Chapter 6

The odd thing about two people who each influence each other's lives is that each brings out a weakness in the other. For example, there's the fact that your life will continually be affected by that other person, thereby changing what happens day to day. But what if you don't want that influence? What if you want to avoid association with that person entirely? Of course, by avoiding them, you would only be allowing that person to influence you even more.

And so, in short, you can't win. Our lives are not really our own, they are shared by those in our lives. We are influenced, changed, altered, by these people no matter what; we can't control it.

It's senseless to fight it. And so instead, a battle for control must begin.

--XvXvXvXvXvXvX--

Lisa sat on her bed and listened to the pounding rain. Her thoughts seemed unnaturally loud and she desperately wanted to drown them out but couldn't. They ran in circles, gradually growing wider and wider, accompanying more information. The air in the huge bedroom suddenly seemed suffocating and so Lisa slowly got up and opened her window. Rain blew in with surprising force, bringing with it sweet fresh air, and she had the urge to go outside.

Wind swept across Lisa's face as soon as she stepped out, lifting her chestnut curls and creating a halo about her face. The gravel outside the front porch crunched under her feet. Lisa stopped and surveyed her surroundings, for the first time seriously considering escape. To her left was a large field. The grass swayed and whispered in the wind and she turned towards it, leaving the inky darkness of the trees behind her.

It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. The trees followed the only path of escape, being the border to Jackson's driveway.

Rain pelted Lisa Reisart's small figure, but her thoughts only grew louder. They drowned out the cold and the strong wind. They drowned out everything.

Lisa felt stupid and naive. She didn't love Jackson! What was she thinking? She firmly pushed that thought from her mind, considering it to be an embarrassing display of weakness. She was Lisa Reisart. She did not fall in love with murderers. She had been raped, nearly killed, and almost forced to aide in killing someone else. In each of these experiences she had survived. Damn it if she was going to finally be brought down in this one.

Of course, love was quite an intriguing idea. But with Jackson Montgomery? The idea was ridiculous, and Lisa laughed aloud. Rain prickled sharply against her face, scolding her for daring to disrupt the silence of the storm. She continued walking, across the field, figuring out and deciphering each and every feeling in her head until everything was reasoned and accounted for and everything made sense.

The simple fact was that she had imagined those feelings in Jackson's notebook. Why did that thought disappoint her so?

I'm doomed, Lisa thought, suddenly sullen. I want love. But I'll never have it. I don't even know what love is, and I obviously don't know where to engage my trust. I'll never know. I'm too busy protecting myself from any sort of closeness.

Lisa's precious protection. It kept her strong even in the hardest of times, that small belief that people still didn't completely know her, and therefore couldn't possibly see what she was feeling. It kept her moving on, and enabled her to let go of the past. But somehow, around Jackson that self-assurance evaporated and left Lisa reeling. She would inexplicably realize all that she was losing by forcing herself to operate alone. Maybe because she saw Jackson's example and was terrified that she would end up like him.

A hollow, resigned feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach. It was actually a relief compared to the tumult of her feelings before. Lisa wasn't ready to sacrifice her protection unless she was forced to, and so, so what if she was never loved? Who cared? It didn't matter, right? Right? Right? What mattered now was escaping from this madman's house.

The grass moved in waves across the field, seeming to stretch on for all eternity. Its golden crests hypnotized Lisa and she continued across. Dark, thick clouds stretched above the horizon. The rain continued to fall, lightening slightly into bigger, wetter drops, which the wind blew in spirals. Lisa was soaked and still continued to walk, using the distance from Jackson as protection.

--XvXvXvXvXvXvX--

Jackson buried his face in his hands. The office was still cloaked in darkness, and he sat and stared in front of him, willing his mind to become as blank as the gloom. He heard a door slam from down the hallway and took it as a welcome distraction. Jackson started towards the door, tripped slightly over his notebook, and swore under his breath. He should burn the thing. How had Lisa found it? He still didn't know how she had gotten it in the first place. Wait a minute. Lisa. Lisa!

The office door wrenched open for the second time that day and Jackson flew down the hallway. He yanked open the door to Lisa's room and was hit by a blast of wet, cool air. He closed the window and flew from the room once more, pausing only to grab his windbreaker at the bottom of the stairs. Lisa escaped, his mind sang mockingly. She escaped, you lost, it's your fault. Jackson surveyed his surroundings from the porch and dimly saw Lisa in the distance, a small dot in the middle of the vast, thirty-acre field. He took off after her.

Grass tugged at Jackson's legs and the rain pelted his face. The first inkling of panic began to grow in his stomach. How long had Lisa been out here? She could be sick by now! Why do you care what happens to her? A little voice in his mind tittered. Jackson ignored it and continued running, staggering on the uneven ground. He had to get to Lisa. He had to save her. She couldn't escape.

