It had taken more time than she'd cared to admit to fall asleep, and staying that way was - unfortunately - something that she had very little experience in doing successfully. She stirred slightly when she felt the pressure of the bed shift and she rolled onto her side, resting an arm over her face and another up under the pillow in an attempt to get comfortable again. No good. She'd never been a heavy sleeper. She sat up slowly, one hand rubbing the first traces of sleep from her eyes before she opened them. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. Even in the pitch dark of her room, she could see the distinct shape of Jackson Rippner - and the glint of a knife in his hand.
"You're--" Lisa had to press a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming as she scrambled away from him, off the other end of the bed and hitting her head against the dresser as she tumbled onto the floor. She wanted to cry, shout, plead, but she was grasping around for something - anything. This situation was all too familiar. Different
( ... )
Jackson stood as she scrambled away, calm and watchful as she grabbed the lamp. His lips curled cruelly. "No field hockey stick this time? A shame, I always preferred the classics." He said as he moved slowly, circling to the other side of the bed, eyes never leaving hers even as he kept his distance. The knife stayed a steady presence at his side.
"I've given it a lot of thought Lis', and we can't keep this up. It's not good for either of us, don't you agree." His tone was low, sharp even in it's semblance of normalcy.
Pressing herself further into the wall, Lisa fought the urge to hit her knees sobbing. He couldn't really be here. He couldn't really be doing this. Hadn't he said he couldn't? At first she missed his words entirely, distracted moreso by the knife than his words. But, after a brief pause she processed the words. No. That wasn't right. It wasn't good, but it was better than dying. Her eyes flashed, thoughts racing, blood rushing.
"No. It's not good, but. Jackson, no. Don't - You don't have to do this." But, her words were only a distraction because she had soon hurled the lamp - at his head, in fact, and moved to crawl over the bed, nearly tripping over sheets and comforters in her pursuit for the door.
"You really never understood, did you?" Jackson asked with a dry tone as her words, familiar from the plane. You don't have to do this. As though they all had such open choices.
He had been expecting something of the sort when she threw the lamp, lifting his forearm to block the head hit. He grunted as the piece cracked against his arm, shattering on the floor as he jerked his arm at the hit. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he ran for her, cutting off her escape by shoving her harshly into the wall near the door.
"It's not a matter of choice Lis', it's a matter of logic. One and one make two and that's that. I had to kill Keefe because that was my job, and I have to kill you because you've become a threat." He said, hand at her throat in the familiar old song, though the knife was held behind him still.
Her hands jerked up to her throat, clawing at his hand, trying to get it away as she fought against him, thrashing rather wildly against his grip. An attempt to inhale sharply went stifled and it only strengthened her efforts to try and break free, eyes clenching tightly closed.
"Let-- go. Can't-- can't breathe," she pleaded, kicking at his shins and trying to work her knee into his groin - anything. Nails clawing into his hands, fists beating on his chest and shoulders, desperation apparent. When his grip loosened, she relaxed, breath coming in heavy, relieved pants for only the briefest of moments before she reacted to his comments. "I've-- What? No. I'm not a threat, what have I done to - why would you save me just to kill me yourself?" Her flailing movements halted briefly as confusion dawned on her and she looked up at him.
He held tightly, only loosening his grip when she choked out the words, shifting to the lessened the force of her frantic blows to himself. When she spoke again he stared back, expression unreadable but intense, as if he were trying to draw the answer to her question from her eyes alone.
His expression passed into anger, shoving her against the wall again as his eyes narrowed. "I haven't found him yet you know, god knows what he's said. My reputation Lisa, do you understand how important that is? But you, no, this is the second time you've nearly ruined me." He growled, grip tightening again but not quite firm enough to choke. "It's enough. The game is over." He lifted the knife.
So, this was it? She choked on air as his grip tightened around her throat, though she still found room to breathe. Would he seek out her father after she was dead? Would it be worth it if he didn't? Her eyes shut and she squirmed again, trying to get free, trying to take even breaths to calm herself and failing terribly. She was sobbing and gasping before she realized it.
"Please. No, he hasn't- He's not going to say anything. You don't have to - Stop. Please. Don't--" Lisa fought harder against him as he lifted the knife. It was like all of her worst fears had come together in one, and this was not the time for her to be reliving her weakest moment while trying to overcome someone like Jackson. The closer the knife moved to her throat, the harder she thrashed. "I haven't done anything, you don't have to do this."
"Stop saying that, you're smarter than this Lis'." Jackson put the knife against her throat. At this angle only one good slice would kill her, severe the jugular and make more of a mess than he would have wanted. He didn't like blood, it never did come out. He wasn't sure he liked the look on her face either.
He realized his hand was shaking. It was barely noticeable, a faint tremor that could be prescribed to the rise and fall of their chests, but it was there. The confused look hardened and his grip tightened on the knife.
He realized in with a rush of breath that his hand wouldn't move, that staring at her like this- he didn't want it. He didn't want their game to end. He didn't want to kill her.
