Hi. This note is going to be short, as I've already typed one out, but my computer decided that then would be a good time to go kablooey.
P.S. Oh how I love that word. Kablooey.
P.P.S. I tried to get it up yesterday, but my computer wouldn't let me, so no mouldy vegetables!
She should have left him there. She could have called the police. She should have got them to take him away, to lock him back up in that horrible grey building. She should have gone back upstairs, to hide beneath the covers and pray that it was another dream; maybe by morning he would have vanished.
She didn't do any of these things.
Lisa stared at Jackson's prone form in shock. What was he doing here? Had someone else brought him and dumped him on her doorstep? She moved forward a bit and flipped over one of his hands with her slipper, revealing his heavily grazed knuckles. No, he had been the one knocking, she was sure of it. What had happened to him? He looked like he had been completely beaten up, and there was a bloodstained bump forming on his head. She dithered for a moment, before half-carrying, half-dragging him inside.
Then she washed her hands thoroughly, as if by touching him she was filthy.
After that, she paced.
What now?
She had an unconscious man on her sofa. Not only that, but said man was supposed to be in jail, for, among other things, hurting her.
She went back to him and squatted down to look at his head wound. If it had been anyone else, she would have cleaned it or something, but she really didn't want to touch him any more than was absolutely necessary. She got up and paced some more.
She had work in three hours, and she desperately needed some sleep.
What was she going to do?
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Jackson woke up slowly, much slower than usual. He wondered why, then found that it hurt to do so. Ah, so that was it.
He tried to bring his hand up to touch his head, but found that he couldn't. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting as a bright light made his already pounding head give another painful twinge. He seemed to be in someone's living room, one which looked very familiar...
Jackson closed his eyes again, willing the pain to go away. He needed it to, so he could think. Where was he, and how had he got here?
He had been in jail, and then...
Peter had come.
But he had escaped before they could kill him, and he ran.
Where to?
He remembered running blindly at first, ignoring the pain, before his brain had caught up with him and reminded him that he needed a plan.
The only problem was his complete inability to think...
So he kept on running, to the first familiar place which came to his addled mind.
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Lisa couldn't get to sleep.
She had tied the unconscious Jackson's hands and feet firmly (being careful not to touch him, of course), but she still felt like he was going to sneak up on her any second. She sighed, and threw her covers off. Might as well get up and get something to eat.
Urm, so, for the second time I type:
I won't be able to update again for a little while as I am going to FRANCE. Don't worry though, I won't be gone long (it isn't a proper long holiday really, just a quick little jaunt across on the ferry. I'll be back by friday).
PJ
P.S. Did you know that it take 3 times as long to drive to the ferry port from my house than it does to actually go across to France?
Anyway, I have to go, as my little brother is yelling at me. This is never a good sign.
Au revoir!