Well, well, well! It's certainly good to be back. I'm sorry for dropping the ball on Overboard, but here's to hoping I can do a much better job with this one.

I've missed you all and I've missed this Fandom!

Let's get started, shall we?

Chapter One

Catalyst

08/27/2005

I have been considering

I shouldn't even be writing you

I just want to know why. Why me?

I'm sure you can guess, but I am beyond happy that you are locked away in jail. I am beyond happy that I was able to bring some justice to this situation. 7 years isn't nearly long enough, if you ask me. But, I'm positive that even if the people who hired you to begin with don't manage to kill you while you're stuck in a cement box, you won't be able to live a decent life ever again.

09/14/2005

I've been waiting for an answer from you. Something. Anything.

You're locked away for 7 years and you have nothing to say to me? No taunting? No threats? You truly are worthless. It's not even that I expected you to write me a letter back and answer. I'm not sure what I expected. But nothing? You're a coward.

11/04/2005

You're lucky.

You're stuck in a box for 7 years and I have to continue on. I was fired from my job because of you. Publicity, safety- who knows. No one will give me a straight answer. And people still approach me on the street. The cops and lawyers still call. News anchors want interviews. IT NEVER ENDS. You have no clue just how privileged you are. Or, maybe you do. It's disgusting.

05/12/2006

It's been a year and I'm still no closer to figuring out why. Why? Can't you just own up to it? All of the bullshit spun in the court. All of the half-hearted truths told on the plane. Why me? Why the entire Keefe family? Is it truly that hard to assassinate someone? Couldn't you have just left me out of it? Nothing has been the same. I've had people harassing me. Death threats – can you believe it? I wasn't even the one plotting the man's death and I'm being threatened. People are still angry at me – thinking I was involved. And then there are those who are angry at me for stopping you. I don't even understand! And, on top of it all, I hear you're living quite a plush life in your cell. Money can certainly work wonders. It's truly disappointing. But, what's more disappointing is the fact that after everything, the one person who did all of this to me can't offer an explanation (or won't). But – You owe me. You. Owe. Me. Just one kindness.

Why?

05/18/2006

Lisa,

Your obsession with me is alarming. Please stop letting these old wounds of yours fester. I assure you that I am passing my appointed time and hoping to emerge a new, rehabilitated man. I only hope that you may find the same peace.

J

05/22/2006

You have got to be kidding me. I finally get a rouse out of you and that is all you have to offer? "Your obsession with me is alarming?" Really? I believe the phrase – Pot calling the kettle black – really applies here. And of course you manage to avoid giving me a straight answer.

05/25/2006

Lisa,

You could always visit.

J

05/29/2006

You are a waste of postage. Do you know that? Why do you even bother writing back if you're not going to say anything productive?

07/11/2006

Lisa,

I'll admit that I'm surprised I haven't yet received another angry letter from you. It's been almost two silent months.

I can't quite explain everything over letters, Lisa. This IS prison, after all. Messages are easily intercepted.

Let sleeping dogs lie, Leese. Get back to your life. Get back to your 3 am eggs. You said yourself that your shrink says this is unhealthy. I'm no doctor, but I'd say they're right.

As always, Leese – it's been a real treat.

J

07/14/2006

What's wrong? Miss me, Jack?

It seems to me that I'm not the only one continuing this uncomfortable situation.

I honestly don't know why I bother with you. People like you aren't the most logical.

08/09/2006

I heard on the news about the attempt on your life. I hope that you're alright – not because I even care a shred about what happens to you, but because dying is the coward's way out. It's too easy. You don't deserve it.

09/01/2006

Leese,

I'm so grateful for your concern. There's no need to lie to me. Even through your written words I can interpret the truth. Lying is unbecoming on you.

Besides – I wouldn't dream of dying. I've got big plans for my release.

Come visit me. Let's talk.

J

09/05/2006

There isn't a snowball's chance in hell that I'm coming anywhere near where you are, Jackson.

You must be lonely to keep inviting me to come to the place you may very well die.

09/08/2006

Leese,

You'll come to me. You won't believe it's happening, but you'll come. The curiosity will get the best of you and you'll find yourself going through the security scan to sit on the other side of that glass. I wonder – will you wear that special perfume? What was it...? Chance Au Tendre by Chanel I believe, if I remember correctly.

See, Lisa, we both enjoy the game we have going. You're just as twisted as I am, though you don't like to admit it.

We're not so different, you and I.

J

09/11/2006

You're disgusting.

And delusional.

I give up. You win. I'll show you just how strong I am. Don't bother contacting me again. After today, this address will be void.

01/12/2007

Leese,

Happy Birthday.

