Killing Me Softly

Summary: One-shot. After the flight, Lisa is slowly dying and it's Jackson's fault.

I heard he had a style/And so I came to see him/To listen for a while…A stranger to my eyes…

Bruises healed. Scars faded.

Memories of betrayal stung deeper than most wounds. For the first time since the rape, she thought she'd found a man she could trust. Instead, he turned on her within moments. Every move he made, every word he said was a calculated move to gain her trust and to control her.

He thought he knew her. He was wrong.

But it didn't matter. He was killing her from the inside.

Blood spread on the pale green shirt. Those ice blue eyes looked into hers. Jackson Rippner appeared vulnerable and broken in those final moments.

She knew that look. She saw it in the mirror every morning and evening.

Lisa knew that feeling as well. She was acquainted with the pain, the dull throbbing beating inside her rib cage. She could feel her lungs freezing in place as panic settled in. Even now, with all the self-help books, she still suffered.

Telling my whole life with his words…

Without much thought, Lisa was back on board Flight 1019 from Texas to Miami, Florida. She sat beside a handsome stranger in a suit. His blue eyes sparkled, he smiled at her, and charmed her. He was the model of a perfect gentleman. He spun a story and even had the nerve to accuse her of stalking him.

The façade unraveled once they were airborne. He reveled personal details about her life, her schedule, her family—and worst of all, he carried her father's initialed wallet with her picture inside. Shattered and trapped, she felt herself die a little on the inside.

All of those promises she made to herself. "That it would never happen again…"

They were all lies because of a smooth-talking man.

Strumming my pain with his fingers…

He took away her control. She got it back, cleared her head, and left a message for someone else—anyone else, really—in the bathroom. Lisa felt confident until she opened the doors and came face-to-face with him.

In those few moments in the cramped bathroom, she broke apart.

Killing me softly…

The threat of violence mixed with the twisted look of hatred, annoyance, and regret flashing across his pale face. He overpowered her. Pinned her. Like a rat in a maze.

I prayed that he would finish/But he just kept right on…

She reached her breaking point. From that point on, she refused to play along. She refused to be the victim. She deceived him. Let him think she was gone; lifeless.

Jackson never saw it coming.

They fought and she won. At least, it seemed that way.

Except he was killing her. From the inside out.

Killing me softly…

It started with the notes. All signed with a 'J' or 'J.R.'. She doubted Jackson Rippner was his real name—it was too coincidental that his initials matched her father's. She couldn't believe anything he said. He was a manipulative bastard.

The innocent notes arrived at her apartment, her work, and her father's home. Soon gifts appeared. Bits and pieces left by a handsome killer. And these no longer came from the mail. She would unlock her door and finding a plate of warm food in her kitchen, or a new outfit on her bed, or to find something missing with a note left in its place.

Her knives disappeared first. Then her pens.

This was all his way of saying he was watching. That he could get to her. Show-off.

Killing me softly…

Paranoia was never healthy. She knew that better than most.

Lisa filled the long neglected prescriptions from well-meaning psychiatrists and doctors she no longer saw. She lined the orange bottles up side-by-side in her medicine cabinet. Zoloft for the depression, mood swings, and overall anxiety. Ativan for the panic attacks. Naproxen for the pain she wanted to kill.

It proved to be a dangerous cocktail in some ways. The pills numbed her, making her emotionless at times, and sleepy other times.

She wanted to forget him. But the harder she tried, the more pills she needed. Pills to sleep. Pills to wake up. Pills to get through the day. Pills, pills, and more pills.

As the intake of medication increased, her intake of food plummeted. Lisa wandered around much like a perpetual zombie.

The gifts continued. She installed new locks and hired a company to add a security system. Still, Rippner persisted.

It was as if he was a ghost. He just slipped in and out.

Killing me softly…

Six months passed. Winter came and went. The hotel finished remolding the top floors. Strangely enough, they had become a tourist attraction for some people. Apparently not every hotel was the site of a high-profile assassination attempt.

Lisa didn't mind. She was in limbo with her medication. She started to look forward to the little gifts now. Most of them were non-lethal anyways.

Except the alcohol. But that was her fault. She started mixing it with the pills.

If anything, the liquor only increased her memories of him. And left her craving nachos—nice, greasy nachos with cheese—instead of late-night eggs.

So she left him a note.

Killing me softly…

The door opened quietly. The alarm system began to beep, then ceased.

Lisa sat on the living room couch, wearing a dress he'd left for her. It was ice blue, like his eyes. In her hand was a glass of wine. Pills lay across the coffee table.

He folded his lean frame into the chair across the table from her.

