Chapter 2

Lisa unlocked the door to her appartment and after a split second of standing absolutely still, pushed it open and stepped inside. During the first few weeks after the red eye flight, she had sometimes spent minutes staring at the door while trying to muster up the courage to enter her home.

The reflection in the hallway mirror looked back at her with pensive eyes. Absentmindedly Lisa touched her hair which she now wore in a short bob barely long enough to tuck the bangs behind her ears.

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For the third time this week Cynthia and Jay had come over to spend the evening with her and yet again, Lisa found herself unable to stop talking about Jackson Rippner. It was like a rut she could not for the life of her break out of. Compulsively, she had to keep going through the motions from facts to feelings to miniscule details that made her angry.

"You know, this whole thing reminds me of a bad breakup," Cynthia pondered. Noticing the incredulous look Lisa shot her, she quickly added, "Think about it. You meet a guy who seems nice and funny and interesting only to find yourself heart- broken and angry in the end… just on a much larger scale."

Jay perked up, "Been there, done that. Great guys turned evil is the story of my life. Now, what do we do after a bad breakup? We shop and we get a new haircut and we get hammered out of our minds. TC, honey, you have got yourself a date."

The following Saturday Lisa watched thick, auburn strands drop to the floor and with the weight of her hair, Jackson Rippner's weight on her mind seemed to ease up a little, as well.

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Lisa could tell this was going to be one of those bad nights. With the support of her family and friends she had come far, farther than she had actually thought she ever would, but she still had a long way to go. Sometimes she wondered if she was ever going to make it.

It was impossible to look into her apartment from the outside, yet she always kept the blinds drawn and her windows shut. There was the constant struggle not to fall back into the old traps of denial and overcompensation through her job. Dating was out of the question, she had tried it, but it never worked out. Lisa was having a hard enough time with letting – and keeping – her guard down with the people she KNEW cared about her … with strangers, it was still too hard. Lesson learned, thank you very much.

She lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. Life had a funny way of painfully flicking your ear. Lisa had tried so unbelievably hard to live nana's motto of "always move forward", but it had taken a terrorist to make her see she was lying to herself. In truth, nana's motto had been "deal with it and move forward". And dealt with him she had, now for the moving forward.

On good nights, Lisa drifted off to sleep relatively quickly after the relaxation exercises her therapist had recommended and didn't wake up once. On bad nights like this one, however, she snapped awake at 3 a.m. to the feeling of being slowly suffocated.

Lisa tried to fight it for a while, but eventually gave in and got out of bed. She paced the apartment, back and forth, back and forth, trying to shake the memory of cold blue eyes that burned into her. Faster and faster, sounds and fragments hammered against her skull in a terrifying whirly reel until she thought she might burst from the pressure.

"Leese …"

Blinding pain, darkness.

"Well, suck it up."

A car smashing through a glass door.

"We'll talk again."

The thud of her body crashing to the floor.

"We'll talk again."

No. NO. They wouldn't talk again. Jackson Rippner was dead.

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"Ms. Reisert, thank you for your time." Keefe shook her hand and waited politely at the doorstep until she mentioned for him to come in. One bodyguard accompanied him inside, the other kept his post at the door.

Once they were settled in the living room in her old apartment, a month after she had saved his and his family's life, the Chief of Homeland Security leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye. "I'll come right to the point. Jackson Rippner has died last night from complications of his internal injuries. I wanted to tell you in person."

It was as if someone had wiped Lisa clear of all thought and emotion. Reflexes still worked, though, as she managed a flat "thank you" after a few seconds.

"He didn't regain consciousness except for brief periods and even then he wasn't much help. He could hardly talk." Keefe smiled warmly, with just the faintest touch of grim satisfaction. He lightly touched her arm before he pulled out a file and a note.

"Ms. Reisert … I don't know if this helps. It might … for closure. Rippner's body was cremated and the ashes buried in an unmarked grave at the State Penitentiary. This is a pass with directions, if you ever feel you want to go."

Mechanically, Lisa took the piece of paper and starting toying with its edges.

"And this is the official notification of death I received. Would you like to …?" This time, he didn't hand her the file, but waited until she reached for it.

Lisa's eyes scanned the document: size, weight, particular characteristics. A lot of medical jargon that she did not comprehend except for "appendectomy scar".

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It was always this "appendectomy scar" that seemed to pave the way back into a quieter state of mind in those restless nights. Jackson Rippner hadn't been a devil, he hadn't been all powerful and invincible. He had been human and she had beaten him.

Two weeks after Keefe had told her, Lisa and her father had visited the site. Side by side they had looked down at grave number 312, each caught in their own world for what seemed like hours.

Finally, her father's gaze rested on her. "How do you feel?"

"I want a headstone." Lisa's voice had been raw, broken. "I want a headstone that says 'Here lies Jackson Rippner, definitely dead and can never come back'." Tears in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks, but she hadn't noticed. "I want to claw through the earth, rip open that urn and run my fingers through his ashes. THIS is how I feel."

For a few more minutes they had stared at the ground until her father carefully, tenderly enwrapped her in a hug.

The next day, Lisa had started therapy.

And now here she was. A year after the red eye flight at 5 a.m. in the morning, Lisa felt the trembling subside slowly. It was like diving up from the bottom of the ocean, choking and flailing, sounds becoming distinctive, seeing the light dance from above until she was back at the surface, gasping for air.

With a quiet sigh she turned off all the lights and crept back into bed - at least she hadn't pigged out on scrambled eggs this time. The thought seemed to travel from her brain straight into her stomach which growled in return.

Damnit!