Summary…Lisa Reisert wakes up in a hospital with vivid memories of the red-eye flight. However, it never existed…neither did Jackson Rippner, or herself. She's sent to a mental home in Ireland and meets a surprising array of characters, placing the pieces of what she has left back together to find her true identity. OTE crossover.

Disclaimer…Ya. Don't own Red Eye. Sure.

Author's Note…I'm a huge Cillian Murphy fan, and I was watching his movie On The Edge when I got this idea to combine my two favorite movies! Enjoy, and please review!

Her mind was whirring with flashing images of a knife. A gun. A hockey stick. A pen. An…IV?

Lisa forced her eyes open and looked around. She was in the hospital. That makes sense. Jackson threw me down the stairs. Upon more developed thought, she shook her head. It throbbed, so she rested it against her pillow. "I was at the bar with Cynthia! Something happened after that!"

"Yes, ma'am, it did." Lisa jumped and looked at the nurse, who was setting a small paper cup filled with water next to her bed.

"Who are you?" Lisa groaned, having difficulty forming words. Her throat felt awfully tight and her mouth held a dreadful aftertaste of what she took to be some sort of medicine.

"I'm the night nurse," she murmured, indicating that Lisa ought to keep her voice down. "Thea. Now, take these pills and go back to sleep."

Lisa took the medicine but didn't yet swallow. The portly African-American nurse stared at her with an expression of frustrated sympathy. "Yes?"

"Why am I here?" As she spoke, Lisa was frantically searching her brain for any memory of what had happened to land her here. Nothing felt wrong with her body. In fact, it felt blissfully numb.

"You took a nasty tumble, ma'am. In the parking lot of the Lux Atlantic resort?" Thea frowned at her. "Remember?"

"No, I…" Lisa touched her head. It still hurt. "No, I don't. All I remember is that man."

"What man?"

"Jack…son…Jackson Rippner. He kidnapped me and I killed him. I think." Lisa tried to remember. Had she killed him? She remembered his intense cerulean eyes staring up at him from the hardwood floor of her father's house, but she couldn't recall if they'd actually closed in finality or not. "Did he die?"

Thea looked confused and upset. "Did who die?"

"Jackson Rippner!" Lisa screamed. "Whatever I'm here for, you must have been watching the news!"

"Miss, the biggest story of the week is the mutated cow in Arkansas," the nurse tucked the edges of Lisa's sheets back under the mattress. "Now, please, lower your voice and go back to sleep. While I'm at it, though, would you mind telling me your name and address? And a phone number, too, of some family. We couldn't find any identification on you."

"No, it's no problem," Lisa murmured, distractedly rambling off her name, address, and her father's phone number. Thea said she'd be right back and left the room.

She's kind of old. She just must not read the current news, or something. I'll ask to see yesterday's newspaper when she gets back.

Lisa thought things over. Yes, the flight had definitely been real. She'd been at her grandma Henrietta's funeral in Texas and on the trip back, a handsome stranger had charmed her into ignorance. Then he'd forced her to make that call to the hotel she managed in Miami so he could kill Charles Keefe. And her dad! Jackson Rippner had wanted to kill her dad, too! But Lisa had beat him by stabbing him in the neck, and stabbing him with her heel, throwing a fire extinguisher at him, hitting him with her hockey stick…he'd only managed to choke her once and throw her down the stairs. And she'd shot him. Her dad had shot him, too. And he'd died. So how come Thea didn't know her story?

Thea came back, a grim puckered brow tugging at her leathered skin. "Ma'am?"

"Yes?" Lisa prompted. "Oh, and call me Lisa."

"I'm afraid I can't call you anything," Thea sighed. "Because this Lisa Reisert doesn't exist. We've pulled up every file possible….nothing."

"But my address!" Lisa cried. "That exists!" I exist, too! What the hell is going on here?

"67 Thomson Avenue?"

"Yes!"

Thea cast her eyes to the ground and murmured, "Ma'am, that apartment building burned down two years ago."

"No," Lisa shook her head, clamping her hands over her ears. "What about the number? Did you call my dad?"

"We did try," Thea shrugged. "It said that the number did not exist."

Lisa stared, mouth agape, at her. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Let me speak to another nurse! A doctor! Anybody!"

Thea looked at her and seemed uncertain. At Lisa's piercing gaze she bustled out of the room with a brief nod. In a moment, she re-entered with at least three doctors and two nurses.

"Yes?" they all seemed disgruntled at having left their work for the pale brunette in hospital garb.

"Where am I?" Lisa decided, after intense deliberation at what to say.

"Miami General Hospital," one of the doctors, a tall man with bright red hair was the one who answered. His voice held brief impatience, but unlike the rest of the doctors and nurses, he wasn't sighing and rolling his eyes every five seconds. His name tag said Thatch. "Couldn't you just have asked Thea?"

"No, I couldn't have," Lisa snapped. "Are you my doctor, Dr. Thatch?"

He nodded. "Yes, I am. We couldn't find record of any health insurance, medical providers, or even where you're from. So I'm the unofficial fixer-upper." He smiled brightly at her. No. I'm not smiling until I figure this out.

