Author's Note: I've never done a challenge before and this really sparked my imagination! I know I should be keeping up with Traveling Mercies but this was just too cool to pass up! This a fic in response to xMyDarkVisionx's challenge to redo the lavatory scene from the movie and have a different ending come out of it. Here's my offering to the Red Eye and Fan Fiction gods and goddesses!

Oh, and I don't own Red Eye, Jackson (I wish!) or Lisa and I'm not making money off of this.

The Lavatory Confessional

"Did someone do that to you?"

It was a face she hadn't seen before on the man in front of her. The voice didn't sound right either. Something had happened, shifted somehow in the small space that they occupied. Regardless of the change in him, he was still expecting her to answer the question so she did what she always did when it came to her scar…she lied.

"No."

She could have sworn she saw something physically move in his eyes, like a film that cleared from his unearthly blue irises to reveal the ice cold anger she was used to seeing. Perhaps that was what made him so angry. Somehow he knew when she lied and that could be sparking his fury. She would have to try a different tactic.

"Is that what it is?" he asked, his jaw tight and his eyes daring her to lie again. This time, she wouldn't.

"Yes."

She was trembling violently from fear and adrenaline. Of all the people for her to open up to, it had to be a so called manager who wanted her to change a politician's hotel room to make an assassination successful. She noticed the grip he had on her jaw slackened and that emboldened her to look him in the eye again. Shock was undisguised in his eyes and on his face. Furrows in his forehead told her he was searching for words. She started the confession, she may as well finish it.

"It happened in a parking lot…in the middle of the day," she swallowed convulsively, trembling so hard her teeth were chattering. "He held a knife to my throat…the whole time."

His grip slackened even more and he actually took a small step backward. Without him holding her up, she started to slide back down the wall again, her legs shaking too hard to keep her upright. She was dimly aware of him grabbing her by her arms and moving her so she was half sitting on the sink, half propped up against his shoulder. She had reported the incident to the police, told her parents in less detail and a couple shrinks even heard about the attack but it wasn't until now she felt purged of the violation. She chanced a glance up at Jackson, who was busily wiping away her message from the mirror.

"Why are you making this more difficult on yourself, Lisa?"

She sighed, suddenly exhausted by the entire day's events. "I don't want to see people die."

"Everyone dies, Leese," he finished cleaning off the mirror, throwing the wet paper towels into the sink with an angry snap that sounded like a gunshot to her ears. "That's why people run around and fill their lives with useless business. They're trying to outrun the inevitable."

"You want to know what I think?" She didn't know where this extra surge of strength was coming from but she rode the wave of compulsiveness. "I think you're just like the man in the parking lot two years ago. The only difference is the scars you leave won't be visible but the crime is still the same."

She watched as any understanding or sympathy faded in his eyes as they grew cold and furious. It was like looking directly into the flame of a blowtorch. His jaw was clenched again and before she knew it, his hand was wrapped around her throat and she was flung against the wall with such force the door rattled.

"You want to know what I think?" He hissed in her ear. "Despite your little truth telling expose, I think you're a not so honest person. I followed you for eight weeks now and I never saw you order anything but a fucking sea breeze."

She clawed at his hand, trying to pry the long fingers loose. He was starting to sound like he was in a tunnel and the edges of her vision were going fuzzy. "Can't…breathe…"

And then he let her go. She coughed as the welcome air rushed into her starved lungs and she tried to prop herself up since he had retreated to the other side of the room. She had to come up with another plan. Time was running out for Keefe, her Dad and herself. She was still processing her options when he grabbed a fistful of hair and forced her to look at him. She was certain this was what Satan would look like…horribly and terrifyingly beautiful. A physical paradox.

"Just…make…the…damn…call, Leese." He carefully enunciated each word and gave her no room to argue. She sighed in defeat and could tell he felt it through the painful hold he had on her. "We have a deal?"

She swallowed the bitter taste of hatred for him and self loathing for herself. "Yes."

"Peachy." He released his hold on her hair and she absently rubbed her scalp in an effort to soothe the burning pain that lingered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten his suit jacket and fix his hair before giving her a condescending pat on the cheek.

"Thanks for the quickie."

And with those four words, her resolve came back instantly. She would stop him. She had to, there was no other choice. Even if it meant screaming and yelling the rest of the way to Miami, she would do it. He opened the door and urged her out. She tried to look shaky, defeated even so not to arouse his suspicions. As luck would have it, one of the stewardesses called out to them and she slipped past Jackson, hoping to get back to her seat before he did. Her foot kicked something that had fallen in the aisle and she looked down to see a pen had skittered a couple feet in front of her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Jackson was still being reprimanded by the stewardess. She snatched up the pen and tucked it into the waistband of her skirt and quickly slid into her seat.

Jackson was starting down the aisle, looking smug in his confidence. He even stopped to ask the older woman if she had lost something and for the second time that evening, the older woman helped her out unknowingly by striking up a conversation about the lost Dr. Phil book. Lisa snatched the phone out of the headrest in front of her and manually punched in her credit card number and expiration date. Once it went through, she dialed the hotel's number and Cynthia picked up on the second ring.

"Lux Atal-"

"It's Lisa and listen carefully. I'm going to ask you to change Keefe's room. Play along but do not do it."

"Lisa?"

"Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Also, evacuate the hotel. There might be a bomb somewhere." She looked over her shoulder and saw Jackson walking away from the older woman. She changed her voice, making it sound less rushed, hoping Cynthia would pick up on the change. "I need you to do me a favor."

Thankfully, she did. "Sure, Lisa. What do you need?"

Jackson slid into the seat next to her and leaned in so he could eavesdrop on the call but not before giving her a slightly suspicious look.

"I need you to change Keefe's room to 4080. Before I got on the plane I was talking to maintenance about the plumbing issue in Keefe's regular room and they fixed the wrong suite."

"Is this going to cause any trouble with his security?"

Good girl, Lisa silently praised her co-worker. "Yeah, they won't be happy about the change. Just tell them I authorized it."

"Okay. Well, I better get on it, then."

"Thanks, Cynthia. You're a life saver."

Cynthia laughed slightly. "Tell me that when you get back."

Lisa hit the end button, hoping that Jackson wouldn't pick up on the double meanings of the last exchange between her and Cynthia. Snapping the phone back into place, Lisa settled back into her seat. "I made the call. Now you make yours."

He gave her an almost innocent look. "My call?"

"My Dad."

He nodded his head in understanding. "I need confirmation that Keefe has been taken out before I make that call."

Lisa tried to hide her panic. She hadn't thought about that. Shit. She turned away from him, hoping he would mistake her discomfort for anger instead of fear. She had to call her Dad, tell him to leave through the back door and go to the neighbors, call the police on the silver BMW that was sitting outside of his home. She wrapped an arm around her stomach to quell the uneasiness that she was feeling. Her fingers brushed the outline of the pen and a new fluttering of hope awakened in her chest.

She still had the pen.

"Outstanding," Jackson muttered more to himself than to her. But as she ran her fingers over the pen, she couldn't help but agree with him.