|My Last Request
Author: Royalty09 PM
He should have had his revenge, but it all went wrong. Jackson x Lisa.Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Drama - Chapters: 9 - Words: 25,350 - Reviews: 134 - Favs: 23 - Follows: 42 - Updated: 03-02-08 - Published: 11-11-06 - id: 3239513
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It was beautiful up here, truly beautiful. I've spent my whole life in Miami and I've only seen the leaves turn once in my life. One year ago my father and I made the thirteen hour drive to King, North Carolina to visit with my cousin and his family over the Thanksgiving holiday. The leaves were turning then, but it was nothing like this. Nothing could compare to this.
New England in October; the very definition of beauty and if I didn't have a gun pointed at the back of my head, I would have gone through a roll of film in a heartbeat.
"Quit dragging your feet," Jackson ordered, impatient in the face of his revenge and I guess he should be since it was over two years in the making.
This trail and the way the drooping tree branches with their brilliant shades of red, yellow and orange seemed to close around it made me feel as if we were walking through a tunnel. I could spend a lifetime out here, lost in my own thoughts. It was breathtaking and then it just stopped and there was nothing. We reached a clearing, not a field, but an actual clearing. The trees were gone, the underbrush; the grass itself was gone. It looked like a bomb had gone off but Jackson didn't seem phased by the sudden barren landscape. He seemed pleased.
"Nothing but sand and gravel," he said, bending down and scooping up a handful of dirt. "You're grave will practically dig itself."
There was a traitor in my midst. I had told only a handful of people where I would be. It was a three day trip, hardly front page news. Other than my co-workers and my dad, I didn't see the need to spread the word because I didn't want the attention.If people had found out that Lisa Reisert was about to step foot on a plane for the first time in years, that really would catch the interest of the media who spent too much time chasing too little news. The last thing I needed was public scrutiny during what promised to be a stressful experienceEven after all this time, I'm still stopped on the street occasionally and praised as if I'm some kind of hero Do I deserve that title? I don't know. In my eyes, I did what any decent human being would have done and that one experience does not define my life, even though I am proud of myself for pulling it together when the chips were down and in keeping with my new found bravado, when I had been offered the chance to leave Miami, even for a few days, I took it.
When I was asked to fly to Boston to assist with employee orientation at this, our first branch in New England, I welcomed the chance to get away. There was no heroism behind the decision. Jackson Rippner was tucked away in a maximum security prison and even if he did survive his stay in jail, what with his former employers no doubt calling for his head after such a catastrophic failure and the scorn of his fellow inmates over having his ass handed to him by a girl, I wouldn't have to worry about meeting him again for another twenty years, maybe more if he didn't behave himself.
Still, I have to admit, when I was waiting to check-in, I was constantly glancing over my shoulder for any blue eyed strangers and when the opportunity to upgrade to first class had dropped into my lap, I took it, even if I did have to pay for the privilege out of my own pocket.
The flight had passed uneventfully. I made it to my hotel without any trouble and later that night, when my head hit the pillow, I was out within a matter of seconds. If I had turned on the television, if I hadn't shut my cell phone off for the evening, not wanting to be bothered for just one night, I would have heard about the riots. I would have known that by the time the prison guards regained control of the facility, they found nothing but cinder and ashes where Jackson's cell had once been. But if I had seen that, I would have thought he was dead. That's what my friends and family must have thought because they never called the hotel. They never asked them to ring my room. "Let her enjoy her trip. We'll tell her when she gets back," they had collectively thought and I drifted off to sleep none the wiser.
But I had woken up in the back of a van. One of those 'molester vans' as Cynthia often calls them; the type with curtains on their high set windows and indoor/outdoor carpeting in the back. Jackson knew my location, my room number, everything. A man on the run, lucky because he was presumed dead, should not have that knowledge. To get into my room, knock me unconscious and judging by the intensity of the headache I had woken up with, that's what he must have done, and carry me to his waiting van meant he had help; lots of it.
"Do you have any last requests, Leese?"
I was about to ask him if I could have the gun, but decided that sarcasm on my part would earn me little more than a bullet in the head. So I held my tongue, knowing that if I were to have any hope of getting out of this alive, any hope at all, I would have to keep him talking, not make him angry.
"Yes I do. I want to know who helped you," I insisted.