"Why am I here?"

"Well, according to my file, you made quite a nasty fall to the pavement outside of the Lux Atlantic resort two days ago. Didn't Thea tell you?"

"Yeah, but…" Lisa felt dizzy. Thea helped her lie back down, but Lisa instantly sat back up again. She wouldn't be in that vulnerable position again when she still had a million questions. "Who was I with?"

"Nobody. An older woman reported your incident when she saw you unconscious on the ground. Called 911. You were only there for about twenty minutes."

"What about Jackson Rippner?"

"The prostitute murderer?" Thatch laughed. "He's dead, ma'am. What about him?"

"No, not Jack the Ripper, Jackson Rippner! The man who attacked me on a plane two days ago! The Lux Atlantic was partially blown up by that! I'm the manager!"

"Miss, you're not the manager of the Lux Atlantic," Thea snorted. "I don't know what hyped-up sort of delusional you're dealing with, but I'm going to assume the cause of this is the Morphine."

"Then who is?" Lisa snapped. "Who runs the place?"

"Cynthia Colegrove."

Lisa paused. Cynthia? My Cynthia? Ditzy, redheaded Cynthia who saved the hotel? "Can I…can I just call her?"

Thea looked at Thatch. The other doctors had left out of lack of interest. The two argued quietly to themselves, but Lisa could hear quite plainly. They were unsure about Lisa's mental stability and feared for Cynthia's safety. She knows me. She can tell these insane assholes who I am!

Thatch turned to her, handing her the room phone. "Fine. But keep it quiet. Patients are sleeping." Lisa nodded and dialed the familiar number.

"Lux Atlantic Resort, this is Cynthia."

"Cynthia, it's Lisa!"

"Who?" she sounded mildly agitated.

"Lisa Reisert! I'm…well…I guess I used to be your manager!"

"I'm sorry, the name's not ringing a bell," Cynthia sighed. "Would you like to book a room?"

"No, I would not like to book a room," Lisa snapped. "You know me. We had champagne in the bar of the Lux two days ago!"

"Two days ago, ma'am, I was at my mother's home in Texas," Cynthia informed her. "Now, please, if you aren't booking a room, I'm going to have to ask you to call back some other time because I don't want the line tied up-"

"I DON'T WANT TO BOOK A FUCKING ROOM!" Lisa screamed. There was a long pause, and then a click. Lisa threw the phone to the floor and it shattered. She collapsed, sobbing, on her pillow.

My dad's number is out. Cynthia has no idea who I am. My name doesn't exist. I don't exist.

Drawing back one more stray hope, Lisa forced in a shuddery breath and spoke again. This was going to be hard, but if she wanted to find her true identity, she'd need to tell the doctors. "I was…raped…two years ago. I came here. Do you have any record of that, even?"

Thea bit her lip and left the room to check. Thatch looked at Lisa, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "You know, ma'am—can I just call you Lisa? We don't even know if that's your real name yet--"

"Yes," Lisa blurted. "You can call me Lisa."

"Sometimes, when patients suffer severe cranial trauma—injuries to the head, that is, they lose memory or sometimes think they're somebody else. We had a patient who was in a car accident the other day who truly believed that he was John Lennon reincarnated." Thatch chuckled lightly and Lisa tried to breathe. I'm not lying! I am Lisa Reisert! Something has gone really wrong here!

"I'm not imagining things, Doctor," Lisa said quietly. "I really am Lisa Reisert. I have all the memories, everything! Are you seriously telling me that I'm going insane?"

"No, no," Thatch sighed. "That's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is that whoever you are, you're not Lisa Reisert. She doesn't exist. That's all there is to it. You simply can't be."

Thea came back and shook her head. Lisa slumped against her pillows, unsure of what to say next.

"So, what now? If I 'don't exist', as you say, how do I get a new identity? I feel fine. I'm probably ready to go home." Lisa threw back the blanket. "Can I go?"

Thatch placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Absolutely not. You may feel alright, but we're critically concerned about your mental health. We may have to admit you."

"I don't want to stay cooped up in a fucking hospital!" Lisa cried. "I want to get out there and find out what the hell is going on!"
"Lisa," Thatch sighed. "I have a connection to a guy in Ireland."

"So?"

"Let me continue," he smiled mildly. "Not wishing to cause offense, but you are in need of some serious mental rehabilitation. Now, I don't see you as a threat, so we're not going to admit you to the high-security wards here, but if you begin to become violent, we may have to fit you in."

"I'm not going to be violent," she murmured. "But I don't want to go to a mental hospital. I don't need to."

"You're not the one in charge of that decision, though, Lisa," he sighed. "Like I was saying, I have a cousin who works at the Cliff View Mental Rehabilitation Home in Ireland. It's a great place, there have been great things done there. I'm sure you'll like it."

"No, I won't!" Lisa yelled. "Because I'm not crazy!"

"See, there, Ms. Lisa," Thea smiled sadly at her. "That's often the first sign."