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If anyone wants an explanation for the 'Lord of the Flies' stuff, just ask.

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"Jack's domain is the emotions, which rule and fuel his animal nature."

"The strong-willed, egomaniacal Jack is the…primary representative of the instinct of savagery, violence, and the desire for power"

"Jack's love of authority and violence are intimately connected, as both enable him to feel powerful and exalted."
"His main interest is hunting, an endeavor that begins with the desire for meat and builds to the overwhelming urge to master and kill other living creatures. Hunting develops the savagery that already ran close to his surface…"

"Jack takes an entirely different direction from logic or common sense. Perhaps out of some guilt he is unable to acknowledge, Jack becomes paranoid…"

"Jack represents evil and violence, the dark side of human nature."

-excerpts from the Cliff Notes and Spark Notes for 'The Lord of the Flies'

"'I dunno, Ralph. I expect it's him.'
'Jack?'
'Jack.' A taboo was evolving around that word too.

Ralph nodded solemnly.

'Yes,' he said, 'I suppose it must be.'

The forest near them burst into an uproar. Demoniac figures with faces of white and red and green rushed out howling…"

-'The Lord of the Flies'

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Just as she had predicted, the nightmares came.

They were vivid and terrifying, and they seemed to vary from night to night. One night, Jackson would be holding her down in a parking lot, and her rapist would slam her into a bathroom wall the next. She dreamt one night that Jackson had strapped her onto the wing of the plane, and as the plane flew, she screamed and screamed and screamed, but no one had saved her. Another night, she'd dreamt that Jackson had snuck into her apartment and taken a pen and stabbed her, over and over again, until the sheets turned red from the blood. Another night, she'd dreamed that he and her rapist were both trying to find her, to hunt her down inside her father's house. She'd hidden in a closet, but Jackson had found her. Right before he shot her, she'd heard her father's voice coming out of his mouth.

"Are you alright, Leese?"

"Are you sure?"

That time, she'd woken up screaming.

She hadn't gone back to her apartment since the flight. Instead, she stayed at her dad's house in her old room. The idea of waking up in the middle of the night, alone in her apartment, frightened Lisa. She felt some sort of assurance staying inside her father's house, where at least she wasn't alone.

Part of her felt like this was almost unnecessary; that, if she just went back to her apartment and moved on, everything would be alright again. But the thought of having to go back to her apartment and stay there, pretending everything was alright while Jackson Ripner was still around, made Lisa feel nervous to the point of nausea. She wanted to be able to move on, but she still felt so…vulnerable.

The hotel staff had been completely understanding when Lisa asked to take some time off. They'd been haranguing her into taking some vacation time even before the infamous flight, so they had completely supported her decision. Lisa couldn't feel more grateful. At this point, she really, really needed support.

For the last two weeks, she'd stayed at her father's house, either moping around the house all day, watching the comedy reruns with her dad, or walking around town aimlessly. She would sit down in a bookstore sometimes and pick up a magazine, then look up at a clock and notice that three hours had passed. She barely ate anything, and because of her night terrors, she was constantly exhausted. She gave off the appearance of a skeleton, making her father worry all the more. "I know things are tough right now, sweetie," he said, "but things will go back to normal. You'll see."

She hated this. She hated this feeling of vulnerability that she had because of Jackson. When she'd been raped, the first thing she'd told herself was that she was in control, and that if she stayed in control, it wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't let it happen again. But she had. Granted, she hadn't been raped, but this just as bad. Maybe even worse. And over and over again, she heard Jackson's response when he'd heard about what had happened.

"…it was beyond your control."

Whenever she thought of that phrase, she felt rage bubbling up. Rage at Jackson, rage at herself, rage at the police, rage at her rapist, rage at everyone. She wanted things to be within her control, but once things got out of hand, she didn't know what to do. Jackson was right. The rape had been beyond her control. The flight had been beyond her control. The police were beyond her control. Her whole life was beyond her control.

