Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye, Jackson Rippner, etc etc. I mean, I don't own his character, anyways. I do own this crazy little story.

Chapter 1

Jackson Rippner slowly and cautiously opened his eyes. He was surrounded by sea-green. Sea-green trim on the walls. Sea-green window shades. Even the thin hospital blankets on top of him were sea-green. It was sickening. And it was all Lisa's fault. Jackson felt his stomach contract at the thought of her, and then gave a little moan of pain. The bullet wounds still hadn't completely healed, and neither had the lovely puncture in his thigh, or the stab in his trachea.

Dr. Jones, a tall, bald man, walked into the room, or more shuffled. He looked cautiously down at Jackson and blinked his large, mouse-like eyes. Jackson blinked back. He seriously considered screaming in agony, to see what Jones would do, but decided against it as a sharp pain came from his throat. Finally, after a moment's stare-down, Dr. Jones bent and began tending to Jackson's many different wounds.

Gritting his teeth, and cursing Lisa Reisart to hell, Jackson let his pain soaked mind rest on one throbbing thought: Revenge. He hated the feel of this annoying doctor replacing the bandages on his wounds, the feel of having to utterly depend on this one timid doctor. Where was his Company now? Did they think he was dead? Probably, he thought angrily. They would definitely have taken him out of this awful hospital by now, if they knew he was alive. They wouldn't even bother looking for him if they thought he was dead.

Jackson banished these thoughts from his mind. It was much more… pleasing to think of Lisa. And productive, he told himself firmly. He had been in the hospital for about a month and a half now, and had spent that first month in a coma. The last two weeks had been spent in and out of sleep. Jackson realized suddenly that he didn't even know how he had got to the hospital.

"Who brought me to this damned place?" he demanded of the startled doctor.

Doctor Jones scratched his head and looked nervously down at his patient. He added a final touch to the bandage on Jackson's leg, and stood. Painfully slowly, he said, "Well… You were in an ambulance, but with you was… I think it was a young girl, about 27 years old…" the doctor paused, staring out the window. A leafy green tree branch brushed against the window, completely disguising the fact that it was the middle of September. In Miami, there was only two seasons: spring or summer.

"Oh! You were asking me a question?" the doctor looked around the room, confused, almost questioning where he was. Jackson nodded impatiently from beside him. "Right… right, who brought you here… Well, she was… What was her name…? Oh yes, young lady under the name of Lisa Reisart. She visited you once; last week… you were asleep…" Doctor Jones dreamily meandered out of the room.

Jackson's voice stopped him just before he could open the door. "Could I have some paper and something to write with?"

At first, writing had been painful, and Jackson could barely grip the pen that he had been supplied with. But slowly his hand melded to the shape of the pen and he began to write. It was a letter to Lisa.

He listed the many ways he would kill her, revenge a sweet thought that lingered in his mind and filled it completely. After three pages, he had exhausted his causes of death, and began writing the actual letter to Lisa. His mind had begun to fill with questions about why she had visited him.

Weeks faded into months, and Jackson's body slowly began to heal. Almost every day, he could be found writing in that thick notebook Doctor Jones had provided him with. Jackson Rippner never received any visits, any flowers, any cards. He just wrote and wrote. Finally, two months had passed, and he was to be discharged that day. Jackson stopped and skimmed through the 120-some odd pages he had written.

Somewhere along the way, what had started out as a letter of violent, twisted revenge had become a letter of obsession. Jackson had described in detail each moment he had spent watching Lisa before the events of the Red Eye, had described her appearance countless times. His letter had practically become a love note, and Jackson felt disgusted. He had spent the last two months writing, planning revenge, and the only proof he had of this was this stupid, useless notebook? On the front cover was Lisa's address, printed neatly, as Jackson had planned on sending her this lovely token of his affection. But now that it really was just that, he felt sick and threw the whole thing into the trash.

A short, impatient-looking nurse stepped into Jackson's room. "You're free to leave today, sir. I understand that you don't have any clothing, and so we've provided you with these." She held out a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt in sea-green. Jackson stifled his moan, took the clothing, and gave a curt nod to the nurse. He gathered his wallet, the only thing that had been salvaged from his old clothes, and headed for the bathroom.

Standing outside and staring up at the gleaming building that he had just spent the past three months of his life in, Jackson let relief flood his body. Never again, a little voice whispered in his mind. He never would go back to his old job. He never could. He was expected to be dead, and he was expected to stay dead.

Jackson surveyed the parking lot for some sign that his company believed him to be alive and were waiting for him, but found none. He caught a taxi and headed towards an area of apartments he knew to be near Lisa's house. Exactly 2 hours later, Mr. Rippner was the proud renter of an apartment, had an entire wardrobe of new clothes (none in the sea-green color he had come to despise) and revenge had begun in earnest.

Meanwhile, Room 213 was being cleaned and prepared for another patient. Jackson had left quite a mess behind in his hurry to leave the hospital, and the cleaning staff was taking longer than usual. The bag of garbage was so heavy that it split open, and first to spill out was Jackson's precious notebook. A hurried maid bent and picked it up, saw the address written on the cover, and seized the excuse to get away from her work. She went into the office down the hall and had the notebook mailed. Happy that she had done her part in favoring mankind, she returned to her work.