Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's note: Oh dear, here it is - the last full chapter (epilogue will be up next week). I'm REALLY nervous about it, too, so without further ado ...
Chapter 40
"I'm … I'm sure my family's worried about me."
Without breaking his stride, Jackson unceremoniously punched a few keys on his cell. "That should take care of it."
"'That should take care of it'? Couldn't you call Whitley? Let me talk to him?"
"Leese, I'm hurt, I'm tired, I'm working." He put his phone away. "And I'm not quite in the mood for another round of Jackson Justifies Himself." Jackson smirked. "It's a widely popular game, especially with Whitley. The man's got issues."
"Well, it takes one to kn-"
"Ah, the wittiness continues. You see, whenever I have been stabbed … or shot at … or beaten up and you are the reason, I just lean back, smiling to myself, because what really makes it worth it all are your oh so delightful, charming replies."
"May I gently remind you," Lisa flicked at him, "that you were the one who asked for my participation in this mission?"
"No, what I asked for was 'Cut her vocal cords and send her over'. Nobody listened."
"You poor thing, you." Humming softly, Lisa tugged at the bandage on her shoulder.
With a rather dramatic pout, Jackson fingered the bruises on his head and feigned a limp. "Thanks."
It was their first exchange in about an hour since they had left the site of Forbish's death. For the most part, Jackson had stalked through the woods, almost as if he wanted to punish the ground at his feet for whatever was haunting him. Trying to keep up in more ways than one, Lisa had tripped and fallen, momentarily spellbound to the feeling of loneliness that was gnawing at her heart. She could have sworn he was cursing her under his breath when he pulled her up; too exhausted to build any walls, Lisa had met his glare openly, wishing Jackson could let it go. The change in him had been subtle, but permanent. Instead of charging ahead, he had gradually slowed down until they were walking side by side again, soon sharing the same rhythm once more. And eventually, the onerous clouds had drifted away.
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Jackson consulted the map. "In about fifteen minutes we'll reach a little town."
"What exactly will we do there? Steal a car? What about Whitley? Won't he keep the roads under surveillance? Police checkpoints, whatever." Lisa fiddled with her hair, a myriad of worries wrestling in her mind. "He definitely wants you back in custody."
Something about his dismissive shrug was a little off. "Consider yourself kidnapped."
"No one's gonna buy that, Jackson."
"Pray tell, why not?" How well she remembered that tone.
"I'm not stupid, Jackson," Lisa glowered. "You and your darling files were valuable enough for Keefe and Whitley to pursue the deal, regardless." Her voice softened. "The rescue operation was a bonus – they couldn't have forced you into it against your own wishes. Whitley's never going to believe you'd be willing to hurt me now."
Without a doubt, Jackson was shocked – her keen insight, the sentiment itself … maybe a combination of the two. Without a doubt, it made him uncomfortable. "Got me all figured out, Leese?" What the cape was to Batman, sarcasm was to Jackson; he could cloak himself at the drop of a hat.
"Jesus, relax! What I meant -"
"You're right." Her surprise must have shown; Jackson raised his eyes to the sky in what she perceived as a desperate plea for divine help with this vexatious woman. Lisa simply itched to make a joke about how he might want to look down, actually, then reconsidered. "I'll give you that, okay? Don't push it, Leese."
"I don't even want to push it!" Sternly reminding herself of the olive branch he had just extended, Lisa added, "I was only worried for … I was worried, that's all."
Jackson nodded slowly as a small grin slithered across his lips. "Who would have thought, huh?" His teasing words put them both on the spot and he knew it; Lisa couldn't help but envy him for his ease or rather, his ability to appear at ease with it. "However, in all likelihood Whitley's far too busy at the moment to organize a full search for me, so I suggest we stick to the plan – find a car and get out of here."
Lisa giggled at the 'find' in 'find a car' and carefully followed him down the slope. "What about Cherry?"
"She's a capable woman – and she's armed." Jackson helped her across a slippery patch of leaves. "Were I a gambling man, I'd bet you a lot of money that she's already gone. By the way," he handed her a small disk, "give this to Whitley."
"The Forbish files." Lisa briefly contemplated the shiny little thing before she shoved it into the side pocket of her pants, suppressing the overwhelming urge to spit on it.
