Steal My Life
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Red Eye!
Chapter Eighteen
Jackson hurried into his apartment, his breathing harsh and his clothes covered in blood. He was trembling as he slipped his blood-slicked jacket off and tossed it hastily into the fireplace. He did the same with the rest of his clothes and almost threw his shoes in as well. But he kept the leather out of the fireplace as he started up a fire and burned all of the evidence while he bleached anything he might have inadvertently touched with blood.
As the fire roared, he hopped into the shower and scrubbed all the remaining traces of body from his body, then tossed bleach down the drain to destroy the traces he knew would be left.
I won't be caught. I can't be caught. I didn't mean to hurt anyone.
He killed the fire and once the ashes were cool, he swept the remains of his clothes into a trash bag, which he also tossed trash in to conceal its contents. He spent some time polishing his shoes and scrubbing the floors of his apartment.
In his mind he could see blood everywhere—on the walls, the floors, the ceilings…
Eventually, he crawled on top of his bed, exhausted from his long plane flight, from killing, and from his cleaning spree. Within moments Jackson was sound asleep and nightmare-free.
The next morning, he turned on his TV and the news was blaring the story of a murder. Intrigued, Jackson listened in.
"Twenty-four year old Audra Fielding was found dead in her apartment yesterday afternoon after neighbors reported hearing sounds of a struggle. Miss Fielding was found tied to her bed, beaten, and covered in blood. Cause of death has not yet been determined. Police are searching for anyone who might have seen or heard anything related to the murder. At the moment, they are no official suspects," announced the young reporter.
I got away with it…
An odd sense of relief filled him and he relaxed.
I got away with murder—for the fourth time. Aren't you proud of me, Leese? They can't catch me—they can't keep me from you.
"So, George, how have you been since starting the medication?" Dr. Donovan asked politely a few days later. He was once again seated in an uncomfortable chair to remind him to be on guard.
"It's been better. I'm a little less paranoid about things I know I can't control."
"That's good, although you do seem a little edgy today. Is there some thing that you'd like to talk about?"
Like a fly in a spider's web…
"It's just that… I have the worst luck."
"What do you mean?" the psychiatrist asked curiously as Jackson shifted nervously.
"Did Mr. Smith tell you about what happened to my wife?"
He shook his head. "Only that there was a tragic accident."
Jackson scoffed. "Sure, if you want to call her cheating on me, only to get shot by her lover an accident, then go right ahead."
"What happened to her, George?"
"She was… involved with this man—Andrew something or another—and she was pregnant. It was my son… and he—he killed them both. Shot her… then killed himself… I—I never knew…" he said hoarsely, his voice breaking.
Lying little bitch… thinking that I wouldn't find out—then pleading… Like I'd really forgive her after what she'd done to me—after she betrayed me…
"Sometimes, these things happen. I'm sorry."
"And now, my girlfriend went and got herself killed," he said bitterly.
"Who was she? What happened?"
"Gee, doc, don't you ever watch the news?" Sarcasm infiltrated his voice.
"On occasion."
"Hmph, you should watch it more often—get to know your patients better," suggested Jackson wryly.
"George, do you want to talk about what happened to your girlfriend?"
You mean the bimbo that I fucked? I can't really call her a girlfriend, but whatever you say, doc…
"Only if you do."
"George," Dr. Donovan was trying to remain cool and collected despite Jackson's baiting. "Let's talk about your girlfriend. What happened to her?"
"All I know is that they found her dead the same day I came back from my trip. Apparently it was a bloody mess and her face was bashed in."
"Tell me about your trip. Was it for work?"
"Yes."
"Where did you go?"
"Out of the country," he replied stiffly.
"That's nice. Now, what was her name?" Dr. Donovan seemed to sense that finding out more about his trip was a dead end.
"Audra. Audra Fielding."
"That's a pretty name."
Not nearly as pretty as Lisa…
"It was."
"Do you feel… guilty, George?" Dr. Donovan inquired, his pen poised above his pad of paper, ready to write.
"Sometimes, but mostly, I'm angry. Angry that I wasn't there. That I couldn't have stopped it."
But I was there—I arranged it all. I killed all of them. Don't you see my beautiful plots? Don't you see my genius?
"What makes you think you could have stopped it?"
"I should have been there for them—they were helpless."
"Do you see all females as helpless?"
"Sometimes."
"Was your wife and your girlfriend helpless?"
"Yes."
Stupid little whores…
"If you had been there, when your wife was killed, what would you have done differently?"
"I'd have killed him."
"Do you feel cheated that he died?"
"Of course I do," Jackson said, annoyed. "He killed her and then the coward killed himself!" I wanted to be the one to pull the trigger, to slit their throats… anything but being the passive bystander…
"Does this guilt keep you awake at night?"
"Yeah, it does."
"I'm going to give you some medication to help you sleep. I think expressing your feelings will help make you feel better."
The only thing that'll make me feel better is Lisa. I need Lisa!
"Thanks, doc."
Author's Notes:
Jackson's very good at messing with his therapist and telling him problems without telling him the real problems. In the next chapter, Lisa will bury David. The scene of Audra's death is in You Failed, Jack.
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