Lisa continued walking, devoting all of her concentration to putting one foot in front of the other. Her wet jeans seemed to be weights that only allowed her legs to move slightly, and she felt heavy and slow. But she was escaping. That was all that mattered. Briefly Lisa wondered what was wrong with her; where was the Lisa that fought back? She was running away.

Rain blew ferociously in Jackson's face, and he saw a bolt of lighting fork to the ground in the distance. Why wouldn't Lisa just stop? Frustration and… what was that? Worry? Bubbled in Jackson's chest and raggedly he cried out.

"Lisa!"

She whirled around and looked at him. Jackson felt sure that the moment would be preserved in his brain for all of eternity.

Her hair was limp from the rain, and the wind whipped it about her face. Thunder rumbled from the black clouds above, shaking the ground. Jackson stopped. He felt the rain pelt him, seeming to drive him towards her, and it was that small step that did it. Lisa spun around again and began to run, weak, sodden steps that made it maddeningly obvious how desperately she wanted to be away from Jackson.

Jackson stood and watched her, and wished he could at least feel angry. Why did she have to run away. It was a statement, not a question. He strode towards her, always behind her, never catching up. Simply following Lisa's small form. Jackson desperately needed to think, but his mind was so crowded with Lisa that he couldn't.

She hated him. She didn't love him, and she never would. She had lied, even after he had promised that he would never lie to her. For God's sakes, she was so desperate to be away from him that she was outside running for her life in a Georgia thunderstorm.

"Lisa!" Jackson cried again, and it was a gut-wrenching, violent call in the storm. The wind blew his voice to her and suffocated her with it. She stumbled slightly and fell on her knees in the wet grass, and Jackson ran towards her. Struggling to her feet, Lisa cast a panicked look over her shoulder. Was he going to kill her now?

Jackson felt his breath being whipped away from him, and lightning flared ominously in the distance. Was he to forever be chasing after Lisa and never catching up? With a tremendous effort, he ran towards her, the long grass tripping him.

"Wait for me!" he cried, and didn't know what made him say it, but it didn't matter anyways, because a loud crash of thunder drowned out his words.

Lisa felt a loud sob escape her lungs. She was so very cold, and her wet clothing was slowing her down and trapping her. She had gone out into the field to escape and instead the very wilderness was attempting to cage her. The grass seemed to stretch on and on, with only dark unfeeling clouds in the distance.

Jackson was desperate. Never had this feeling clouded inside of him so much, never had it destroyed him the way it was right now. Lisa was slowing now, and he stopped as well.

"Lisa," he panted, and for once she turned to look at him. The resignation in her eyes was horrifying. But why did he care? He was a cold-hearted assassin, his mind mocked. Jackson felt anger surge inside of him. Was he to be forced to live without feeling for the rest of his life? A carcass of coldness, stretching on and on? He was imprisoned in his life of emotions that were objects and had the sudden sense that he would always remain that way. He would always be an outsider looking in, viewing people as mannequins that made no difference in the world.

Jackson's anger rose into a great wave and crashed inside of him, and he hated himself, and he hated Lisa for bringing out this awful honesty in him.

Lightning lit up the field. Jackson strode towards Lisa, and she turned and began to run again. He lunged after her and caught her about the waist, and both fell to the soggy ground. Lisa kicked against him and struggled and screamed, and Jackson felt a palpable weakening inside of him. He would never be the same cold assassin around Lisa Reisart. As much as he hated it, he needed her to become human, and the sooner he accepted that, the sooner he could… do what? What would he do without Lisa?

"Oh God," he whispered, and watched tears stream down her face as she weakly struggled against his clasp on her wrists.

An overwhelming fear was taking over Lisa. She was so very cold that she could barely move, and it was her inability to do anything that frightened her most. Where was her precious protection now? Why was it gone? She screamed as loudly as she possibly could, but the thunder drowned it out. Jackson gripped her wrists tighter and rolled over, pulling her on top of him. The tall grass created a wall around them and the rain continued to pour down, and Lisa's tears continued to fall. Jackson cradled her wet body against him and tried to comfort her as he tried to comfort himself.

"I have never lied to you," Jackson said, trying desperately to stop himself from saying something he might regret. Lisa continued to cry above him. He slowly stood and she tried weakly to follow him back towards the house, but after a couple steps she fell and couldn't get up. Jackson lifted her in his arms and carried her back across the field, the field that she had promised to be strong and had vowed to escape in.

Some ten acres later, Jackson reached the door to his house and, upon stepping inside, found that the power was still off. Wearily he set Lisa down on the stairs and moved over to the circuit breaker. Nothing happened, and he appeared a moment later looking tired. He sat down on the slippery wood next to Lisa and both stared dully ahead in silence.