"You came," she said.

"Why not? You asked."

"Are you…going to do it?"

"Do what?"

She took a deep swallow. "Finish the job. Finish me. Stop killing me slowly. Either do it or don't."

The man across from her, the bastard she wanted dead, the monster in her memories and dreams, handed her a group of pills. "Take these, Leese. It'll make it easier."

She swallowed the pro-offered pills.

"I never meant for this to happen."

"Does it really matter?" she spat, glaring at him in the semi-dark living room.

"I suppose not."

"Why me?"

"Why not?" he countered in his smooth voice. Apparently he'd healed from the pen.

"There are other people at the Lux—"

"None of them had the necessary clearances—"

"Bullshit. There's at least a half-a-dozen other people you could have hassled. Why me? Why choose me?"

He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "You want to know the truth?"

"Why not? I'm dying anyway…"

"Well, let me tell you a little secret. The job was meant to fail. That's why I picked you. A female with close, personal ties to Keefe. In fact, he was the one who set this all up. He wanted a close call. I never expected children to be involved. Or for the Russians to actually hit the room…"

She frowned at him as the familiar fog settled in. "Then why…why come after me?"

"That wasn't part of the plan. But I couldn't have people knowing about my involvement. Then, when you stabbed me—it became personal. Frankly, you just pissed me off."

"And now?"

"I feel sorry for you."

Lisa resisted the urge to laugh. "So the gifts? The notes?"

"Apologies."

"It's too late for that."

"I know."

The wine glass fell from her hand. Red wine sloshed across the pale carpeting, staining the fibers. Neither of them seemed to notice.

"Sleep, Leese. Rest. You've earned it," he muttered, helping her lay back on the couch.

She didn't fight his touch. Her eyes closed, her body shutting down.

"Things will get better. I promise."

A tear rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away with a long, narrow finger.

Killing me softly with his song/Killing me softly…

Jackson Rippner stayed, watching her slip into unconsciousness.

He would miss his fiery opponent. What he planned for the best. He would ease her pain. End it. Finish off the job he started on that plane. End her life.

He stayed as her breathing slowed and eventually ceased. He stayed as her body started to cool. He stayed until dawn started to break.

He kissed her lips and smoothed her hair. She looked peaceful, dressed in the new blue dress he'd bought her, her body reclined on the couch.

With one last look, he let himself out and reset the alarm system. She'd programmed it in memory of their flight. 1019 was the pin number. Sweet Lisa wanted him to be there, at the end. She wanted him.

And now, once again, Jackson Rippner was alone. He'd killed the only woman he might have cared for.

Alternate Ending:

Killing me softly with his song/Killing me softly…

Jackson Rippner stayed, watching her slip into unconsciousness.

He would miss his fiery opponent. What he planned for the best. He needed her to forget him. Forget the past.

Let her start again with a clean slate. Even the strongest people stumbled now and again. He hadn't exactly helped with his gifts. But he could change that.

It was the only way he could atone for his sins and manipulations.

In all my dark despair…

Two years passed. Jackson Rippner disappeared, having long since been declared dead.

In the meantime, Lisa woke from her drug-induced coma. Instead of overdosing, she'd taken a strong sedative. Combined with the other pills and the booze, she'd fallen into a coma as Jackson watched. Of course, that was before he bashed in her skull.

However, he didn't leave her to die. He dragged her into the hospital, left her with no driver's license or identification. No one questioned his story about finding her and he disappeared before the police could question him.

He vanished. She recovered, with no memories at first. Then basic information. Amnesia was a wonderful thing. No one brought him up. He was a moot point—a literal dead end. He'd engineered his own death the following week.

Lisa went back to her life slowly as the memories returned. She forgot the man who put her back together as well as broke her apart. She went home. She got to know her family and become a stronger person.

But part of her stayed dead inside. Part of her died the day she fell into her coma. That part of her belonged to a man she no longer remembered.

Author's Notes:

I just had an urge to write a more dramatic and sad one-shot instead of my usual fluff. The story could have gone either way so I thought I'd include the other ending in case readers wanted a happier ending. Of course, the Lisa in this story is a damaged one who, after the adrenaline high of surviving, falls into depression much like a normal person would after trauma. It doesn't matter how strong they are—anyone can feel like a victim and have reactions from any event.

There is help. Overmedication is not encouraged. Yes, the drugs in this story are real drugs and those are their real uses, but it's one thing to use medication as prescribed and another to completed rely on meds to survive everyday life and go pill to pill. But this is a story, not a lecture.

Anyway, I hope this was at least any interesting take on Lisa after the flight. Please review!