She hated Jackson for being right.

The newspapers were starting to get frantic about what had happened. Although the police had issued a statement that said they had some leads, people were still angry that they didn't know who these leads were. They were also angry that no one cared to explain how exactly a missile had made its way to the Keefes' hotel room in the first place, or who had been involved, or what exactly had taken place. Keefe, for his part, had remained silent on the whole issue. Lisa, at this point, didn't give too much of a damn.

About two weeks after her first questioning by the police, the station called her father's house, asking her to come in for more questioning. This time, Lisa had the benefit of going in sober: she dressed herself in respectable business clothes, made sure she looked well-kempt, and drank some coffee on the way over to keep up her energy level. She didn't want them to mistake her for the woman who'd passed out on the bench.

For the most part, it was the same as last time. There were a few more questions about terrorists this time ('Have you ever considered joining a terrorist organization?' 'Does anyone you know have a connection to a terrorist organization?' 'How do you feel about the Department of Homeland Security?') and about any possibility that she was an alcoholic ('Has anyone in your family ever had a drinking problem?' 'When you drink, do you always get drunk?' 'Do you drink socially or by yourself?') There were more questions, and Lisa felt as though she had to repeat herself every five seconds, but she managed to keep her temper under control this time. She had already made enough of a bad impression the last time she had gone to visit the police. She didn't need to make her situation worse.

As she was walking out of the room where the police had questioned her, she turned to one of the officers and asked abruptly, "Whatever happened to Jackson?"

The officer blinked. "What?"

"Jackso-…I mean, Mr. Crane. What happened to him?"

"The surgery to remove the bullets from his abdomen was successful, and the doctors managed to successfully restore his throat. He's still recuperating at the hospital, I believe. We went there about a week ago for questioning."

Lisa absorbed this for a few seconds, before replying. "I want to talk to him."

"What?"

"I want to see him. I need to talk to him."

The officer looked worried as soon as she had said this, but she began speaking again before he could offer some half-hearted excuse. "I haven't been arrested, have I? He hasn't been arrested, has he? There's no legal reason for you to keep me from talking to him."

The officer stammered a bit, then turned to the investigator (thankfully, not the one from Lisa's last encounter). The investigator shrugged. "She's right. Neither of them are officially suspects."

The officer sighed, then turned to Lisa. "Alright. We can let you visit him, but I'd prefer that you be escorted by one of our officers."

Lisa quickly agreed. Whatever it took, she needed to see Jackson.

A few hours later, she sat outside Jackson's hospital room while one of the officers discussed with the attending nurse whether or not Jackson would be up to a visitor. Lisa sat off to the side, staring into space, not really hearing what anyone was saying.

Before he'd taken her to the hospital, the officer had warned her not to try anything stupid while she was there. He had searched through her purse to ensure that no concealed weapons were there. There was nothing, although Lisa had toyed with the idea of bringing her father's gun. She'd decided against it when she realized that, if an officer did search through her purse, it would look more than a little suspicious.

Besides, she had a multitude of pens, just in case.

When he had finished talking to the nurse, the officer wandered back to Lisa, who snapped out of a reverie when he approached. "The nurse says it's alright if you visit him, but he's asleep right now. If you want, you can come back tomorrow…"

"No. No, I want to see him now." Lisa stated this with a steely determination, knowing that if she waited for another day, the officer might come up with some excuse to keep her away. And she needed to talk to Jackson.

It was all his fault. All of this was his damn fault. She wasn't sure what she was going to say once she got in there. Maybe she'd scream at him, maybe she'd ask why he did what he did, maybe she'd kill him. Any way it went, she needed to talk to him.

As she got up to follow the nurse, the officer looked at her sternly. "Now, remember, this is just a visit. I don't want you getting any ideas in your head about using this for revenge or anything. And I'll be out here, watching you," he indicated the window on the door, "so don't try anything."