Lisa was tired of protecting herself. Just once, she wanted to rely on someone else, to be protected. But to be protected, one must give up their shield, and Lisa was afraid to. So she sat in silent thought.

Jackson's thoughts ran in an entirely different path. He was staring at Lisa's cold little hand. Just take it! He told himself. Just take her damn hand, there's nothing wrong with that, just take it… Why are you afraid to…? Just grab it… Just… He slowly reached out and covered Lisa's slender hand in his own. Even her fingertips were cold. She turned wide eyes up to his face and her fingers tightened around his own.

It was as if each had just lost a loved one. And in a way, they had. Lisa rested her head on Jackson's shoulder and he rested his nose on her wet hair. The house was dim and the rain still pounded relentlessly against the windows.

And that's when Jackson knew that he would never be able to accomplish his revenge. Lisa was his one real weakness.

For God's sake, he was in love with her.

Jackson lifted his face from Lisa's hair and stared down at her in dawning fascination. That was it. He loved her. And now he had a perfect reason to keep her in his house forever and ever, he thought gleefully. But what if she didn't love him? What if she had lied when she said that before? Jackson had to know. But could he just come out and ask her? What if she said she hated him?

But if he didn't do something, he thought, then he would be doomed to his life of coldness forever.

Lisa looked up and saw Jackson's face avidly watching her. She felt numb and cold, and vaguely wished that he would just hurry up and accomplish this "revenge" so that she could go home. "What?" she snapped grumpily.

"Nothing," Jackson said quietly. It was pointless. He stood up and was halfway up the staircase when he stopped. "I'm sorry," he said loudly. The words were foreign and tasted oddly in his mouth. He heard Lisa walking up the stairs and towards him, and turned around and watched her. But she didn't stop. She continued on past him, and shortly after he heard her bedroom door click shut.

Jackson stood in the darkness of the stairs for a long time. A great ache like he had never felt before was filling him, and it was intriguing and awful at the same time. It seemed as if his life of coldness was staring him in the face once more and Jackson panicked. He stumbled up the stairs and down the hall, his wet shoes squelching on the floor. He pounded on Lisa's locked door and called her name wildly, again and again. He rattled the doorknob and knew she was standing just on the other side.

"Lisa," Jackson whispered hoarsely into the dim light. "Lisa, please open the door. Lisa!" Still nothing happened, and desperately he pounded on the door. "Lisa!"

Lisa stood on the other side of the door and listened with growing horror to Jackson's hysterical voice. She was deathly afraid of her own feelings, and of him.

"Lisa!" He cried louder from the hallway, and there was a sob in his voice now. "Lisa!" His fists banged on the door. "Lisa, just open the door… Please, Lisa…"

Lisa continued to stare in horror at the door. Shouldn't she be feeling powerful right now? Instead, the remnants of her shield were falling about her, and she was terrified. She backed towards the bathroom and away from Jackson's voice.

"Lisa," he moaned hoarsely for the last time. She shakily turned on the shower and watched the room fill with steam. She began to seriously regret not opening the door for Jackson. What had he wanted to tell her? What had he been crying about?

What had he needed her for? Had he needed her? What had happened to the cold and heartless Jackson? What had happened to Revenge?

The hot water washed over Lisa, but couldn't erase Jackson's voice from echoing in her head. When she finally climbed into her large bed and fell asleep, Jackson called raggedly to her again and again in her dreams, and she woke up in a cold sweat with the blankets wrapped tightly around her. It was only seven-thirty at night and she decided she was hungry. Lisa had her hand in her suitcase when she stopped. Jackson's tortured voice echoed through to her ears once again, calling her and pleading. Open the door. It took on a whole new meaning in Lisa's mind, and she wondered vaguely if by opening the door to Jackson she would be letting others in as well, thoroughly blasting apart the remnants of her shattered protection. But that was ridiculous. You don't open your heart to murderers, even if you are—were—in love with them.

Lisa got dressed and firmly stepped out into the hall. The power was back on, leaving everything unnatural in the new, gray light. Rain still spattered lightly against the windows and wind whistled and sighed around the house. She entered the kitchen and found Jackson standing with his back to her, facing the stove. There was something different about him. Something stiffer, more rigid in the clench of his jaw, and Lisa recognized it and it disappointed and frightened her. She made as if to leave the kitchen when he turned around and spoke.

"Hello, Leese. Get a good sleep?" Lisa vaguely wondered when it had gone back to that mocking Leese again.

"I—yes," she answered uncomfortably. Her mind told her to fight back and her heart sighed and complained that it was tired.

"Because, you know, I wondered. How often do people that are kidnapped get wonderful, restful naps? How often? You should consider yourself lucky, Leese." Jackson snapped his knuckles as he turned back to the stove. He hated Lisa.

