Chapter 3 is finally up! Thank you so so much to all of you who reviewed! Again, I'm Wes Craven, and I have Cillian Murphy locked in my basement on reserve for all future projects. Autographs will be sent to those who review. :D

Chapter 3: Road to Somewhere

Lisa sat in the public library. Her auburn hair was now chopped short, cut to pieces by her own hand at another rest stop outside Atlanta. It had been an embarrassing ordeal- Lisa had taken pride in her hair, and every snip of the scissors was like a tiny death. She felt pathetic for mourning over some lost hair when her father was probably in a cold drawer of the morgue, but it was what it was

She had made it into Atlanta a few hours ago, stopping first at a small strip mall. She purchased some nondescript clothing- jeans and hoodies. She was overheated, but she couldn't wear t-shirts or tank tops and reveal the bandages on her shoulder. She had re-wrapped her wound with a fresh bandage, but not without difficulty. She was finding it difficult to move the joint without sending sharp pains up and down her arm. Keeping the wound as clean as possible was all could really do, though. That and take as much extra strength Tylenol as allowed without overdosing.

She had a goal now: she had to find Jackson. Problem was, she didn't know where to even start. She doubted he would be listed in the White Pages. For all she knew, Jackson Rippner was another alias. She doubted that, though, because why bother to give her a different alias than the one he was already using? She couldn't look for Jim or James Richards. Even if it was the name Jackson went by, it was way too common a name to look for.

Here goes nothing. Lisa pulled up Google, and typed Jackson Rippner into the search engine. She skimmed over the usual MySpace, Facebook, and LinkedIn ads. Jackson would have none of those, she knew. She was looking for something older. If it really was his name, she doubted anything from the last ten years would really be of use.

Five pages in, Lisa's eyes fell on a link and summary that gave her some hope. St. Croix High School Boys' Swim Team State Champions. Jackson Rippner was highlighted in bold in the summary as well as the last name of a Caleb Rippner. She clicked the link. The article was from 2000. She did the math in her head. It was probable that Jackson was in his late 20's now, so he would have been in high school back in 2000. She squinted at the photo accompanying the story. The caption read Jackson Rippner, but since the figure was mid-breaststroke and was wearing goggles, it was difficult to tell if he was the same man she had fired a gun at.

Lisa couldn't help but smile a little at the idea of the cold man who had shoved her up against a bathroom wall with his fingers wrapped around her throat being a small hometown boy, a swimming hero. She giggled softly, imagining him walking through the hallways of his high school in a letter jacket, some blonde cheerleader on his arm. It's better than chess champion, I guess...

She frowned a bit, remembering the summary accompanying the link. Caleb Rippner? She skimmed the story, reading about how Jackson Rippner, a senior at St. Croix High School in Roberts, Wisconsin, had helped lead the team to victory along with his brother Caleb, also a senior. Probably twins. She wondered if they were fraternal or identical. She couldn't help but shudder at the idea of two sets of those eyes in the world.

She pulled up the online directory and entered Caleb Rippner, leaving the rest of the fields blank. It was a long shot, but how many Caleb Rippners could there be in the country? Apparently, there was one. Caleb and Cheryl Rippner, 4326 Pheasant Ln, North Oaks, Minnesota. -She scribbled down the address and the 651-247-5439 phone number going with it. Minnesota was close to Wisconsin...it was possible. She shook her head. She was crazy if she thought Jackson was going to be that easy to find. It was probably a different Caleb, and even if it was the same Caleb, who was to say he would tell her how to find Jackson or if he would even know? Did she have any choice other than to try?

Lisa moved away from the computer and turned it off, grabbing her paper. She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone before remembering that it was dead. She scowled. If the police had been able to find Jackson's dead cell phone in the SUV she had stolen, none of this would have happened. But as luck would have it, the phone had mysteriously vanished. Of course. She figured Jackson must have grabbed it before he confronted her in the house, but good luck convincing the authorities of that. They said they found no cell phone on "Jim Richards" and chalked it up to one more lie.

Lisa walked over to the library pay phone instead, pulling money from her purse. She dropped change into the machine and dialed the number. She leaned against the wall with her head dropped as she listened to the phone ring, the bill of her Yankees cap covering her head.

Internally, she crossed every finger and toe and prayed to any God that might exist that someone would answer on the other line and give her the information that she wanted. She couldn't even let herself think of the odds as the phone rang again. And again. And-

"Hello?" A familiar voice on the other end pulled Lisa from her despair and simultaneously sent a shiver through her spine. So close, yet not quite.

