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Chapter 7

For the second morning in a row, Lisa Reisart found herself sitting on her bed and staring out the window. Gray clouds clustered at the horizon, undecidedly blocking out the sun. She was debating whether or not she should try escaping again and had finally came up with the idea that she simply needed Jackson's car keys. If she could get those, she'd be all set. Briefly she had mourned the fact that she would be leaving her own car behind, but she knew that there would be no way of getting her own keys. Jackson would have those safely hidden.

But after she escaped… Then what? She would just drive home? What if Jackson came back for her again?

What if she regretted escaping?

It was either that thought that frightened her or threatened her into action. Lisa could hear Jackson shuffling around down in the kitchen, a faint clang as a pan was dropped into the sink. She slowly opened her bedroom door and crept out into the bright wooden hallway. Different paintings lined the walls, each of a different landscape. For a moment Lisa stood and stared at them, and then her mind clicked into furious gear. She would not be a victim any longer. Anger sizzled inside her at that thought. She would not let her inability to hide any longer stop her from escaping.

Lisa didn't even think of Jackson. She didn't even recognize that she would be escaping from him. All she thought of now was getting out of this house, as if it were the cage that was keeping her in. Pride and embarrassment bubbled in her stomach at the weak way she had acted. What had happened to her strength? Lisa didn't know how to be strong without her protection, that little layer of dishonesty. And so now she was putting up a pretense of protection: She was being dishonest with herself instead of with other people.

Now, where would I keep my car keys… She slowly headed across the hall and towards Jackson's office. The door creaked open and Lisa froze, listening. Distantly she could hear Jackson's footsteps leaving the kitchen. Adrenaline shot through her and she darted towards his desk, wrenching open the drawers and searching feverishly through them. Nothing. Dammit! Lisa's mind screamed. She spun to the shelves behind her and there they sat, pristinely, next to… the notebook. Lisa snatched the keys off the shelf and then gasped. Jackson's footsteps had stopped. She heard him knock on her bedroom door and thanked God that she had at least closed it.

"Breakfast," she heard him call curtly. Then there was silence. Please go back downstairs, she thought feverishly. Please, please, please…

"Leese…" More knocking. "Leese, don't make me come in there." Jackson was impatient now. Lisa was frozen. She didn't dare breathe.

"Lisa, I'm giving you one last chance. And then I'm coming in there and things are not going to be pretty."

For reasons unknown to her, Lisa grabbed the notebook off the shelf behind her. She crushed the keys in her fist and crept towards the office door. If Jackson was in her room that would give her time to at least get past him down the hallway. She slowly slipped off her socks and rolled up the bottoms of her jeans, so they wouldn't get in the way of her ability to run. She heard the door wrench open across from hers and another shot of adrenaline sped through her. And then she was wrenching open the office door, and she was shooting down that seemingly never ending hallway. She heard Jackson's startled shout from behind her, but by then she was at the top of the staircase, and freedom was almost hers. She sped down the steps, stumbling slightly, Jackson's light footsteps behind her egging her on.

Lisa had just reached the third to last step when Jackson tackled her from behind. Both went tumbling to the ground and stars popped in front of Lisa's eyes. Jackson inwardly cursed whatever idiotic idea had possessed him to fill his entire house with hardwood. He was angry beyond belief. How dare Lisa try to leave! And damn it all, he didn't want her to—he was—he really was in love with her—he really was. And the black pit in his stomach only grew bigger and angrier as he admitted that he was hurt. After all this time, she still hated him. She really had lied when she said that she loved him. And that thought was what set him off.

The notebook had gone sliding across the floor at Lisa's fall, and she was extremely grateful that she had stuck the car keys in her pocket; otherwise they might be in the same position. Jackson ignored the notebook, even though he had seen it, and grabbed Lisa's wrists and held them above her head.

"You little bitch," he snarled, pinning her down with his body. Disappointment was coursing through his veins and only making him angrier. Lisa's eyes widened fearfully. This was not the Jackson that had cried out against her door only yesterday. Oh, if only she had opened that door! Lisa realized abruptly she would not just be leaving this house, but Jackson as well, and a sick disappointment shot through her.

Jackson lifted up her wrists and slammed them violently back down on the wood again, and Lisa cried out in pain. "What the fuck were you thinking? Even if you would've escaped, I'd have come back for you," he hissed, his eyes wild and almost feral with anger. "It wouldn't have been over, Leese. It'll never be over." He watched the fear in her eyes bloom bigger and bigger and felt sick with himself. He wanted alternately to protect her and hurt her, and at the moment, hurting her was strongest.

Lisa did exactly what she had done a year ago, when she was in this situation before. She spat up at Jackson, and this time, it landed directly in his eye. He gave a jerk and let go of her wrists to reach up and rub his now irritated eye. Lisa didn't waste any time. She brought her fist back as far as she could awkwardly go, lying as she was on the floor, and punched Jackson in the jaw so hard that his teeth clicked. He grunted and instinctively backed off her, and Lisa leapt up. She ignored the notebook and sprinted the last three steps towards the door and yanked it open. Jackson was behind her again, rubbing his bruised jaw. Lisa saw his shiny black Mazda sitting parked near the end of the deck and took off towards it, leaping off the edge of the soft, cherry varnished wood deck and over the patch of lavender that Jackson had kissed her in.

She reached the driver's side door and yanked it open, relief coursing through her. For a moment she had believed that the doors would be locked. Lisa leapt into the car and jammed the keys into the ignition. She was afraid to turn her head, afraid to see Jackson's raging eyes staring at her so hatefully from the outside the window. She turned her face away, in the opposite direction, and that was when she saw him. Instinct geared her into gunning the car and roaring out the driveway, but not before that image was burned into her vision for all eternity.