It took some favors (ah, the things I do [illegible]…) but I've found a way of reaching you. I see you've held up your end. Then again, I never doubted your strength.

This card (I hope you enjoy the Lilies…) doesn't have too much space, so I'll be short.

I've heard news that something terrible is coming your way, if it hasn't already. You're in danger.

Come visit me. I can help you.

J

850.336.6181

01/23/2007

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Maybe. Do you happen to have a pay phone I could use?"

The waitress, lit cigarette hanging from her lip oozing small puffs of smoke as she breathed, nodded outside of the dingy diner as she filled up Lisa's coffee.

"Right out there, if it's still working. Can't say I remember the last time someone used that ol' thing."

Lisa nodded her thanks, threw some bills on the table, and left her coffee untouched. As she wandered outside, gravel crunching beneath her tennis shoes, her stomach churned. This was a bad idea. A truly terrible idea. And yet, the past few days had been hell on earth. She truly had no one else to turn to at the moment. But, what would a man behind bars be able to offer?

She pulled the worn and dirty card from her pocket, its edges curled from worrying touches. A small splash of blood was smeared across a bit of the writing. But, the number he had scrawled across the bottom was still readable.

She punched it in.

1…850…336…6181…

A click as the line connected.

She turned to face away from the building, her eyes plastered on the lonely highway as she listened to the ringing.

"Hello?"

A young man's voice. Certainly not his. Of course not. Shit, she swore to herself. Wrong number. But, just as she was about to hang up, they spoke again.

"Just a moment."

She heard a muffled scraping sound as a hand covered the receiver. Still, she was able to make out words.

"I think it's her. Yeah. Well they didn't answer."

Silence now. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the warm brick of the building. Even though it was dark, the baked blocks held heat from the day.

A deeper, older voice returned to the receiver. "Who is this?"

Her stomach lurched. What should she say?

"Look, kid. Prank calls are entirely out of date."

"Wait."

Silence again. She held her breath, unsure of how to proceed.

"It's… Lisa Reisert."

"You're alive?"

She looked down to her leg. From an outside view, she looked fine aside from the limp. You couldn't even tell she had layers upon layers of gauze under her jeans.

"Just barely."

"Jackson said you might be giving me a call."

A pause.

"Where are you?

She cringed. Every fiber in her body told her to hang up. Go to the police. They could help you more than a known criminal, Lisa. Have some common sense.

"Tell me the truth, Lisa. Is what they're saying on the news these days true?"

"Not all of it."

"Do tell."

"I'm not a criminal. I'm not in league with these sorts of people…" She paused, evaluating whether or not she had somehow offended this stranger with her jab. At his silence, she continued. "But, yes I did steal a car… or three… and yes I've been shot. I didn't know what to do. I just ran."

"Where are you?" he asked again.

"…I'm not sure if I should-"

"What state?" he pressed calmly.

"Oklahoma."

"Peachy At least we're in the same neighborhood. Do you have a GPS in that stolen car of yours?"

Lisa looked across the parking lot at the muddy jeep she had stolen at a gas station in Arkansas.

"No, but I've got an old fashioned map."

That, too, was stolen. This was a slippery slope, Lisa was beginning to notice. The man chuckled.

"Just follow that map of yours to Tulsa. Go to the first parking garage you see on your way in and drop the car. Then, give me another call and I'll pick you up."

"Alright." She almost hung up when she clutched the receiver to her ear once more. "Wait. I never did get your name."

"Ben. Now, get on the road. We'll have plenty of time for introductions once we've got you secured."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

A deadpan chuckle.

"You don't."

Then, the line clicked. Lisa had never felt so alone.

The drive to Tulsa was unnerving. Lisa's eyes were in the rear-view mirror almost more than they were facing the road ahead of her. She was terrified. The men who had approached her two days ago in the coffee shop had to be pursuing her. And, now the police were speculating that they were working together – maybe even from the very beginning.

"I'll have a white mocha, please. Tall."

The pimply teen behind the counter gave her a shy smile as he took her debit card. She took her receipt and went to stand by the windows, basking in the sun. She truly missed Florida's natural warmth. This was all for the best, though. A fresh start was just what the doctor called for.

"Lisa Reisert?"

She turned. Two burly men, barely fitting in their suits, hovered closely to her.

"Who's asking?"

Each man grabbed an arm and towed her back to the back of the coffee shop. The teen simply stared in confusion, holding out her coffee.

"Help!" she squealed.

The man on the right clamped his broad hand across her face, squeezing tightly.

"Shut. Your. Mouth."

"Americans. So dramatic," the second muttered, shoving open the door to the back.

Lisa squirmed beneath their grip, but her strength was nothing compared to theirs.