"What are you suggesting?" Lisa spoke bravely.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. Lisa's soft brown hair fell in large curls about her face, and her green eyes were wide; angry and afraid at the same time. She was beautiful and he loved her. And he wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him, until she was left a skeleton, doomed to a life of coldness like he was.

"Oh, I don't know," he said airily, while his mind screamed at him to shut up. "I just hope that you liked your rest."

Lisa got his meaning and began to back from the room. He was going to rape her. Would the nightmare never end? Just when she thought she had found relief, it was ripped from her. Oh, what she would've given to just have opened that damn door! How different things would be! Lisa stopped walking and stared at Jackson's back.

"I--" she began tentatively. Jackson whipped around to stare at her. "I'm sorry I didn't come, you know, get the door for you before, I just--"

Jackson had leapt towards her and his hands were poised just above her neck. Lisa found that she had quite literally backed herself into a corner, and Jackson was inches away from her. His hands stopped hairs above her throat and she tried to slow her breathing, so that her neck wouldn't brush his waiting fingers as she gasped in air.

"Don't ever," he hissed, "Don't you ever mention that again. That was my pitiful attempt for your pity so that you would unlock your damn door and I could get into your room and—And--" He stopped, and his stomach pressed fleetingly against hers as he inhaled sharply. "You're disgusting," he snarled, hurling Lisa from him. She stumbled away and then held her ground.

Shocked and angry, Lisa laughed loudly and coldly. "I'm disgusting? Way to go, Jack-ass. You tell me I'm disgusting after you kidnap me, threaten to rape me, and--"

"Lisa," Jackson whispered coldly. "You are completely correct. You, unfortunately, forget that I hold the reigns in this situation, however. You are in my house, you are my captive, and I will do whatever I please." He was on the other side of the small marble kitchen island now. The fury surrounding him was suffocating, and Lisa backed away from him, around the other side of the island. He followed her movement, and soon they were circling each other around the countertop, the hunter and the hunted, and neither knowing which was which.

"Oh, so what you please includes pounding on my door and begging me to let you in?" Lisa's voice took on a belittling tone. "Like you'd just die if you didn't get to see me? Like you--"

"I thought I told you never to mention that again?" Jackson said conversationally from across the kitchen island. His voice was deceptively calm, the only emotion in it being cold, blue fury. Lisa sidestepped his attempt to dart around the corner of the white marble and they were back to being opposite each other.

"What are you going to do to stop me, huh, Jack? You can't control me, and I'll be damned if while I'm your captive I'm going to just sit here and take your disgusting treatment. You're the disgusting one, not me, Jack."

He growled and lunged at her, right across the island, grabbing her shoulders and yanking her until her face met his across the hard countertop. The edge of it dug into her stomach. There was one window in the large kitchen, right above the sink, and Lisa had a perfect view of the clouds outside. They were black and purple in the disappearing March sun and reminded her of bruises. And then Lisa was wrenched back to the present by Jackson shaking her.

She screamed, screamed until she could feel it drying in her throat and scraped at his face with her hands. He caught her flailing fingers and crushed them, pulling her around the island to face him. The scream dried up and withered to a gasp.

"Leese," Jackson said coldly. Her eyes were so wide and so very green, he thought sadly. Why did life have to throw them together in such a cruel way? "Get a grip on yourself." Even to his ears it sounded weak and useless. "I'm not going to put up with this pathetic screaming much longer."

Lisa kicked his shin and tried to wrench her hands from his grip. He grunted and hopped on one leg, still holding Lisa's hands. She struggled slightly and then gave up. Once more the shield was lying shattered at her feet. This seemed to be happening more and more often. "I hate you," she said hoarsely.

"I know," he replied, and something in his tone reminded her of the old Jackson that had been pounding on her door. This was the Jackson from the notebook. This was the Jackson that didn't exist, she told herself firmly.

"No, you don't know!" She brought her still-enclosed hand up and pounded it on his chest. "All you do is lie, and I hate it! I hate you!" She opened her mouth to ask a million questions, questions about what had happened only five hours ago, but it all seemed like such a distant dream that she wondered if she had imagined it all and exaggerated it in her memory, and began to believe that she had.

"I do know," he said calmly, absently stroking the palm of her hand with his thumb. "You hate me with all of your soul, on and on. I don't care." He did care, of course, but had abruptly realized that lying would be much safer. Much more difficult, but safer.

"What do you want?" Lisa finally asked wearily.

Honesty made a desperate bid for freedom before it was flattened.

"I don't know." Jackson let go of her hands and turned and walked away, leaving the lit stove behind him. Lisa stared at it uncomprehendingly for a long time.

The battle had begun.


I'm not sure about this chapter. I've edited it a couple million times, I hope it's turned out ok. If you have a suggestion or are confused, please tell me in a review or something!

I do think it's turned out ok, though. At least it's long enough:D