For Jackson had not chased Lisa all the way to his car, as she had thought. He had stopped at the edge of the porch, the edge where they had shared that kiss, and when Lisa had turned she had seen him still standing there. His black t-shirt was wrinkled and slightly dusty from the wood floor and his hand was on his bruised jaw. Lisa continued on down the driveway, the potholes rattling the car and sending muddy water splashing up and into little droplets on the windows. And still Jackson stood there, staring after her, reflected in the rearview mirror that Lisa couldn't seem to hide from.

Street signs flashed past Lisa as she drove, and it wasn't until after she had passed the McDonald's and the Condominium complex that she realized that she had absolutely no idea where she was. A kind of numbness had stolen over her once again, and she kept seeing Jackson's eyes in her head, and an odd, longing ache was slowly seeping into her. Lisa finally pulled into a Seven-Eleven gas station, not even thinking of what would happen if Jackson caught up with her, her brain reaching the fact that she had escaped and going no further than how she would get back home.

The bell on the gas station door jingled dully as Lisa walked in. Racks of chips, beer, and candy met her eyes, and at the far end of the store, working at the cash register, stood a tall, acne-faced teenaged boy who clicked his tongue ring against his teeth with seemingly every step Lisa took. She hurried towards him, already wanting to get out of this grimy place.

"Excuse me, where is the—uh—main highway out of—out of here?" She wished zit-face would stop clicking that damn tongue ring.

"I-96 is up that way," he said in a lazy, bored tone, pointing vaguely somewhere over his shoulder.

"What way?" asked Lisa, now irritated. "Could you find me a map, please? I need to get to Miami."

"Miami!" Zit-face gave a bark of laughter. "Well, ma'am, you're pretty dang far from there." He paused, mid-tongue ring click, thinking. "I'd say it's about nine hours from Folkston to Miami. Eight if you don't get traffic. Now there's a map over on--"

Lisa felt a vague fear. Folkston. Wasn't that in Georgia? So she really did have no idea where she was. And Jackson could be searching for her at this very moment. And yet she doubted that he really was, after—after—Lisa's mind stopped and jerked back to what zit-face was saying.

"—Past the condominium complex and take a right," he concluded, nodding his head. Lisa's mind jerked back to Jackson again. His house was nearby a Condo complex, wasn't it? No, it actually wasn't, you just drove past it on the way and—

"I'm sorry, what?" Lisa asked distractedly. The youth repeated his directions and Lisa bought a map on her way out. And then she collapsed in Jackson's car and stared at the paper with shaking hands. She had the overwhelming urge to cry, and started the car to keep herself occupied. It wasn't until she had finally figured out the directions on the map and entered the freeway that she realized tears were running quietly and softly down her face.

You never really tried to leave, did you? You were too busy wondering if you were in love with Jackson to even consider it. You never even tried to talk to him, you managed to completely forget the fact that he tried to kill you; in fact the only thing you've questioned is why you were there. And you don't want to know the answer to that question, do you? Do you? Because you know you're still--

Her mind had finally reached its limit and was forced into honesty. People can only ignore their feelings for so long. And when confronted with complete proof of them, it becomes even harder to hide.

Jackson stood on his porch and watched his car disappear quickly down the driveway until it was blotted out by the tall pines. He was paralyzed, his mind making up for the frozen state of his body by zipping through thoughts at a furious speed. His first was to call the police and tell them that his car had been stolen. Lisa would deserve that. But that would only draw attention to the fact that he had kidnapped her… And then Lisa's beaten-up blue Cadillac had appeared from the corner of his eye and he had wanted to crash it into those damn pine trees, those that had stolen Lisa away from him… And then he had hated Lisa, and then he had loved her, and then he had seen her fearful eyes in front of him, and wished he could crush the pain in them and hurt the one who had caused it.

You caused it, you caused it, you caused it! And then Jackson was angry at Lisa for making him feel regret, and his jaw gave an angry twinge as he clenched it. The door handle felt cold and useless in his grip and he wished he could break it into a million pieces. And then there was the notebook, its awful sea-green cover still lying face up on the floor, and doubt swished through his mind. She tried to take that with her when she left, didn't she? Why would she want something of mine while she ran from me? Jackson knelt by the notebook and flipped through the pages. He was surprised to see some dog-eared, as if Lisa had marked them for her own reference. And then he read through what was written on those pages, and a hot flush of embarrassment shot through him. It really was more of a love letter, or, if it existed, an obsession letter. Lisa's face had been described too many times to be considered normal. Each of her little unique habits had been listed, the tone of her voice, even the way she dressed.

Jackson rocked back on his heels and buried his face in his hands. He would do better to leave things as they lay. He had already ruined enough. The stairs creaked underneath him as he made his way to his office, the notebook held gingerly in his hands. And then he saw the haphazardly opened drawers of his desk and Lisa's little balled up socks, still lying on the floor where she had left them, and he kicked the desk drawers closed and screamed every cuss word he knew until his mind could think of no more.

The notebook fell on the floor. Lisa was gone. And he wanted her back. And if she didn't come to him, he would go to her.

Lisa drove on and on until soon ten a.m. had faded to seven p.m., and she was hungry and tired and sad. But if Jackson had driven it all at once, then so could she. Lisa had taught herself not to rely on people. Yet her anger, her strength, and even her pride had disappeared. There was nothing nearby to fuel it, and when Lisa tried to use Jackson, her mind would only switch to that image of him standing on the deck and watching her. And when she tried to feel angry about the way he had slammed her into the wood floor, she could only summon up his oddly desperate eyes and a vague thought of, You gave as good as you got. And that was that. Lisa was forced to admit that even if she didn't want to need Jackson Montgomery, she was forced to need him, to need him to goad her into strength.

The battle had been recognized as a battle. It could no longer be anything more or anything less.