They didn't talk any more until they had reached their destination. For once, Lady Luck decided to treat them kindly as they crept around the town's outskirts; a family had packed up for what was clearly a weekend trip, providing them access to an empty house and – more importantly – access to a car which would not be missed for at least another two days. An hour later, Lisa and Jackson were showered, dressed and comfortable in a snug, red Subaru, listening to the radio.
His stubborn muteness eroded Lisa's patience by the minute. "Where are we going?"
Jackson toyed with the fluffy dice dangling from the mirror. "A safe house. Last one."
"Where exactly?"
"Leese …"
"Nuh-uh, Jackson," Lisa bristled at him. "You owe me -"
"I owe you?" He snorted, tossing the dice onto the backseat. "I saved your life."
"And I yours, let's not forget about that."
"You also tried to stab me … to shoot me ..."
"Alright, if we're gonna go down that road, I'll throw in our entire first encounter."
No reply. Taking a left turn, Jackson suddenly cracked up. "Call it even?"
It made her laugh. "So?"
"So what?"
"Where. Are. We. Going? And don't you dare answer that with 'A safe house. Last one.' or I'll clock you, I swear."
That made him laugh and for a moment, Lisa was amazed at how much fun she had. "Norfolk area. It's on the beach." His exaggerated sigh mocked her. "There, happy?"
"Why yes, thank you," she quipped, beaming at him. "Okay, was that so hard?"
Jackson shot her a quick smile that didn't quite disguise the warning underneath. Then again, it was probably not meant to, either. "I am more than confident I can dig up a couple of questions that'll make you uncomfortable. Wanna play?"
Fun or no fun, Lisa felt weary to push the envelope any further. Their easy banter, their harmless jibes at a common history, had carried her closer to the surface, granting her a glimpse at a different Lisa. Too serious for too long, the weight of her past had worn her threadbare. Why not choose laughter over battle for a change?
The beach. How fitting that her journey should end there.
"A penny for your thoughts."
Her attempt to crack a joke fell flat at the sight of Jackson's encouraging expression. Lisa leaned against the head rest, drawing a deep breath which she held in her lungs as long as she could, and told him. She told him about how it was to be made a victim, about the agony of being trapped in the undertow of one's own memories, about how despite of – or because of? - all her struggles, the current would always threaten to suck her down. There were neither sobs nor accusations, only her curiously steady voice and the oddest sensation that somehow, she was making peace with it. She was making peace with him. No longer the man she had met at the TexMex, he had also come a long way from the violent stranger who had tormented her this eternity ago.
They stopped at a railroad crossing and a passing freighter gently rocked their car. Opinions about Jackson Rippner varied wildly, but one thing he was not – a coward. The moving spectacle outside the window provided the perfect excuse not to meet her gaze; still, he kept his attention firmly on her, having twisted in his seat to face her straight-on. Making no effort whatsoever to justify his actions, Jackson calmly listened to her story and, Lisa was sure of it, he genuinely tried to understand.
After the last words had left her mouth, her heart, Lisa tore herself away from the blue vortex of his stare, rescued by the clear chime of the bell.
Jackson lightly brushed her shoulder, secured a bandage that needed no securing. "The ocean is a big, scary place, Leese, give yourself some credit – you're a better swimmer than most." He waited until she peered at him before he took away his hand; a shadow of amusement glossed his eyes. "Trust me, I'm a shark. I know."
Lisa guffawed. "That's an unusual compliment."
"A compliment nonetheless. Look, I can't undo any of these things. And any promise that what happened might never come back to hurt you," Jackson exhaled slowly, "would be a lie. In all honesty, Leese, I wish I could promise, but I can't."
There it was. Lisa bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood. Jackson dropped something silver into her lap and she examined it through a sheer curtain of tears.
"If, for some reason, the shit hits the fan, you hightail it to Credit Suisse International in Miami. This key opens safe deposit box number 350942. Repeat."
What? "350942."
"It's safe to assume the Sarah Maria Lake alias has gone bust, so I have arranged another identity for you." Jackson shifted from Park to Drive. "You'll find all necessary ID, as well as some cash and credit cards. Also, directions to -"
"To you?"
