Other Fan Fiction ❯ Stolen ❯ Pictures ( Chapter 7 )

Chapter 7 - Pictures

Lisa stood with her ear pressed against the surface of her prison door. She didn't hear anything; not even the jazz he often had playing or the sound of commotion in the kitchen. She took what she heard as an opportunity to dash into the bathroom, undress quickly and jump into the shower.

She hated bathing because she was terrified that each time she did, Jackson would come in and do something terrible. She had gotten rather good at the routine of speed showering, accomplishing all the necessities in less than two minutes and it didn't take her long to get dressed again. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief. She knew it was a sad thing to take solace in. Her clothing was only a thin protective shield against him and if he ever decided to do anything, there wouldn't be much she could do against it. She sighed as she looked at her sodden reflection in the mirror that didn't have enough time to get steamed up from her speedy shower. She was angry at how healthy she looked. She'd been here for three weeks and she didn't even have dark circles under her eyes. What had happened to the defiance she'd planned out each day?

It was hard to cope with. He never did anything to her. Besides the snide remarks she knew were aimed at getting a rise out of her and the occasional lewd retorts he made to some of her more easily misconstrued comments, he had played the part of the gentlemen. It was eerie how easily he could turn it on and off. The man she spent so much of her time with, reminded her of the one she'd thought he was before the flight but she knew better. Every once in awhile she'd see the real Jack or at least what she thought was the real Jack. But most of the time, he just tried to engage her in simple conversational banter.

The plan she'd had to thwart him at every turn wasn't exactly going like she'd hoped. He never did anything but make her meals and try to engage her in aimless chit chat. She didn't dare refuse his food because the consequences were too great and her near constant silence didn't seem to bother him at all.

When she tried to do something to get him angry without jeopardizing the lives of her family, he just seemed to brush it off. Most of the time, she felt like the family pet that did things to get attention only to have the owner find its antics amusing. It was infuriating. Then, when she was finally presented with an opportunity to take action, he only gave it to her after he did or showed her something so emotionally traumatizing that she couldn't focus quickly enough to do anything about it.

For example, two weeks ago he showed her something that both lifted her spirits and threw them to the gutter at the same time. She'd been sitting in her room like always when there was a knock at the door. She didn't evenbother answering. He would come in no matter what she said; she found that out after trying a variety of responses. He just did it to give her a heads up which was another respectful gesture that confused her. He'd entered justlike she knew he would.

“I have something for you Leese.” She saw the folder he held casually in his hand. “I just thought it might be something you'd like to take a look at. Just showing that your dear old dad is alive and kicking.” He'd tossed it on the bed and in doing so, some of its contents peaked out from the side of it. She could see the distinctive edges of glossy pictures. He'd then turned and left the room after not even bothering to enter fully.

She looked at the file with an equal mixture of anticipation and dread. She wearily walked over to the bed and sat down next to it. She lightly fingered the edge of the exposed photograph which revealed nothing but what looked like trees before opening it up while it remained on the bed.

It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at. She knew immediately that it was a funeral. There was a large gathering of people all dressed in somber shades of black. It was taken at a distance and revealed many grave markers in the foreground of the picture with the funeral set against a dense line of trees. When realization hit her, she almost fainted.

She was looking at her funeral.

She didn't touch the pile of almost six or seven photos for an hour. She just stared at the first one. It wasn't until she slid the first one from the top of the pile, revealing her grieving father among the crowd that she began to cry. She put her hand up to her mouth when the first sob erupted from deep within her. She wept for hours just looking at her father. She fell asleep next to those pictures, having only looked at two of them. The rest she dejectedly sifted through during the duration of the night when she woke. Everyone she knew was in those pictures. Her father, mother, Cynthia, several colleagues from work, childhood friends and families, as well as relatives she hadn't seen in years. All of them looked so sad. So plaintive over the death of someone they didn't even know wasn't truly dead.

It was so hard to look at and even harder to believe. She knew he'd told her that they'd faked her death but she guessed she really hadn't believed it fully until she sat looking the pictures. She'd fallen asleep again only to be woken by Jackson with his routine breakfast call. He'd acted like nothing was different but then again, nothing really was for him or even her for that matter. The pictures just confirmed what he'd already told her when she'd first woken up in this place. They'd eaten their omelets in complete silence and for once she actually felt grateful to him. She didn't think she could have handled his usual sarcastic wit. He seemed to know that as he just let her eat breakfast and then return to her room without a word. Later that night, she'd thrown her dinner of scalloped potatoes and hamburger against the wall and screamed at him.

Later, she realized that the only useful thing to come from those pictures was the fact that she now knew that he had access to some type of computer system. The pictures had been printed on the type of paper you buy for your home computer. There was no way that he had traveled to her funeral and taken the pictures himself so he must have had someone else do it for him. They must have emailed or been received through other means else gotten them to him. It was the first helpful clue that gave her any amount of hope at getting away from him. If she could somehow get access to it, then maybe she could contact someone that could help her out of this mess.