Someone had to have helped him but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out who that might have been. My father, Cynthia; it couldn't be. The only other person I could think of was Reginald Paxton, Southeast Regional Manager, but even that was a stretch. To put it bluntly, the guy was pure vanilla. He was married, had five kids, went to church every Sunday and spent most of his free time doing volunteer work. He was a saint and there was no way in hell, no pun intended, that I could envision him ratting me out, not unless Jackson had threatened his family just as he had mine. You bastard.
"Sorry, Leese, but a good assassin never reveals his sources."
"Then you should have no problem telling me every last detail," I fired back because if he really had it in him to shoot me, my last words would not be, "Please, Jackson, don't kill me." This wasn't a parking lot; I would never beg again.
"Somehow I knew you would say something like that," he said and when he smiled,I could see the emotions he always tried so hard to hide. He'd had a similar expression on his face years ago as he came down the stairs with that knife in hand; anger mixed with uncertainty. Ending my life was something he was loath to do but I wasn't safe, not until I could figure out what caused his delay.
There had been chemistry between us right from the start. For me, the attraction came to a screeching halt when he showed his true colors, but for him the fascination was as strong as ever. I know I pissed him off to no end over the course of the flight and I kept on pissing him off when the battle moved to my father's house, but he respects me. No, it's something more than respect. He's fixated, obsessed and if I had gotten on my knees and begged for my life, I would have lost my mystique and I'd probably be dead right now.
"There's more," I continued, knowing that by baiting him, I was buying myself time. "I'd also like to take this opportunity to tell you that you should go fuck yourself."
"Excuse me?" he said in disbelief and then glanced over his shoulder. Had anyone been there, I'm sure he would have asked, "Can you believe this?"
"You heard me," I responded and realized that we had had a similar conversation once before, only now, the roles were reversed. "You screwed up every aspect of your assignment from start to finish and you have the nerve to bring me out here and put a bullet in my head! I refused to stand back while you murdered an entire family and I'm at fault? Do the world a favor, Jackson; turn that damn gun on yourself!"
"One phone call, Lisa; that's all I wanted. One phone call and we wouldn't even be here right now. Our lives would have stayed on course like they were supposed to. You'd be miserable just like you were before and I'd move on to bigger and better things. Instead, you jammed a pen into my windpipe. For Christ's sake, Leese, did you sing, 'I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar,' as they carted me off in that ambulance?"
"I can't help it if I'm level headed, Jack."
"Level headed, huh? You left me to rot," he yelled, sounding a little too hurt for a man who brought me out here with the intention of burying my body in the woods.
"I left you to rot? What did you want me to do? Bake you cookies and visit twice a week."
"Well, that would have been nice," he teased.
Now we were bickering like an old married couple. What was wrong with the two of us?
"Are you going to do it or what?" I asked, hoping to play to his uncertainties because he seemed to enjoy our arguments so much and quite frankly, I was sick and tired of standing out here in the middle of nowhere in my flannel pajamas and slippers. I was cold, I was tired and I wasn't in the mood for this shit.
Before he could answer, we heard the screams, and both of us were taken aback because, for once, they weren't coming from either of us.
"Damn it," Jackson mumbled as he tucked the gun behind his back. "Keep your mouth shut, Lisa or yours won't be the only body I bury out here."
Wordless cries of terror came closer and closer until two people, a man and a woman who appeared to be in their mid to late twenties came crashing through the trees and when they saw us, their screams intensified.
"Run!" they cried as they flew past without slowing down in the slightest, moving so fast that I barely had the chance to look at them.
Just as quickly as they had come, they were gone and Jackson and I both watched in astonishment as they sped down the trail.
Then we heard the sound of wood splintering behind us and we both turned back around. I couldn't see what was approaching but whatever it was, the trees themselves bent to its will, like the parting of the Red Sea. I took a step back, stopping when I collided with Jackson.
"We should run," he whispered.
A flash of yellow as it stepped into the clearing, less than a hundred feet from us – glowing eyes; massive, but…incomplete. Oh, God. It's horrible. I couldn't bear to look any longer.
When I turned around, I saw Jackson's back as he took off down the trail, following in the footsteps of those other terrified hikers.
"Run, Lisa!" he yelled and for once in my life I listened to him.
His car, we had to get to his car…..
Author's Note: Born and raised in New England and I'm damn proud of it! I'm sure it's just a matter of time before all my stories are set there.
I'm diving into Native American mythology here and I hope you enjoy it. I promise this monster, for lack of a better word, is not big foot.
Lisa and Jackson will have to work together in order to get out of this alive and something tells me they're going to mend some fences in the process.
Thanks in advance for taking the time to read and/or review.