"Sit."

The command was carried out for her as they pressed her into a chair.

"You're going to tell us what he told you about us. About the other assignments. Who he is."

Lisa shook her head beneath the man's hand. The second man punched her in the gut. All air left Lisa's lungs and she wondered if something was fractured deep within her. Would she ever breathe again? When she finally did take a breath, it was shallow; the pain of breathing was almost too much to bear.

"Don't play dumb, Lisa. Just tell us what he told you."

She murmured beneath the man's hand and he removed it slowly.

"He didn't tell me anything. We hate each other," she spat between gasps of air.

The second man made a tsking noise before he landed a second punch in her stomach. The pain was exquisite. Swallowing had suddenly become hard. It was hard to think. The first man helped to pull Lisa into an upright position, causing more pain to shoot through her abdomen. She took a deep breath, against her better judgment, and willed her mind to clear. She had to think of something before these men killed her.

"Look, honey," the second man cooed, crouching down to her level. "We get paid an unreal amount of money to do our job. And, when someone interferes, they get hurt. That nut job, Rippner, is locked up, so we can't very well get to him right now. We've tried, of course. Almost succeeded. Regardless, he seems to know to keep his mouth shut. But you…" He stroked Lisa's hair. "We have reason to believe that he has compromised not just his Keefe assignment, but our organization as a whole."

"I swear to you," she wheezed. "The most he told me on the plane was that he would kill my father."

"And we'll do much worse if you don't cooperate."

Lisa leaned in slightly, glaring defiantly at the man crouching before her. The other man was standing beside her, watching. She drew back and flung her head forward with as much force as she could muster. Her forehead collided with the man's nose. A sickening crunch filled the room as he tumbled backward with a cry. The standing man grabbed a fistful of Lisa's hair and tugged her up from the chair. She cried out, but felt on him for a gun. Finding it, she pulled it out of the holster and fired two shots into his gut in a panic.

She looked down in disgust at her hands and the man unconscious on the floor. The first man was standing now, drawing his gun with one hand and clutching his nose with his other.

"You little bitch," he growled.

Lisa turned and sprinted from the room. She heard the gun go off and stumbled as a bullet ripped through her calf. She cried out, catching herself on the door frame before catapulting herself out into the coffee shop. People were cowering beneath tables or running into the street. She followed them out, bursting from the glass doors and limping down the street to her car. She stopped dead when she saw another two large men inspecting her car closely, waiting for her to arrive. She turned easily, calmly, and walked to the parking garage across the street. Once inside, she took off to a weak jog, trying to increase her pace. She had never stolen a car before. How did anyone even do this kind of stuff?

A man was walking to his car, a small sedan. Nothing spectacular, but Lisa was more concerned with functionality over appearance.

"Excuse me," she called as she approached. "I need to use your car."

"What? No way."

The man simply scowled and put his keys in the lock. She heard racing footsteps and voices behind them. The large men were no-doubt coming in to look for her. What were her options? What did she fear more?

"I don't think you understand me. I need to use your car."

When the man turned around impatiently, Lisa flashed the gun in his view. He pressed himself against the car, holding out his keys as if they were disgusting.

"Go ahead. Take it. I don't want any trouble. I've got kids."

Lisa snatched the keys. The man took off in the parking garage. She could hear him calling the police in the echo. She climbed in, started the car, and sped to the other end of the garage. In the rear-view mirror she could see the group of men in suits darting out from between the parked cars, heading in her direction. A few shots were fired, but Lisa made it out otherwise unscathed.

Since then, she had been trying to trade up cars and avoid suspicion. She had stopped into a small strip mall to buy new jeans, a top, and a beanie to tuck her hair into. She wasn't sure why she hadn't just gone to the police to explain herself. But, then she heard the report on the radio. The man she had shot was dead. He was an FBI agent. People were saying it was some sort of deal gone wrong. Had he been trying to bring her in? What did he know? And why did Lisa shoot him? Who would believe Lisa Reisert if she were to accuse this man of being crooked and involved in a shady business with assassins?

She drove and drove, paranoid that the second she stopped, the men would find her. She didn't know who they were, where they came from, or how they had found her to begin with. All she knew was that they thought Jackson had told her some top secret facts about his job. Just the idea made her head hurt.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had slept. It had to have been the night before all of this happened. Now, she spent her nights awake in parking lots. Everything was hazy. She was hallucinating. Where ever she was headed after Tulsa, whoever this Ben was that was going to help her, Lisa just hoped that there would be a safe place to sleep.

Alright gang! Much love and appreciation to my Beta, 0liveGreen!

Reviews and comments and such are, as always, much appreciated.

-Jesscah