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.

This chapter is rated M for sexual content.

12:01 am.

Wednesday.

Breathe, Lisa, breathe. she told herself. You won't get anywhere by hyperventilating and passing out.

She paused to peer at the mirror. No, that wouldn't work. It would force the plane to land if she wrote anything down. Plus, Jackson would find out anyway, and be even more pissed off at her. He'd probably force her to slit that guy's throat before she did anything else…

"H'lo, Leese." said a pleasant male voice. She turned her head, leaning against the wall.

Jackson was coming through the door – literally through it, his ghost-like body passed through the metal effortlessly. "Thinking of writing another soap-message?"

"Don't be stupid." she snapped without thinking. "I don't like being strangled."

He laughed. "It was only a question, Lisa. You don't have to get so upset."

She turned away, sitting down on the closed toilet seat. "I'm not going to do that again; it would be pointless and would probably only make things worse."

"Now you're thinking straight. See? All it takes is a little logic and suddenly your I.Q. jumps about fifty points."

She scowled up at him. "Don't give me your male chauvinist bullshit. I outsmarted you last time, and it cost you your life."

Jackson slapped her. Across the face. Hard. She heard it before she felt it. Almost sent her into shock. Lisa gasped when she felt the fire spread across her cheek.

"Ahhh!" she cried out. It literally felt as if it were burning. She grabbed it, scrabbled with it. It felt to her fingertips as normal as could be, the fire was under her skin, or inside her head. Her eyes watered.

"Will you shut up now?" he smirked. She pretended she hadn't heard him. She quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward. "Wh-what was that?" Lisa asked, forcing her stiff tongue to form the words.

He positively sizzled with anger and frustration. She leaned back and rested her burning cheek against the cool airplane bathroom wall. It was soothing, and the fiery sensation soon died away. She let out a long, quavering sigh and closed her eyes. "So…what's your next move?"

Suddenly she was up on her feet, back to the wall. Jackson had her by the waist and was kissing her mouth harshly; she tried to scream but it got lost somewhere along the way. She was rapidly running out of oxygen and began shoving against his chest. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO -

He moved off her mouth and she gasped, panting for air and still trying to push him away, kicking and punching. "Get off get off get off!" she hissed, trying to summon up enough air to scream.

He looked up and slid his face micrometers from hers. "You scream and they'll think you're insane. They'll watch you. And if you don't kill that man…they'll land the plane." he chuckled.

She felt her eyes burn. NO! You will not cry. You will not…feel…shame…

Jackson slid his lips down her throat, unbuttoning the top layer of her suit jacket to reveal the scar on her breast. He latched onto that spot with his mouth, licking and kissing and sucking there warmly.

She shivered, trying to ignore the almost-nice feeling that it produced, letting her arms fall down limply to her sides. "No…" she whispered.

"Mmmm." he lifted his head, kissing her lips again; this time he went much slower, softer. It was almost sweet and loving, making her guts roil with confusion. No, no, stop – oh, please, somebody – make him stop…

Lisa felt his hands on her thighs, slowly sliding upwards and she renewed her struggles. She bit her lip to keep from screaming; what good would it do her? He didn't have to hold a knife to her throat to make her be quiet; her own sense of self-preservation was enough to make her keep her mouth shut.

By the time he'd lifted up her skirt and undone his own pants and was inside of her, she realized with dawning horror that it didn't hurt – her body had been preparing itself thoroughly without her even noticing. She was afraid, but at the same time, it had an almost numbing, calming feeling. Maybe…maybe this wasn't going to be…

Jackson grew rougher in his thrusts, grunting with exertion, sweat trickling down his brow.

"Say something! Say something!" he panted, growling and trying so hard to hold back.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide open.

"Jack the Ripper." she whispered softly, and he came with a choking, shuddering sob.

It was different, as a ghost – or whatever he was. Much more tiring. Much more draining. Jackson sagged against her, slick forehead resting in the crook between her neck and left shoulder. His hands, which had been gripping her hips so tightly, felt numb. He let his arms drop, and then suddenly noticed something.

Her hands, which hand been – for as much as he could remember – lying limp against the wall, were busy; one rested on his lower back softly, the other was gently stroking his sweaty hair back out of his face.

Lisa's initial shock and fear had turned to sad acceptance, but it had gone one step further – tenderness, for some reason that Jackson couldn't understand. She held him gently; the only sound in the air was their breathing.

And for a moment, all was serene, and peaceful.

To Be Continued…