Chapter Sixteen

He was not having a good day. After the phone call that he received earlier that day, he rushed out of the house (after making sure everything was securely locked, that is), to meet with one of his…underlings. He did not like to think of them as equal, for the surely were not at the level he was and they suitably did as they were told. As he was on his way to the meeting place, a good hour away from his current location, the oil light in the car went on, so he was forced to find a gas station and get a quart or three. When he finally made it to the meeting, the other man had yet to arrive, and that did not make Jackson Rippner a happy man.

The other man finally arrived about fifteen minutes later, only to inform Rippner of several mishaps in the case that he was handling. The next forty-five minutes were filled with threats and coercions to get the job done as smoothly as possible.

"But," the man swallowed nervously, "don't, uh…you think you should maybe…fix it?" he practically squeaked, fear obvious in both his eyes and voice. He knew that Mr. Rippner was a scary man, and when he was angry it was far far worse.

Jackson glared.

"Or…or not," he swallowed again, his throat dried out with fear.

"You will fix this," Jackson hissed, "or you will severely regret it. Do I make myself clear?" He did not have time to deal with these mistakes, or any for that matter. He had other things he needed to take care of, and they went by the name of Lisa Reisert. He did not want any time taken away from his well-moving conquest because he could not afford for anything to go wrong. And surely leaving her alone for this long was definitely moving in that direction. Who knew what insane plans she was cooking up? He did not even want to think of the possibilities, because she could be quite ingenious when she wanted to be. He still had the scar on his throat to prove it.

"Yes s-sir," he nodded jerkily as he got up to leave.

"Good," Jackson bit out in return, pushing from his seat and gliding to the door.

He was gone before the other man even left the building.

On the way home he grew increasingly more excited as the miles passed. His sick fascination with Lisa was reaching new heights and he very nearly couldn't wait until he got back. Their way of playing house was oddly arousing to him, and if he wasn't mistaken, it was to her as well. Even if she wouldn't admit it. But, he knew her mind, knew her inner thoughts. During the drive back he repeatedly had to stop himself from driving too far above the speed limit. Getting pulled over would not help his day any. Seeing Lisa in one of her outfits, however, would.

After what seemed like eternity to him, he finally pulled into the driveway. Taking a deep breath to calm his anxious body, he stepped out of the car, and stopped. His face was drawn into a mask of confusion as he scented the air.

Burning.

She's not that stupid, is she? he thought as he considered the fact that she might try to burn the house down as a way of escape, never mind the fact that she would be locked inside as it smoldered.

Racing to the door, he fished for the correct key as fast as he could and opened the door, banging it against the wall with a force.

Again he froze. He couldn't believe the sight before him.

Is she dead?

No, no she couldn't be dead. He refused to believe that. But there she was, sprawled on the floor, her leg bent at a grotesque angle, and he knew just by looking at it that it was broken. Her head was turned to the side, blood sliding down her face. So, she wasn't dead, then, for if she was, her blood would have stopped flowing. He'd killed enough people in the early days of his career to know what they human body did after it died. The heart stopped beating; therefore it stopped sending blood to various parts of the body and it would then be unable to bleed.

Letting out a breath that he didn't realize he had been holding, he finally saw the smoke coming from the kitchen. And, as much as he wanted to check her first, it would not do to have the house burn down around them. He rushed into the kitchen and saw that it was all coming from the oven. He had caught it in time, before the smoke alarm could sound. The fire department would not be a welcomed addition to his day. Quickly, he turned off the oven, opened the windows and took the tray from the oven, being careful not to burn himself, not even looking at what was in it, what had burned to nearly a crisp. Only when he was certain that that crisis was averted did he go back to her.

He knew that he couldn't call an ambulance, but he also knew that she needed medical attention. He'd have to do the best he could, given the circumstances, even if that meant that she would not get the professional help that she obviously was in need of. Taking stock of her numerous injuries, of which probably included a nasty concussion never mind a broken leg, he gently got his arms under her, deciding to move her to a bed, because laying like she was on the floor was not going to help. He glanced at her leg for a moment before he picked her up, and he came to the conclusion that he was glad she was unconscious for the moment.

As he picked her up and shifted her in his arms, he noticed the broken heel lying innocently on the floor. He glared at it, hatred spewing from his eyes at the sight of the inanimate object. Then, he practically ran up the stairs, the dead weight in his arms not stopping him, and he walked to his room and placed her gently on the bed.

He took a step back and gazed down on her battered and broken body. And, for the first time since Lisa's tenure at the house, he felt…guilty.