His eyes were wide as he stared her down, the desperate sort of look he had seen many times before but never found a great deal of issue with. People lived and people died, it wasn't about being fair or just or morally coded. It was survival, Jackson wanted to live and Lisa Reisert needed to die for that to happen. Needed to
( ... )
Lisa stumbled away from the wall, a numb sensation running like ice through her veins as he pulled her away from the wall. What was he doing? It couldn't possibly get worse than this, could it? The knife was no longer against her throat, moved slightly back. What was this hesitation? His words took a moment to set in, but when they did, she stopped trying to fight him off
( ... )
It was positively surreal, her low tones, almost calm compared to the edge sharpening his voice. This was it, this was the problem, she did this to him without batting an eye. On the red eye it had been intuition, surprising spontaneity and more importantly a will to survive that some how thwarted his own. This was why he needed her out of the way. She was getting too close.
With another flash of rage he shoved her back, letting her fall onto the bed with his hand still at her throat. "You know Lis' I felt bad for you. Watching you those weeks, how you hid- how you still do. On that flight, all the tears and pointless melodrama just because mommy and daddy taught you good old christian values." He said in a low whisper, the knife by the side of her head as he balanced, keeping the grip on her throat loose enough for her to breath as he loomed over her. "I did, really, but now I see. We really aren't so different Lisa. If you could you would put a gun to my head right now and end me, even thinking that I can't do it." he nearly spat
( ... )
That one little shove was enough to push her past any point of being calm. She was kicking and screaming now, reaching above her head for something - anything to hit him with as she tried to crawl away from him on the bed - not entirely successful, given his grip on her throat, but her nightstand was within arm's reach. An alarm clock - that would do. She didn't need it, anyway, the way she slept. When her fingers brushed the edge of the plastic surface she nearly cried out in relief. That's it, Lis'. Suck it up, stop crying, stop playing the victim. Do something. There was no getting out of this by laying around and screaming about it.
At that point, she'd stopped listening entirely to what Jackson was saying up until that very last sentence - you need to die. No. No, no, no. You said you couldn't do it, Jack, you can't. "We can both survive, I'm not the one trying to hurt you, this is all in your control, Jack. I--" She didn't bother trying to form another cognitive sentence because she had wrapped a hand around the
( ... )
All that was needed was the right focus, push the thoughts out of his mind. He was thinking too much, ha, emotional based dilemmas making the cold logic hard to grasp. We can both survive. Hell, he nearly sneered. "What fantasy-" The words barely left his mouth before her arm was moving, a snap of the cord from the wall. He glanced to the side in time for the blunt force to strike his head.
Everything went static for a moment, his head and body jerking sharply to the side as his grip loosened on her throat.
It was all the opportunity she needed to clamber out from under him, casting the alarm clock aside and making a run for the door, stumbling out into the main area of her house. The more room to move, the better her chances of making it out of this without a hospital visit at the very least were. If he was following her, she didn't notice, because she was busy rifling through her purse, which was laid out on the countertop of the kitchen, to try and find the gun she'd bought for just such an occasion -- nothing. It was gone. She grabbed the phone, but there was no dial tone.
Had he thought of everything? She reached into the knife block on the top of the counter - a last ditch effort. The heavy butcher knife in her hand was more for threatening than actual effectiveness. There was no way, if he got as close as he had before, she would be able to use it well enough to do any real damage.
It took only moment to refocus, teeth gritted as he stood and let the adrenaline of rage give his reeling head clarity. And follow he did, quickly but not in a frantic rush, tone cold and cruel as he found her and her new weapon. Now this was better.
"Thanks for making this easier Lis'." He rasped, nearly circling as he stared her down, eyes never leaving hers even to glance at the weapon now in her grasp. "Nostalgic, isn't it?" He toppled a chair in his way as he moved. "And here I'll say something about finishing the job."
She turned quickly around, never letting her eyes leave him, always focused on his face or the knife in his hand. Was it really going to end like this? The urge to close her eyes and rationalize through it was present, but she resisted - she couldn't afford to take her time and breathe now. He was really going to kill her - or, at the very least, try.
"Don't. I'm giving you the chance to just turn around and leave. You can get out of Florida, disappear, this isn't the way it has to end." It was useless, trying to reason with him. She knew that much. But, she couldn't help hoping, and it kept her talking. "You don't want to kill me. You saved my life. Why would you do that if you wanted me dead?" The question seemed motivated by her wish to keep him talking, but there was genuine curiosity there, too.
"I told you it isn't about want." Jackson snapped, grip on the knife in his hand white knuckled. "For someone so damned clever you're really a fucking idiot Lis'."
In the same breath he was picking up a bowl on the counter, throwing it forcefully at her- aiming towards her chest and shoulders. He rushed forward, grabbing her wrist and holding the large knife away from both of their bodies, his other, occupied hand nearly losing the grip on his knife as grasped her arm.
He twisted at her wrist. "I wasn't thinking- that's the problem. You're the problem."