"Um...yes," she stuttered, trying to get a grip, "I'm looking for Caleb Rippner, please."

"Who is this?" the voice asked, slight suspicion in his voice. He probably thought she was a telemarketer or something, but she knew who he was. The voice she was talking definitely belonged to someone related to Jackson.

"This is Lisa Reisert." Silence. "I was wondering if you could help me find Jackson, Mr. Rippner."

"I'm sorry, Miss Reisert," the voice replied after a short pause, obviously shaken. "I think you have the wrong number. Good-bye."

"No, wait!" Lisa choked into the phone, bobbing as her knees almost gave out from under her. She knew she was right, and this man was the only one who could help her now. She clutched the phone with both hands. "My dad is dead! Keefe is after me because of your brother, and I know it sounds stupid, but I need his help! I don't want to hurt him or get revenge..." She was talking quickly and frantically, but still trying to stay quiet to avoid attracting attention. "I just need his help. Please." A tear streaked down her cheek on the last word as she pleaded with this man to give her what she needed.

"Look, Leese," the man replied with a frustrated sigh after another moment of silence. Lisa's eyes lit up at the familiar nickname. He had spoken to Jackson! How else would he know the name? Maybe he would help her after all. "I don't know what you're talking about or how I can help-" Lisa let out a small sob of despair. No, he wasn't going to help her. "-but if you're running from the government, I would recommend you get rid of your cell phone."

Lisa cocked her head to the side. She reached in her purse, fingering her cell phone before dropping it in the trash can next to her. "I did," she managed, her voice meek.

"Good girl," he soothed, and Lisa felt that same pang of familiarity. "Now, I can't help you...but Greyhound might be able to." With that, the line went dead. Lisa softly set the receiver back on its cradle. She offered silent word of thanks to the gods and headed for the door, slipping the paper with Caleb's address and phone number into her jeans. She walked to the SUV in the parking lot and grabbed the duffel bag from the backseat containing her recent purchases. She locked the SUV doors and tossed the keys onto the driver's seat before shutting them inside. She glanced behind her to make sure no one was watching before heading down the street.

Lisa stopped at the first ATM she could find and withdrew $200 at a time until she had $2000 in her hand. She hailed a taxi, directing him to the Greyhound station. She didn't dare withdraw more money at the ATM, not wanting the feds to be able trace her directly to the station.

She purchased a ticket to St Paul and boarded the bus. She would be in Minnesota by tomorrow. She had no idea where North Oaks even was, but she was sure once she got to the state, it couldn't be that hard to find. She had made it far enough that getting from one town to another seemed like such a non issue.

Lisa took a seat on the very back of the bus, trying to blend in completely with her background. She dropped her bag next to her, hoping that the bus wouldn't fill up and no one would be sitting next to her. She wasn't stupid; she knew her face was all over the news. Her prayers were answered when the bus pulled away and the seat was still empty except for her bag. Why don't I feel any better?

Maybe she was stupid. She was trapping herself on a bus for a cross country trip. She could be recognized at any point, and she would have nowhere to run. She gritted her teeth, reminding herself that she had no other choice. It was becoming her mantra: I. Have. No. Choice.

Lisa spent the first few hours of her trip staring blankly outside the window. This is a bad idea...With nothing to keep her mind focused, she could only hold off reality for so long. She pressed her head against the window, fighting to hold back her tears. It was a losing battle, so she settled for keeping the tears silent.

Her dad was dead. She was on a goddamn bus headed for a city she never heard of in a state she had never been in to meet the brother of the man who had used her in an attempted assassination and beg him to help her find the monster himself. She couldn't use her bank account anymore. She had no job, so there was no way to make more money. She had no car, no escape route. And her shoulder was getting worse.

She brought her hand up to her shoulder, regretting it instantly. She had grabbed it harder than she intended, and the pain seared through her arm. She had to see a doctor.

Lisa let out a small laugh. There was no way she could go to a hospital. The laughter was humorless though, as the fear that she would end up losing her arm kept nagging the back of her mind. The last time she wrapped it, it was obvious the wound was infected. Stop thinking about it!

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for sleep. After what felt like days, it finally came.

Lisa woke with a violent jerk. She felt the air conditioned air of the bus chilling her wet cheeks. She had been crying even in her sleep. She couldn't remember her dreams. All she knew is that she still felt the residual terror.

Another lifetime of anxiety and fear passed, and the bus pulled into a station. They had arrived in St. Paul. Finally.