Lisa nodded, then followed the nurse inside.

True to her word, the nurse was right. Jackson lay there, sleeping peacefully in his hospital bed, not giving any signs of noticing Lisa or the nurse's presence. The nurse, having let Lisa in, spoke to her quietly, "If he stops sleeping, then visiting him is fine. But don't try and wake him up. He's still recovering, and needs his rest."

Lisa nodded, pretending to care. In reality, she really didn't give a damn how much beauty rest Jackson got. But she decided to follow the nurse's orders, and merely sat on one of the chairs near Jackson's bed as the nurse quietly left the room.

It was almost eerie, looking at the man who'd kept her under his thumb back on the plane. On the flight he'd seemed powerful, dominating, almost super-human in the way that he knew everything about her and was able to counter any move she'd made. When she'd stabbed him, he'd lost some of that powerful aura, but it hadn't stopped her from being frightened of him when he showed up at her house, doing all that he could to kill her.

And now, here he was, lying on a sterile hospital bed, asleep. He almost seemed too normal to be real. Lisa, in her mind, had elevated him to an untouchable status. On the plane, he'd known her so well that he'd known her every move and had been able to keep her from getting any help. Even after she'd stabbed him, he'd kept on breathing and running after her, and had found her at her father's house a mere few minutes after she'd arrived. Even after he'd been shot twice, he kept on breathing, and stayed alive. And he could even hurt her from a hospital bed. He could make the police think she was the criminal without ever having to leave a hospital room.

Lisa had done some research on gunshot wounds. She'd learned it was very difficult to survive being shot in the abdomen, since there were so many vital organs and blood vessels in that area. It was normally a wonder not to be killed instantly. But he hadn't died instantly. He was still alive even now.

He was supposed to be dead. He should be dead. More than anyone else, he deserved death.

Lisa exhaled. No good getting enraged at him while he was still asleep. There'd be plenty of time for that once he was actually awake.

While waiting for Jackson to awaken, Lisa decided to busy herself by looking around the room. Not that there was much to look at. White walls, white ceiling, a few monitors that indicated that, yes, Jackson was still breathing and his heart was still beating. No balloons or get-well cards or anything like that. Lisa took an almost juvenile pleasure in the fact that Jackson didn't seem to have anyone who cared enough to send him anything.

Lisa noticed a small night table to the left of Jackson's bed. On it lay a small pile of books, pages marked haphazardly by bookmarks, or, rather, Post-its that had been folded in half. Lisa picked them up, wondering what on earth someone like Jackson Ripner would read. 'Hamlet', 'And Then There Were None', 'Death on the Nile', 'Three Blind Mice and other stories', 'A Study in Scarlet', 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde', and finally, Lord of the Flies. Lisa found an ironic humor in the last book's title. 'How appropriate for Jackson.'

Every single book he had with him dealt with murder. How fitting for a killer like him. But still, kind of eerie. Lisa could imagine him reading them and scoffing at any mistakes they made, calling them amateurish. Or, maybe he used the books for tips. Or, maybe he was just sick and twisted and obsessed with murder. Maybe he just really liked Agatha Christie.

Lisa glanced down at him. He was still sleeping, his breathing slow and rhythmic, the monitors beeping in time with his exhaling. Lisa glanced out the small window on the room door. The officer was glancing through a magazine and sipping a cup of coffee. He didn't seem to be paying that much attention.

Lisa looked back at Jackson, still sleeping.

She wondered if she could kill him.

She had more pens in her purse, and she knew it had worked to some extent last time. She would just have to aim better, and use a stronger thrust. It would be easier this time. He couldn't fight back, and, if necessary, she could stab him more than once. Over and over again, until he stopped breathing and his blood had run out.

It would be all too easy.

