#isobelsimon

Jacob had been in Oxford for nearly two days already. He'd made it his goal after speaking with his last contact outside the airport to head here and confront her directly. But as soon as he arrived in his hotel room in Oxford, everything suddenly became very real. He'd spent his entire two days in Oxford wide awake in his hotel room either staring at a wall, a picture, or pacing the floor. He'd stopped as soon as he noticed the slightest pattern in the carpet. Wouldn't do well for him to look like he'd been having a moral dilemma if he were to die today.

Perhaps that was why he hadn't gone yet. He was afraid of the fact that she'd tried to kill him once, so why wouldn't she try again? And this time, she would likely succeed. He wasn't a fool. He'd seen Isobel in action; he knew exactly how lethal she could be. How he'd managed to survive the first time was simply an act of God. He doubted he would be so lucky a second time.

But then, he was going to have to face her at some point. He'd come this far, he couldn't turn back now. So, if he was going to die, why put off the inevitable?

So, after a quick shower to make sure and keep himself awake, he pulled on his usual uniform of jeans, converse, a t-shirt and a light jacket and headed out into the late September evening.

He didn't know if he would find her in her home or not. He rather hoped he wouldn't. And he ended up lucking out. She was gone; but he didn't know for how long. Pulling the proper tools from his back pocket, he made easy work of picking her locks and let himself into the house, locking the doors behind him. His rather sensitive (for a human) nose could smell her practically everywhere. It surprised him how much it made him ache. But he pushed it aside. He had a job to do.

So, he went to the living room, took a place on the couch, and he waited.

And waited.

It was nearly two hours later, well after the sun had set, that Isobel returned home. He listened to her cautious steps. She was - as always - aware that someone was about. When she turned the corner and came into view, brandishing a gun aimed at his head, he couldn't help but find it rather ironic.

"Well, I suppose that would be a better method, make sure you really killed me this time," Jacob said before standing. "It would be more ironic if the gun were aimed at my heart, but I wager you're already quite happy with the damage you've done there. And well, the back certainly didn't work for you last time. So, let's have it." He said, motioning her on, "You want to kill me, yes? Though that's not really a question, I already know the answer. For the longest, I wanted to know the why. But, alas, that feeling has left."

Silence passed between them for a long moment and he took a step forward, his voice raising a bit, "Come now, Isobel. Do what you failed to do in London. Finish me off!"