Disclaimer: I own no part of Red Eye, and am in no way earning any profit off this story. It is fan fiction, and is written for enjoyment, not monetary gain.


We'll Talk Again.

There is a pause, then the pain of a bullet, and then he lurches forwards and kicks her gun away, then he pulls her hair, straddles her back (mmm straddling yes yes isn't this what we were doing before?) and then there's a voice (who?) and he looks up and then more pain (ahhh I've been shot again, fuck this) and he falls back onto the floor, he looks at her then at the man who shot him (her father? yes?) and then at her and then up and then there's a wall of white (ceiling not wall) and then he blacks out.

10:25 pm.

Tuesday.

"Shit."

Yet another delayed flight. How long could this go on? By this point it was more an annoyance than a cause for alarm. She'd been on six delayed flights ever since The Incident, as she preferred to think of it. Capitals made it sound important, and she figured that's all it really deserved. It was over; she didn't have to be suspicious of the people around her on the plane. Jack – Jackson – had been an anomaly, and a bad one at that. All of these people were just regular citizens, none of them wanted to do anything more than get from point A to point B. She figured the next oddball she'd meet would turn out to be a children's entertainer that she'd loved during childhood. Chance owed her that. Random chance.

Had he really been following her for eight weeks? And she hadn't noticed a thing?

She shook her head forcefully to stop herself from following along that train of thoughts.

"Really, ma'am? You're not on the flight out?" the attendant looked at her curiously. "Then why are you in this – "

"Uh, no! No, sorry – there was a fly." she flushed slightly at the embarrassment, handing over her ticket.

"Uh…thank you. Have a pleasant flight…" the attendant raised an eyebrow as she turned to help the next person.

Lisa cringed inwardly. She really had to stop thinking about Jack – Jackson. Why did she keep calling him that? All it did was distract her, and he was long gone. She wished he could've been recovering with a tracheotomy in some lunatic asylum, wrapped up in more binding linen than a mummy. Or better yet, behind bars for life in some horrible prison for people like him. But somehow, the thought of him dying made her feel slightly queasy inside. And he was dead. Pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital – she'd only learned this after the fact. So maybe it was because she just didn't like the thought of anyone dead that her stomach suddenly roiled. Yeah. Yeah, that had to be it.

She took her seat – window seat at the very back of the plane – and stared out of it into the darkness outside. Damn October weather was rainy and slick. They'd probably have to wait another while before taking off just to make sure the runway didn't have wet leaves all over it.

She was both surprised and slightly pleased when no one took the seat next to her while boarding. Apparently this flight wasn't fully booked up; the delay had been only because of the weather.

Settling back into the plush seat she listened to the captain – in a very dry voice – drone on about safety features of the plane. It almost made her want to fall asleep.

"Hey, Leese."

She blinked slightly, dazedly. She knew that voice, from somewhere. Where – ?

"Leeeeese."

Wait a minute.

Her slow wakening process was jolted into sudden alertness by the plane suddenly moving down the runway. Apparently they'd gotten the go-ahead sign without her noticing and as she turned her head from the window – and the rapidly-moving ground beneath them – to the seat beside her, she froze. Froze utterly.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

"You're dead. They said you were dead. I shot you. Dad shot you. You couldn't have – "

"I'm back." his blue eyes glittered with mirth. "For some people, death is the end. La fin. El finito. But not me. For me, death is an…inconvenience."

Lisa swallowed, and then gripped the arms of her seat as the plane turned and suddenly began to move faster. Totally normal, she told herself in a daze.

"Dead. But. No. How? No. Can't be. We killed you. I killed you. You should be buried in a mahogany coffin somewhere." she whispered, then blinked. "You faked your death?"

"Nope." he tilted his head, grinning slightly. "I really am dead. Feel my pulse." he offered his wrist.

She took it almost mechanically. It was cold as ice and all his veins and arteries that should've been blue and red and pulsing with life – they were all a dull shade of gray-black. The pallor of death. He had no pulse.

She dropped it like a live wire, jumping back as if electrocuted.

He only smiled. "Oh, and by the way – mahogany is a very expensive wood to bury people in, especially if it's been lacquered and lined with velvet. They shoved me into a furnace and burned my body for three hours at twenty-five hundred degrees. I watched my body burn until it was nothing but ashes." his smile dropped. "Then they dumped my ashes into a lead box and buried me in the back of a no-name cemetery where they bury criminals."

"Jesus Christ."

"Far from it." he sat back, relaxed, winked at a non-responsive stewardess as she hurried by to take her place at the back; slapped her ass and laughed his head off when she turned and saw no one within range. "I'm dead, Leese. I'm dead, but I'm back." he turned to her and smiled. "And I still have a job to do."

"Wh-what?" she stammered, trying to get a grip on her nerves.

"We still have a chance, Leese. We still have a chance to correct our past mistakes. And this time…" his smile widened. "This time, there'll be no mistakes. This time…" he paused, as the plane finally lifted off the ground, "…it's just you, me, and our target."

"Our wh…no, no way. This isn't real. This is a dream." she muttered, turning her head to watch out the window.

He grabbed her wrist; his touch burned with icy fire. "Oh, Leese. This is real. Very real." he chuckled. "And this…is going to be fun."


To Be Continued...