Lisa grabbed her bag and got off the bus as quickly as she could. She raced to a pay phone, pulling the paper from her jeans. Her arm was throbbing worse than it ever had. She dialed the number, holding her breath. What if there was no answer? What if she had misinterpreted Caleb's words, and he actually wasn't going to do anything for her? What if Jackson wouldn't help her? She started reciting the words to "Yellow Submarine" in her head- she couldn't allow herself to think about the what if?s at this point.

We all live in a yellow-

"Hello?" A woman's voice this time. Lisa bit down on her tongue to prevent herself from blurting out "submarine."

"Um...is this...Cheryl?" she croaked out, her voice raspy.

"Is this Lisa?" the voice replied, her tone brisk yet polite. Lisa almost dropped the phone.

"Yes, yes it is. I'm in St. Paul...at the Greyhound station." Lisa had no idea what else to say after that. Luckily, Cheryl was some sort of mind reader.

"I'll come get you. Walk to the McDonald's. It should be right down the street. Get yourself some food, and I'll be there in a black Explorer. Okay, honey?" Lisa let out a sigh of relief laced with a sob. The woman's now warm tone and unexpected kindness was exactly what she needed at this moment.

"Thank you," she whispered, setting the phone back in the cradle. She made her way out of the station and immediately wanted to run back inside. The cold air bit through her sweatshirt almost instantly, but she couldn't even wrap her arms around herself for warmth. She could barely move her shoulder. As she walked, though, she realized that it was probably a good thing. The longer she walked, the more numb she became until she couldn't even feel her shoulder. Actually, that's probably not such a great thing.

She stumbled into the McDonald's, ordering a Big Mac meal. Even as she ordered, she felt like she would probably throw up as soon as the food touch her lips. She hated fast food, and McDonald's was the worst.

Lisa surprised herself by devouring the meal as soon as she sat down. When she was done, she didn't even remember how it had tasted or what it had even looked like. She lifted her head to look out the window, suddenly remembering why she was there. No SUV. She gathered up her trash with one arm, carrying her tray to the bin.

And our friends are all aboard,

Many more of them live next door,

And the band begins to play.

Black SUV! Lisa slung her bag over her shoulder, rushing outside. The woman in the SUV eyed Lisa cautiously before slowly leaning over and opening the passenger door. Lisa slid into the car and pulled the door shut.

"Cheryl...thank you so much," Cheryl waved her hand dismissively as she drove down the street.

"Not necessary," she interrupted. She glanced at Lisa, "but you're welcome, of course." She smiled warmly. "You look like hell." Lisa said nothing, shifting in her seat. "I guess it's not a surprise, though. I'm assuming you haven't showered in a few days." Lisa shook her head. "Well, you can have one when we get to the house. And I'll get you some real food, alright?" Lisa nodded, sighing in relief. Things were finally looking up.

"How's Jackson?" she murmured after a few minutes of silence, staring out the window to keep from making eye contact with Cheryl.

The brunette sighed. "He's alive. Recovering well." She smirked. "Still can't talk much." Lisa turned her head, catching Cheryl's eye. She couldn't help but giggle softly.

"I had to," she insisted, sobering up again. Cheryl nodded.

"He knows." Lisa's eyes widened.

"He's not mad at me?" she asked. Cheryl laughed again.

"Oh, he is. But I know he understands it. You do what you have to in our profession." Lisa frowned.

"I'm not in..." she paused. "You do what he does?" Cheryl shook her head.

"Not anymore," she replied.

"But-"

"We talk more later," Cheryl interrupted, pulling into a driveway. She turned to Lisa as the garage door shut behind the car. "Jackson is staying in the basement. He doesn't know you're here. We're putting you on the third floor. Stay there for a while, okay?" She smiled warmly, opening her door. "It'll be alright."

Lisa frowned as she got out of the car. "Should I be here?" she asked. Cheryl wasn't making her relax anymore. She felt more uncomfortable than ever. Yellow Submarine...yellow submarine...

Cheryl shrugged, but didn't turn around. "Do you have any choice?" She asked, leading Lisa into house and up the stairs. Lisa glanced back at the living room carpet as she followed Cheryl, her heart rate quickening with each step. She didn't know what scared her more- the idea that just beyond that floor was the man with the piercing blue eyes who had lied to her, manipulated her, and then tried to kill her, or the fact that her life was now in his hands.

Sorry it took me so long to post this. It's a filler chapter, and I was struggling to write it. I still hate it, but it has to be posted so the next chapter can be written and Jackson can finally join the fun! R&R- ConCrit welcome, but try not to be as harsh as this chappy probably deserves. :)