The short, heavy silence was humming with unspoken truths. "I haven't made up my mind about that yet." Jackson stepped on the gas and the car rolled across the tracks with a soft thump-thump-thump-thump. "You will find directions on how to leave the country, what to do. And keep that deposit box a secret, Leese."
"I will."
"I'm serious. Never talk to anyone about it – not to your family, friends, especially to no one with a badge. This is your life insurance, your sole means of escape from danger. Not a single soul except us can be aware of that identity. You hear me?"
It wasn't so much what he said, but what he didn't say. I accept, Jackson. "Yes."
Lisa watched Jackson's pulse throb in the vein on his temple. "Good." He relaxed visibly, fingers tracing the rumpled leather of the steering wheel. "Good."
They each tackled their own dilemmas after that. Lisa determined she would never make a decent spy, because even though the outside world was right there, she was unable to focus on it, nor did she care. A dull numbness blunted the inner turmoil of hope, relief, longing and the occasional, inexplicable pang of regret throwing a party in her guts. She slumped into her seat in a hazy trance that lasted for hours and only ended when, long past midnight, they finally arrived at their destination.
'A safe house', he had called it. In reality, it merely shaped up to a half-desolate safe hut on a lonely stretch of beach. The sour, salty tang of the sea had penetrated every inch, every fiber, stirring a faint headache as soon as Lisa entered the gloomy room through a chipped old door. Jackson pointed at a single bed in the corner.
"In case you're sleepy." Jackson shrugged, dimples forming in his cheeks. "I'm afraid I'm a little short on girly bedding details. Can you live without throw pillows?"
Lisa tentatively poked the mattress; it was hard and damp. "Where are you …?"
"I need to take care of some things first. Afterwards we'll see."
She stole a sidelong glance at him from underneath lowered lashes. Jackson stood upright, alert, yet he had an air of exhaustion about him, smacking of the same kind of steely resolve Lisa remembered from her own days in competitive sports. The home stretch for you, isn't it? Pity came knocking. "There's room for two," she blurted out. The incredulous twitch of his brows made her face prickle with embarrassment; Lisa's fingers absentmindedly touched the scar underneath her shirt as she mimicked a laugh. "Hey, no worries about my virtue, Jackson, it's been ta-"
In a flash Jackson had clamped his hand around hers, yanking it down so forcefully, Lisa tumbled two hurried steps towards him to regain her balance. "That's a stupid joke," he hissed, lightening crackling in his voice. For a panicked second she feared he might push her, but Jackson released her at once, letting go of her wrist very much like one would fling away a bucket of radioactive waste. "Don't you ever, Leese … not with me, you got that? You … damnit, Leese." He stomped out to the car.
Lisa sat down on the bed whose rusty springs creaked dismally in response; part of her wanted to check for smoking holes his furious glare had burnt into her skin. What happened? Unfortunately, the answer to that question would certainly not materialize in here. With a hollow, shaky breath, Lisa hauled herself up just as Jackson returned, slammed the door and bridged the distance between them in long, angry strides. His posture was chillingly tense, contempt working his jaw muscles.
"I'm sorry," they both ground out at the same time. The atmosphere shifted.
"Thanks for the offer." A thin layer of control kept whatever was still raging within from bursting free. "Go to sleep, you're tired and you're not thinking straight."
"Listen, I didn't mean to …" God, this was difficult. "I know you're not …"
"Do you now?"
"Give me a break, Jackson, okay?" Lisa rubbed at a non-existent stain on her palm. "It's hard to … be nice to you. Yes, the joke may have been stupid, fine, I'll admit to that. Either way, it was a joke and you overreacted. In quite the scary manner."
"Point taken." A glint of honest sympathy in Jackson's tone – sometimes she hated how he could see right through her - and then back on the relentless hunt in the frame of an instant. "Frankly, it annoys me to no end that you seem to continue belittling yourself for something that wasn't your fault to begin with. Despite how old it's getting," he chided her, "I'm used to your reluctance as far as I am concerned. Still, that whole self-deprecating horse-and-pony-show pisses me off."
Lisa squared her shoulders. "That hurt."
Jackson's dismissive head tilt spelled out something along the lines of 'an eye for an eye, Leese'. "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." He snickered, goading her on. "Where's that quote from?"
