Notes: So here I am again, writing for a story that I thought was finished. A second part came back to haunt me. Not sure if I'm continuing after this one, but hey-I wanted to write something from Lisa's point of view. We know what happened to Jackson but what is going through Lisa's mind? Read on to find out.

(Part 2)

She hates to think she's become obsessive-compulsive within the last few months but she often realized she was walking back to the front door to check and re-check that it really is locked. Making sure all the windows are firmly shut tight, and checking in every closet, behind every door, under every surface someone could hide under.

Before her Red Eye flight she had been one who often left the window open at night and when she was home. A fresh breeze in summer and winter were fond friends of hers. But after Jackson...she found the gaping maw of the open window like a gigantic beast yawning at her. Beckoning her to peek inside, just a peek...

The odd urge for a seabreeze hits her again as she jogs up the narrow steps to her small apartment, keys interlaced in her fingers as she rushes up stairs and slips her house key into the door and quickly closes it behind her. Locking every lock on the door behind her and checking them once over to make sure they really were locked and not tampered with.

She feels foolish pushing on the door one final time before she walks away. A kind of mental exercise, reaffirming to her that yes, the door is closed. He's not going to come rushing through the door to attack her.

Lisa opens the narrow broom closet in the kitchen; keys still interlaced in her fingers. Nope he's not in there. She then moves on the living room, the closet there and behind her couch and even under it. Nothing. Jackson isn't hiding behind the off white cushions to leap out at her. She mashes the odd jolt her heart takes when she doesn't see anything there.

He throws her against the wall of the bathroom across from the mirror, sobbing gently now she whimpers as a bit of her shirt slips down allowing him to see the small scar she has, crescent shaped across her chest. For a moment she is surprised to see that he has concern in his cold, fathomless eyes. Just a moment before it turns to curiosity. He traces it with his finger, his touch delicate and feather like, he licks his lips with his tongue and Lisa feels disgusted when a ripple of...something washes through her at the simple unconscious action.

Into the bathroom, she flicks on the stark overhead light expecting him to leap from behind the curtain and take her right there in the entryway to her small bathroom. Blue eyes flashing and tossing like a stormy tropical sea before he slices her to ribbons right there on the floor of her own home. Her keys barely making cat scratches on his face as he slices through the fabric of her shirt before slicing the knife across her chest. Right where her scar was.

But the stark overhead light only exposes the open bottle of facial scrub she forgot to close before she went to work. Her make up neatly stacked inside the zip up bag neatly set next to the antibacterial foaming soap. Her bathroom...like the bright light overhead is stark and neat. Empty almost, like her home. Holding little personal effects-her room at her Father's house holds more of her then her apartment here. Here it feels more like a hotel room she's staying at until she manages to get home again.

Funny how Lisa finds she hates staying at Hotels now, and actually prefers the comfort and personal space of someone's house then the rooms she prepares and manages at work. The hotel work on the floor that was hit with the missile has been mostly rebuilt and is almost ready to rent again.

Now she goes into her bedroom, the room that is perhaps the largest in her apartment aside from her living and dinning room. Her large dark wood sleigh bed is high up from the floor, Lisa peeks underneath and finds nothing, nothing but a box of ammunition she bought and her field hockey stick, along with an aluminum baseball bat. Both within easy reach of her arm on either side of the bed should she need it. She checks the closet and finds nothing but her clothes neatly hung on their hangers.

Nothing.

She gave her entire apartment the once over and found nothing there.

She felt empty inside again. The good mood that was with her during the day, had been strangely replaced by an odd panicking fear that he was some how near her. That Jackson was hiding in her house ready to pounce. She at first thought it was a sudden knee jerk reaction that had created feelings suddenly in her brain, thanks to the mistaken identity of the man with blue eyes and brown hair on the street.

However she realized now that it was a wraith that had haunted her for a while now, every so often lapping on the shores of her conscience as she went about her daily life. Trying to be normal and finding that life wasn't quite as easy to return to as she thought it was. As it was the first time with the rape. That was how she dealt with the...incident the first time. She'd simply refused counseling and decided that, as she always had-that working was the best way to get rid of a personal problem. Some therapists might have told her she was avoiding the issue but Lisa knew that wasn't true. Sure there was nothing wrong with facing the issue, but bringing up the past pain over and over and over again was like playing with a wound and not letting it heal. Let the scar heal over and move on. The best way to do that was to get back to normal life. Normal for her was renting videos from Blockbuster and ordering pizza. It was going out to a bar after work with some co-workers, before tucking in for the night at home after a thorough search of her apartment for Jackson.

Just like tonight she didn't find anything there.

