "What are you doing!" she cried shrilly. "Let go of me!"

Jackson looked startled back into her eyes. He seemed to contemplate something, and then slowly shook his head and said, "You know, I don't think I will. Do you have any idea how much time I've spent thinking of--" he broke off and glanced at the notebook which still lay on the counter. "Well, you probably do. But come on now, Leese, did you really think you could put me in jail? You thought you could move on with your little life and forget I ever existed?" He smirked. "I've really gotten tired of you being afraid of me, Leese. Now, you've already ruined my plans once, and you just did again, and so--"

And that was when Jackson Rippner received a resounding punch to the jaw. Stars popped in front of his eyes and he heard Lisa say triumphantly from somewhere above him, "And now I've just ruined your plans for a third time." She turned towards the door just as Jackson reached out and grabbed her ankle. Soon she was down on the floor next to him.

A bare foot came rushing towards Jackson's face and he dodged it just in time. Lisa screamed as loudly as she possibly could, and struggled violently as Jackson pinned her ankles underneath his hands. She sat straight up and swung wildly at him, forgetting her fear in her panic. That was when Jackson's eyes met hers, and fear was remembered.

For with the blue that blazed and had blazed without extinguishment in her memory, came other memories that Lisa thought no longer affected her. Each terror from the Red Eye returned full blast. Lisa felt limp and foolish. People don't really forget horrors like that. They claim to move on from them, but don't admit what a lasting effect those memories have on their lives.

Jackson watched Lisa's color drain from her face. She looked so scared and helpless, and for a moment, he felt an odd sense of power, that he had created that emotion within her. And then the power drained as he realized that the last time he had felt this way, he had nearly been killed. Anger quickly replaced power.

"Oh, suck it up." Jackson saw determination flash in Lisa eyes, and lay down on top of her, effectively pinning her underneath him. It was the only thing he could think of to stop her, and now that he felt her squirm underneath him, he was glad he had. He slowly and delicately brought her hands above her head and pinned them there. "You're different," he mused. "What happened to tearful Lisa?"

Lisa spat at him, and her saliva landed in his hair. "You're crazy," she hissed. "I don't know how you escaped from that damn hospital, but I swear to God, you're going to be right back there when I'm done with you."

"Lisa, Lisa…" Jackson sighed dramatically and wiped the spit from his hair. He rubbed his wet hand down her cheek and watched her restrain a gag. "You're really not one to be threatening right now. Now, I asked you a question. I would really like to hear an answer."

His answer was another spit in the face. Jackson reached up, and, with great distaste, removed the spit from his hair and wiped it over Lisa's lips. She gagged loudly. Jackson ignored her, and leaned in as close to her face as he could. "Leese…" his voice was a venomous hiss, and he could feel Lisa shaking underneath him. "Where are your tears…? Why did you visit me in the hospital?" Lisa stared dully up at him. He shook her with his one free hand. "Answer me!" he growled. She shook her head, and Jackson felt his infuriation grow. "Little Lisa," he sneered, and then completely abandoned his grip on her wrists and brought his hands crashing down on her throat.

"I didn't want to resort to violence," he murmured, his voice dangerously low. "But you've really given me no choice. Now are you going to answer Mr. Rippner, or will he have to answer for you?" Lisa struggled desperately under his grasp. Jackson ignored her attempt to speak and nodded, his eyes burning holes into hers. "Alright, here's the answer. You visited me in the hospital because you've fallen in love with me! Wow, Lisa, I must say I'm flattered. You want to get married?" He looked down at her and nodded again. "Well, alright then. I'm game." Jackson relinquished his grip and Lisa gasped and choked underneath him.

He got up and deftly swung Lisa over his shoulder. She weakly protested as Jackson went over and left a note for her father on the kitchen counter. He had no doubt that the old man would come and check on his daughter when he didn't hear from her in over five minutes, and didn't want any searches conducted while Lisa was with him. Still with her over his shoulder, he walked up the stairs and into her room.

"Get some clothes," he said gruffly as he dropped her on the bed.

"I'm not going with you," she murmured, rubbing her throat and seeming unconcerned. "You can't just make me do whatever you want by choking me and being an idiot. I thought you would've learned that by now."

Jackson grinned wickedly. He rummaged through her drawers, decided he liked nothing he found, and slung Lisa over his shoulder again. She kicked and Jackson pinned her legs together. "Now that's where you're wrong," he said as he walked down the stairs, and Lisa could feel his smirk on her skin. "I can do whatever I want with you. You see, I've thought about you rather a lot while I was in that awful hospital, and--" his voice rose violently.

"—And not once, not ever--" Jackson heaved a breath as he carefully lifted his notebook off of the counter. He stared at it for a moment, and then shook his head. "Well, you've got me, Leese," Jackson shrugged, his voice quieter. "I really don't know what to do with you…" He sighed and left her house, locked the door behind him, and started towards his car. That was when Lisa decided to scream her head off, and perform an incredible twist in Jackson's arms that enabled her to kick him in the stomach. He dropped her and she took off.