Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's note: Thank you all so much for the great feedback I have received; I'm sorry I couldn't answer until today, but I was out of town. To make up for it, here's chapter 32 - I hope you guys like it. Even if you don't, please let me know, I'm always open for constructive critism! 'Nuff said.
Chapter 32
Jackson didn't miss a beat. "What is she supposed to tell you? Stories from the past?"
"Don't think I'm stupid, Rippner. I know everything."
"Really? Everything? So if Train A leaves the station at 2 p.m. with 50 miles an hour and Train B -"
What on earth was he doing! Jackson kept tossing her quick, hidden glances and Lisa was unable to decipher their exact meaning. She guessed he was probably signaling her to be quiet, but … this was her family Laritt was talking about!
"Shut. UP!" Laritt clenched his fists, jaw set. "You have done nothing but evade the whole Reisert topic. Do you think I'm blind?"
Lisa was close to a break-down. Laritt was lying; despite his claims to the contrary he was completely in the dark about the exact nature of their operation, needling them for clues. All she wanted was to scream out whatever he needed to hear, yet she was unable, paralyzed by a nightmarish stupor. He's a liar. They're okay. Don't listen to him.
"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer. Leave now before I lose my patience."
"Oh, I'm tired of your bullshit, too, Rippner, make no mistake about it. These people are a danger to our work and will be taken care of – by me. Let me assure you that I will communicate this fact accordingly."
For the split fraction of a second, a shadow passed over Jackson's face, but it was gone so fast, Lisa considered it a simple trick of her imagination. "Is that what it is? Is that all you require?" A buddhist monk would have lost his temper at Jackson's contemptuous tone that reigned over the conversation once again.
Laritt snickered. "I require nothing, but the clients do. They require the old Jackson Rippner, the one with the inside sources and the attentiveness to detail."
Jackson grinned and opened his arms wide. "He's right here. Hello."
"No, what's right here is someone a tad too much on the shady side. And that's saying something, considering our line of work. Trust me, that info's going out."
"Personal issues clouding our judgment much?" Jackson's eyes traveled over Lisa's huddled form that was twitching with anxiety. "You want attentiveness to detail? There's a red folder on my desk."
Laritt opened the folder and paused, mouth agape. "Where did you get these?"
"The pictures? I took them."
"What do you mean, 'you took them'?"
Lisa frowned in confusion. Whatever Jackson had managed to pull of, it had shaken Laritt to the core. Would it be enough to throw him off her family's scent?
"When did you -" Laritt was struggling with his composure, losing the fight.
"Tonight, before your dog got the chance to do it. You see, Laritt, once again, you only come in second place."
What? The world started to turn upside down and Lisa swayed, blood thundering in her ears. No. That couldn't be.
"Your fan club has been busy." … "One wrong word into the wrong ear will absolutely kill us, Leese. They have to stop immediately." … "I'm working on it."
No. That absolutely couldn't be, it just wasn't possible. He wouldn't. Would he?
"However, for the sake of the argument," he drew out the words, "let's agree that I would never intentionally hurt you unless there was absolutely no other way. And that's the best I can do."
Jackson shrugged. "So let's just agree that your 'problem' has been taken care of and I'm still on top of the game."
His carefree, confident attitude almost sent her over the brink. "My … my family?"
Lisa's entire field of vision narrowed down to Jackson's face.
"I killed them, Leese."
"… let's agree that I would never intentionally hurt you unless there was absolutely no other way …"
The small remains of doubt that had so stubbornly held on to her heart scattered like ashes in the wind, taking the last of her hope with them. Not his words – calm, unaffected – but rather his expression had her convinced. For the first time since Lisa had met him, Jackson Rippner was truly and honestly sorry. She fainted.
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A hand cradled her head while cool fingers carefully brushed the hair out of her face, slowly following an invisible trail along her temple, down her cheek. In what Lisa decided was going to be the last illusion she would ever grant herself, she imagined it was her father's hand that was touching her and for a moment, she lost herself.
He tugged at the straps of her backpack. "Lisa?"
The perversion of it almost made her gag, but she lay still, unmoving. He had never called her that, to Jackson she had always been Leese. Bitterness raged through her like a firestorm, burning her black and barren. Leese – or Lisa, for that matter - did not exist anymore, her soul had died with … them. All that was left was an empty shell that would forever pay for its mistakes. Not alone, though. Closer. Come closer.
Something was prickling in her palm. Her own fingernails had broken through the skin, but Lisa didn't loosen her grip on the knife. It seemed to whisper to her, entice her, and in dreamy rapture, she listened to its commands with every fiber of her body. Just a lit-tle closer.
Lisa opened her eyes, taking in Jackson who was crouching in front of her, a face full of words. She didn't want to hear any of them. She moaned, lifting one hand as if to hold on to him and he reached out to help her up. That was when she struck. She swung her arm in a tight circle, the sheen of the silvery blade catching a ray of light. It gleamed like a holy relic and Lisa made a promise to honor its Gods with blood. The flow of time slowed down into a viscid stream, driven by the steady beats of her heart.
It must have been animal instincts paired with years and years of training. Emitting a short gasp, Jackson pushed her away, the momentum sending him backwards. Instead of cutting him to the bone, the knife merely grazed him, ripping through his shirt and painting a fine red line across his chest. "Fucking hell, Leese!" He scrambled to his feet.
Lisa got up swiftly, gracefully. He may have animal instincts, but she was the animal. Step, boost, accelerate. She propelled forward, knife slicing the air in front of her as she charged. Jackson had regained his balance and stepped out of her way.
"Leese, stop it!"
She went after him in short, quick strides. Minutes ago, Lisa had believed herself to be empty, numb; now she knew that was untrue. There was hate. There was fury. It threatened to suffocate her until the only way to breathe was to move, to attack. The blade in her hand was singing as she lunged, up, down, side to side, forcing Jackson to dance to its melody. No turning back now.
"Stop it now, damnit! You -"
Interrupted by another slash that found his forearm, Jackson cursed and jumped back several steps. If he had had the time, he might have gazed at the blood dripping down his wrist in confounded disbelief, but he had none. Lisa followed him relentlessly and without mercy. His threats could not scare her any longer. She was already dead, only her body had not yet caught on to the fact.
"Put the knife down! NOW! I don't want to hurt you!"
Her answer was a dash in his direction, the knife aimed at his throat at the end of an outstretched arm. Jackson let her come close, then smacked her wrist aside with brute force. Before she could react, he gave her a jab that had her flying across the room, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to find her footing. A split second later, Jackson was already on her again, sending Lisa to the floor with a push.
His breath was labored. "Last. Chance. Leese. Listen to me! I have -"
She kicked at his feet. He stumbled and finally collapsed as she tackled him clumsily. Going down together, Lisa's hand found the sides of his head and she whacked it against the carpet. Jackson's eyes rolled back, a low groan rumbling in his throat. Lisa stradled him, knees firmly planted on his arms as she pulled his knife from its sheath on the belt and raised it slowly. He calmly watched on through half-closed lids, awaiting the execution of his sentence with the faint trace of a smile settled in the corners of his mouth.