Without a moment's hesitation, she spoke up. "The Princess Bride. Ha!"
"Thatta girl." If asked, Lisa would probably pick this one as her favorite facial expression of his. Jackson's grin was a bit on the sly side, still a tad too shrewd to be strictly boyish, though clearly pleased with her and highly contagious; she had seen much of it lately. Born a charmer, indeed. "Your prize: a cozy blanket from the car."
Fifteen minutes later, Lisa curled up on the mattress, observing Jackson through the window as he talked animatedly on his cell. His body language was a far cry from a sweet lullaby, yet she felt her lids droop, felt the exhaustion loosen her limbs one by one, cradled by the notion of safety in his presence. Soon, Lisa was asleep.
She awoke to the low murmur of whispered words into her hair.
"… still owe you an answer, Leese, and I always settle my debts. You once asked me why I got you involved in the first place."
So now it was her turn to accept his story without comment. Lisa maneuvered and adjusted herself against the wall; Jackson lay close, very close, but she didn't mind. There was no telling whether he felt surprise or mirth at finding her awake. Lisa let herself be witnessed through his eyes, listened to him describe their first meeting in Keefe's prison all the way to her indignant demands before she had complied.
"Oh, I hadn't forgotten that you were a bitch, only what a magnificent bitch you were. And you're totally clueless about it. What I told you then was true – I had wanted to see you so I could put something behind me. It panned out differently than I had planned … a common occurrence around you. Instead of revealing you as a fluke, a mere one-hit-wonder, it advertised the fact that maybe you were not."
Jackson steadily held her gaze as he continued. "I didn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. To cut to the chase, I'll put it candidly: what started as an attempt to prove that you weren't up to the task, that you would break, turned into a quest to prove that you made a worthy adversary. Worthy enough for having beaten me in our initial sparring match fair and square. Of course, things never are that simple with you. You're a challenge, Leese, a challenge by sheer fucking existence. It drove me crazy … and sparked my curiosity." He chuckled, a dry sound grating with reluctant approval. "Before you inquire as to the when and how of that particular issue, I'll let you in on a little secret: sometimes even I don't have all the answers. I'm pretty sure you're ecstatic to learn that I haven't ceased to be … curious."
The fraction of an inch short of touching the fabric of his stolen shirt, Lisa hesitated. "Smartass." Fingertips carefully grazing soft cotton. "You know I am."
Whatever she had expected, it most definitely wasn't this – Jackson pulled back, fast, almost as if she were a hazard to him; the mattress squealed as he got up. Disappointment strangled the heartbeat hammering in the base of her throat and Lisa stiffly stalked over to the window where she massaged her drowsy muscles in jerky circles. Leave. Rid yourself of me, so you can finally stop being … 'curious'. Suddenly his body was right behind her, chest pressed into her back, a vehement grip digging into the soft flesh of her upper arms. Jackson breathed into her neck.
"Should you ever need me, Leese, use the key and you'll find me. I promise."
All she could do was blink the tears away.
All she could do was shiver from the cold after he had released her – unwillingly, that much Lisa realized. A boat approached, its shape wavering against the greyish pre-dawn sky, an eerie apparition forming out of the billowing wafts of rolling fog. Jackson straightened and put something in her hand. His phone. Was her skin as cool as his? Had she imagined the weightless brush of his lips along her temple? Could she not look at him at all? The sharp click of the closing door thundered in her ears.
Lisa watched him cross the planks to the boat, followed his every move from afar. Her legs carried her outside, sand crunching underneath the soles of her feet.
Had this been a romance novel, the sun would have come up this very instant, bathing them and the sea in the bright hope of a new day. Jackson would have smiled – and what a smile he had, radiant, mischievous - and she would have cried.
But it wasn't like that.
Lisa winced at the greedy, freezing water lapping at her toes as she stepped forward, drawn to his lonely figure leaning against the railing. They locked eyes for one infinite second, then the morning mist swallowed him up and Jackson was gone.
"Good luck!"
Too late; he couldn't have heard her.
A dim awareness thickened her blood. It idly crawled through her veins, into her chest, where it stayed until her heart spilled over, thudding with pounding sadness.
Good luck, Jackson.
Lisa turned and mechanically treaded back to the house. Time to call her dad.