Chapter 5

Another one of those nights, only this time Lisa wasn't able to sleep at all.

As soon as the first signs of a fullblown panic attack rattled her, she wished she was back in that comatose emotional state she had been in since Keefe left. Lisa could tell this was going to be bad.

When morning dawned, she found herself leaning against the bathroom wall. Her body felt as if it had been hit by a bulldozer but still, her memories gave her no peace. Slowly, Lisa hauled herself off the floor and got in the shower. She felt filthy and the water wasn't hot enough. Only when the pain finally found a way through to her brain did she notice that the water was actually scalding and that patches of her skin had been scrubbed raw.

How would she be able to get through this day? She had to go to work. Part of her wanted to stay in the safety of her own walls, while the old Lisa screamed to get out and do something, to exhaust herself until she was too tired to think.

In the end, she decided to stay at home. Jay and Cynthia would immediately see that something was wrong and Lisa knew she didn't have the strength to lie. If truth be told, she didn't have the strength to do anything. She wrapped herself in her bathrobe and curled up in bed.

Hours went by while she forced herself to relive the ordeal on that red eye flight and the months afterwards up until last night. Whenever it was too hard, she went on anyway, repeating the words "appendectomy scar" like a silent prayer.

Lisa also thought of her grandmother. "Deal with it and move forward." The situation aboard Fresh Air had been the first one she had dealt with head-on since the rape. The funny thing about hitting rock bottom – and she had certainly hit hers in that small airplane bathroom – was that if you were lucky, you realized it could only get better. There was a strange comfort in that thought, no matter how bad you felt. Back then, she had risked all, her life, her father's, for protecting someone else. Could she do it again? Could she risk finding herself back at rock bottom for protecting someone else?

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Washington, present time.

Jackson heard foot steps approach his cell. Marc Whitley, Keefe's chief dungeon master, judging from the slight limp. Whitley was about his age and just as ambitious.

"You know the drill, Rippner."

Jackson stuck his hands through the hole in the door and felt cold metal snap around his wrists. He took a few steps back and waited for the door to open.

"News for me, Whitley?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Whitley just smiled at him, that smug smile Jackson hated so much.

"Whenever you're ready, Marc. I'll just sit down." He turned away.

"She's not coming."

For a moment, Jackson thought he might scream. He was grateful that his back was turned to the other man, this way he could focus on keeping a relaxed posture while grinding his teeth.

Whitley took a few steps around him until they were face to face. "Disappointed, Jackie?"

The bastard.

"You see, Rippner, Keefe was impressed. She has a whole new life, is close to her family and friends, has a better position at the same hotel. She is over you … way ahead of you, boy, I might add."

"Good for her, bad for you."

"Naw, not really. Keefe has ordered some more … tests." Whitley took yet another step closer to him until Jackson could feel the other man's breath on his face. "I must say I'm looking forward to that."

"I suppose you would. Hasn't helped you much so far, though, has it?"

Whitley looked him over for a few more moments. Jackson just stood there, handcuffed, his legs slightly apart and his face relaxed, as if nothing could hurt him. Which wasn't true - Whitley knew that for a fact - but faster than you could say "that son of a bitch" Rippner would flash his trademark shit eating grin again and annoy the hell out of everybody around.

"Oh Jack. Jackie-boy. Have a nice afternoon."

"The same to you, Mr. Whitley, sir. And regards to the wife."

Whitley's eyes narrowed, he had never told Rippner he had a wife and he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. The bastard must have guessed.

When the door closed behind him, Marc Whitley churned out the sweetest voice he was capable of. "By the way, Rippner. I was kidding."

Actual silence. Damn, that felt good.

"About what?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow." That felt even better.

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"Dad, listen. I need to do this." Remembering Keefe's advice to always stick as close to the truth as possible, Lisa added, "Keefe has asked me to come to Washington for something involving what happened a year ago. … No, I can't tell you, I'm sorry."

She wasn't looking forward to having the same discussion with Jay or Cynthia. "Dad, please. Don't worry, okay? I'm gonna be okay and I mean that."

Her father sounded so worried, it broke Lisa's heart. "Lisa, I want you to call me when you get there. I want you to call me whenever you feel like it, day or night, I don't care. Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I need to go."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Call me!"

Lisa hung up the phone.

Once she had decided that she was actually going to go through with it, she had grown restless, angry even. She would deal with him before putting Jackson Rippner's ghost to rest once and for all.

What pissed Lisa off most, though, was the fact that for the last hour or so, she had been standing in front of her closet wondering what the hell you were supposed to pack for an appointment with your ex-kidnapper. In prison.

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Washington, present time.

Fine then.

Whitley couldn't have been kidding about whether they'd interrogate him some more. Jackson knew that his cocky non-reaction to these taunts irritated the guy, so why put himself in that position.

Whitley also wouldn't have been kidding about Leese moving on. For all that idiot knew, Jackson wanted her to feel bad (which he did). He'd never do him the favor of telling him something good.

That could only mean one thing. She was coming.

Jackson smiled.