Lisa slipped her suit jacket from her arms and hung it on the hanger and back in the closet. Slipping off a few buttons of her button up dress shirt she pulled a Flashdance and removed her bra without taking her shirt off, throwing along with her stockings into the dirty clothes hamper. She slipped her shoes off with the other pile in her closet and let out a grateful sigh as she threw herself back on the bed. Trying to banish the odd feeling in her heart...the wraith that was haunting her.

Even though she said let the scar heal and move on, she found herself picking at it without even realizing it. Her daily check of her house was no longer a caution issue but a thorough obsessive behavior that always left her...what could it be called? Relief? Far from it, relief was a good feeling. Satisfaction? No, again too close to relief? What then? More fear that there was another place she hadn't thought of and that he would burst out of there and attack her when she was least suspecting it?

No that was foolish. Jackson was in police custody and she had readily agreed to testify. Now the DA only needed to call her to let her know when she was due in court.

But if it was foolish then why did she continually check? What was this feeling she felt that draped over her like a blanket every time she completed her search and found nothing?

Was it..?

No.

Disappointment?

Was she disappointed, that Jackson hadn't appeared in her home? Defying all logic and attacking her? Was this some sick desire for revenge? Place all blame and hurt on Jackson for the pain she had suffered through her life? Some kind of justification for the fear she felt on a daily basis? Lisa liked to think of herself as strong, as a confident woman that could deal with anything that came her way. After all she'd been held hostage by a...whatever he was and lived to tell about it. Thanks to her own, what she thought of as rather clever actions so as to save herself. Lisa knew she was at her best when she was with him. Her cleverest, her strongest, despite her crying. She had managed to come out a situation alive and was a better person for it. She was sure of that. Jackson had actually inadvertently improved her...hadn't he?

Lisa smiled and laughed when she thought of the box in the top drawer of her desk.

She had a pile of Frankenstein pens that she'd bought. Lisa carried a Frankenstein pen with her all the time now. A private joke that she was sure only a few people would really get. A joke that never failed to make her laugh and giggle.

Even then her laugh was hollow. The realization for what she felt was consuming her thoughts.

She couldn't' believe she was disappointed that Jackson hadn't come for her yet. Why not? Was she not worth the chase? Wasn't she a motive for revenge? Wasn't she the reason he would have a scar across his throat for the rest of his life?

She was.

So why wasn't he here?

Why couldn't she just let him go?

Why couldn't she stop thinking of him? Of when he attacked her in the bathroom? Why did she continually check her house over and over again for someone she knew wasn't coming for her. It defied all logic.

So then why?

Why?

As she dozed on her bed, thoughts turned to that small bathroom. She slipped past dozing into R.E.M easily...

her head and shoulders and back aching from being slammed into the bathroom walls. His fierce blue eyes a lit with anger, her blurred message on the bathroom mirror a veil for her true features. She didn't need to see herself to know she looked a mess. To know that she was crying and sobbing. So weak Leesee, so very very weak.

They had got on so well in the airport bar. If only...if only situations were different. Lisa hadn't felt that connection to anyone in such a very long time. Even then never as good as it was with this man before her. His soft almost feminine yet still masculine features, he was handsome in an exotic way. He seemed to know her. Lisa knows why now that struck her as so odd, but she didn't dwell on it.

actually enjoying it...

Lisa snapped wide-awake, seeing the silhouette of Jackson there, tongue drifting across her scar.

No.

No she was alone. It was all a dream...she had fallen asleep on her bed and had barely asleep for more then forty minutes. Her heart pounded in her chest, her insides still churned. Her face flushes scarlet, her curls soft against her skin. Her stomach roiled with nausea. Oh god, what a nightmare....what was wrong with her?

Why won't she let that scar heal? Her breath came in hitches as she found herself half scared, half excited, half-aroused at her dream. Oh god what was wrong with her?!

Lisa involuntarily reached for the phone as she sat up, not caring what time it was, she pressed the speed dial button for her Therapist. Twisting the cord in her hands as she found her leg bouncing up and down beneath her. As the line on the other end rang and finally, finally picked up. It was her Therapists secretary, if she was still there...

"May I please speak to Doctor Evans? This is Lisa Reisart. Please tell her it's an emergency..." She croaked the secretary vouched that she was just leaving but that she could speak to her, if she was willing to wait a moment while she went and got her.

Lisa agreed and was put on hold. As she twined her fingers in the phone cord she found herself reaching up for her chest, to the crescent scar and...

found it to be warm...and hot...and...sticky.

Like someone had run their tongue across it.

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Um...wow. That was a lot darker and strangely sexual then I thought it would go. These characters I'll tell ya. Must be something about Rachel McAdams and Cillian Murphy, they both just ooze sex ne? Well I hope it's passable.