"You're--" Lisa had to press a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming as she scrambled away from him, off the other end of the bed and hitting her head against the dresser as she tumbled onto the floor. She wanted to cry, shout, plead, but she was grasping around for something - anything. This situation was all too familiar. Different ( ... )
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"I've given it a lot of thought Lis', and we can't keep this up. It's not good for either of us, don't you agree." His tone was low, sharp even in it's semblance of normalcy.
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"No. It's not good, but. Jackson, no. Don't - You don't have to do this." But, her words were only a distraction because she had soon hurled the lamp - at his head, in fact, and moved to crawl over the bed, nearly tripping over sheets and comforters in her pursuit for the door.
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He had been expecting something of the sort when she threw the lamp, lifting his forearm to block the head hit. He grunted as the piece cracked against his arm, shattering on the floor as he jerked his arm at the hit. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he ran for her, cutting off her escape by shoving her harshly into the wall near the door.
"It's not a matter of choice Lis', it's a matter of logic. One and one make two and that's that. I had to kill Keefe because that was my job, and I have to kill you because you've become a threat." He said, hand at her throat in the familiar old song, though the knife was held behind him still.
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"Let-- go. Can't-- can't breathe," she pleaded, kicking at his shins and trying to work her knee into his groin - anything. Nails clawing into his hands, fists beating on his chest and shoulders, desperation apparent. When his grip loosened, she relaxed, breath coming in heavy, relieved pants for only the briefest of moments before she reacted to his comments. "I've-- What? No. I'm not a threat, what have I done to - why would you save me just to kill me yourself?" Her flailing movements halted briefly as confusion dawned on her and she looked up at him.
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His expression passed into anger, shoving her against the wall again as his eyes narrowed. "I haven't found him yet you know, god knows what he's said. My reputation Lisa, do you understand how important that is? But you, no, this is the second time you've nearly ruined me." He growled, grip tightening again but not quite firm enough to choke. "It's enough. The game is over." He lifted the knife.
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"Please. No, he hasn't- He's not going to say anything. You don't have to - Stop. Please. Don't--" Lisa fought harder against him as he lifted the knife. It was like all of her worst fears had come together in one, and this was not the time for her to be reliving her weakest moment while trying to overcome someone like Jackson. The closer the knife moved to her throat, the harder she thrashed. "I haven't done anything, you don't have to do this."
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He realized his hand was shaking. It was barely noticeable, a faint tremor that could be prescribed to the rise and fall of their chests, but it was there. The confused look hardened and his grip tightened on the knife.
He realized in with a rush of breath that his hand wouldn't move, that staring at her like this- he didn't want it. He didn't want their game to end. He didn't want to kill her.
His eyes were wide as he stared her down, the desperate sort of look he had seen many times before but never found a great deal of issue with. People lived and people died, it wasn't about being fair or just or morally coded. It was survival, Jackson wanted to live and Lisa Reisert needed to die for that to happen. Needed to ( ... )
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With another flash of rage he shoved her back, letting her fall onto the bed with his hand still at her throat. "You know Lis' I felt bad for you. Watching you those weeks, how you hid- how you still do. On that flight, all the tears and pointless melodrama just because mommy and daddy taught you good old christian values." He said in a low whisper, the knife by the side of her head as he balanced, keeping the grip on her throat loose enough for her to breath as he loomed over her. "I did, really, but now I see. We really aren't so different Lisa. If you could you would put a gun to my head right now and end me, even thinking that I can't do it." he nearly spat ( ... )
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At that point, she'd stopped listening entirely to what Jackson was saying up until that very last sentence - you need to die. No. No, no, no. You said you couldn't do it, Jack, you can't. "We can both survive, I'm not the one trying to hurt you, this is all in your control, Jack. I--" She didn't bother trying to form another cognitive sentence because she had wrapped a hand around the ( ... )
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Everything went static for a moment, his head and body jerking sharply to the side as his grip loosened on her throat.
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Had he thought of everything? She reached into the knife block on the top of the counter - a last ditch effort. The heavy butcher knife in her hand was more for threatening than actual effectiveness. There was no way, if he got as close as he had before, she would be able to use it well enough to do any real damage.
Reply
"Thanks for making this easier Lis'." He rasped, nearly circling as he stared her down, eyes never leaving hers even to glance at the weapon now in her grasp. "Nostalgic, isn't it?" He toppled a chair in his way as he moved. "And here I'll say something about finishing the job."
Reply
"Don't. I'm giving you the chance to just turn around and leave. You can get out of Florida, disappear, this isn't the way it has to end." It was useless, trying to reason with him. She knew that much. But, she couldn't help hoping, and it kept her talking. "You don't want to kill me. You saved my life. Why would you do that if you wanted me dead?" The question seemed motivated by her wish to keep him talking, but there was genuine curiosity there, too.
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In the same breath he was picking up a bowl on the counter, throwing it forcefully at her- aiming towards her chest and shoulders. He rushed forward, grabbing her wrist and holding the large knife away from both of their bodies, his other, occupied hand nearly losing the grip on his knife as grasped her arm.
He twisted at her wrist. "I wasn't thinking- that's the problem. You're the problem."
Reply
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