Resolutions: Part XIV

9:32a.m. Taking a slight detour through Alabama due to increase in dog activity.

By this point, being so close to home, Lisa was practically itching to reach her beloved hometown. To visit the beach, feeling the ocean's crisp morning breeze grazing her cheek as she watched the dawn claim the sky. To stroll through the doors of the Lux Atlantic and to be greeted by Cynthia's silly crooked smile.

To grasp any minuscule detail to reassure herself that ultimate freedom was present through and through.

While viewing the number of train cars rolling past the van, Lisa had then just decided on her New Year's Resolutions: to read any five novels from today's Best Seller's list, donate to charity in attempts to balance out her own recent wrongdoings, and possibly do something to make her condo seem less empty and hold more life in it.

Lisa hadn't even realized she started to smile a little, not until Jackson suddenly piped up. "What are you thinking so deeply about this time?"

In fact, Lisa was more open to voicing the truth. "I'm thinking...that I definitely don't want to get a dog."

Jackson didn't quite follow her trail of thought down to its last point exactly, but he still pursed his lips in contemplation. "Hm...alright."

Parting with Scars: Part XV

4:59a.m. Days later. Getting dropped off through unexpected means.

"Just keep your head low," insisted Jackson with a particular level of tension, trying to see out of his bullet-holed window the best he could. He turned their newly scuffed and dented-up van slowly onto her street. "Thankfully we lost the other car over the bridge back near the highway. If I did my math right...the bosses only are left."

He should have presumed correctly. He should have known the numbers of his own clan, after all.

...Sinking back into the passenger seat, Lisa felt her pulse quake inside her ears, recovering from the chaos of recent the street chase. If such events didn't fit the description as the "Final Battle," she didn't even want to know what would.

As soon as Jackson parallel parked the vehicle at the end of her driveway, he hastily demanded for Lisa to take of her sweater.

"What for?"

Jackson happened to reach for a hidden knife next, from bottom slot of his car door. Unsheathing the blade, he gestured to her the flat of her palm. "Take this and cut here. Make sure there's blood on your shirt. I'll take it as evidence of your disposal. If I get caught, they will check me over for any tricks. I can't afford to have self-made wounds."

Lisa eyed the weapon unforgivingly when it brought back several unwanted memories. She barely could bring herself to speak in any tone above a whisper now, "Are you serious about this?" She interpreted suddenly that Jackson preferred to maneuver a type of distraction—without her standing in the middle of the picture.

Although for the first time ever, Lisa could have sworn his added words were meant to sound sincere. "What's one more scar, really?"

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I'll let them trust the idea that I mislead you from the start...much like you did. You got in the way and I was forced to kill you off too because of it."

"And are you sure your superiors will fall for that?"

"They're bound to believe I've dispatched you in the end over the fact that I spared your life on my freewill."

In ongoing silence, he watched Lisa exit the van. She made a few guarded paces towards her front door, paused momentarily, and then she chose to reel back around only to say, "Get them, Jack."

They both supposed that was the closest comment to a "Good luck," in which Jackson would ever hear from Lisa.

Therefore, in return, he said his blunted goodbye in form of, "Keep the lights off inside for a little while, just in case."

"Okay." Lisa nodded.

And she stood there, cradling her bleeding hand until the van swerved out of sight.