Lisa's heart skipped a beat at the thought. She could kill Jackson. She could do it. She had the perfect opportunity. The cop wasn't watching, Jackson was asleep, there was no one in the immediate area to stop her. If she stabbed his throat, it would be hard for him to scream, and the likelihood was, no one would hear him. She could cover him up to his neck with the bed sheet when she was done, as though he were still sleeping, then walk out with the officer when she was done. No one would notice until she was long gone…

As thrilling as the idea was, the more rational part of Lisa's brain warned her against it. She'd be found out easily. It would be quite the coincidence to have her come visit and then find Jackson dead. Besides, he was hooked up to monitors that would give off an alarm if he started to die. And if she tried to cover his throat with the sheet, the blood would just soak through. It would be all too easy to figure out that it was her, and she was in enough hot water with the police as it was.

But still…Jackson would be dead.

Curious, Lisa reached into her purse and pulled out a thick pen with a sharp point. It was a nice pen that one of the hotel employees had given her when she'd been promoted to manager. It would do the trick easily.

She wondered if Jackson would even notice her moving towards him, right before the sharp stab of pain and the sudden flow of blood.

Lisa glanced out the window once more, seeing that the officer was still reading his magazine, not noticing a thing. Lisa's heart raced, and she felt almost giddy with anticipation. She crept over to Jackson's bed, pen poised, and she began to scan his throat for the best place to aim.

Just as she started raising her arm, a hand shot out and held her arm in a strong grip as a familiar voice inquired, "Et tu, Brute?"

Lisa let out a small cry before dropping the pen and stumbling backwards, sputtering, "Y-you…"

Jackson grinned as he sat up, watching her as she gaped at him. "Really, Leese, honestly. Here I was, thinking how nice it was that someone came to visit me, and then you pull a stunt like that. It hurts my feelings, Leese. Really, it does." The smirk never left his face as Lisa stammered for something to say.

"Y-you were supposed to be asleep…"

"Was I really? I guess I missed the memo on that one." Jackson cocked his head to one side, as though examining her as she stared at him. "Honestly, Leese, I wasn't sure that you were the type to kill someone in cold blood. But I did have to wonder if, given the opportunity…"

Lisa's head was pounding all of a sudden. Oh crap, she'd tried to kill him. And he knew it. Dammit, he was supposed to be asleep…"Shut up!"

"…well, of course, it must be tempting when you see the man who tormented you just lying there, helpless, no way to escape. But you seemed to pride yourself on being such a nice person…"

"Shut up!"

"…so I thought that maybe I'd test her, just to see if she really was the nice person she thought she was…"

"SHUT UP!"

Lisa picked up her pen and brandished it as though it were some sort of magical sword that could make Jackson stop talking. She needed to make him stop talking. She needed to think, she needed to concentrate. There was a cop standing outside the door…Jackson was supposed to be asleep…

….oh crap, she'd just tried to kill him.

Jackson stared at her, trying his best to seem emotionless. The hint of a cocky smile still played on the end of his lips, however. "What, are you going to try and kill me, Leese?"

Lisa, despite knowing how much of a fool she must've looked like, tried her best to seem menacing. "I could, you know. It would be easy."

Jackson shrugged. "I suppose when you're only thinking in terms of jabbing pointed objects, it would seem easy. But you seem to have too much of a fondness for the throat, Leese. If I were you, I'd aim more for the temple area."

Lisa blinked. Was he giving advice on how she should kill him? Or was he just mocking her? Then again, this was Jackson she was dealing with: of course he was mocking her. She glared at him, but he just stared at her with faux innocence.

"I'm not kidding around, Jack."

Jackson smiled toothily. "I never said you were. But if I were you," he raised his gaze towards the ceiling, "I'd be a little more careful."

Lisa followed his gaze, wondering what on earth he was talking about. She kept looking until she saw exactly what he had been trying to indicate.

A security camera.

'Oh shit…' Lisa dropped the pen and stared at the camera, its lens carefully recording her every motion.

"Oh, relax. I doubt they can tell what you're up to using an old model like that." Jackson pointed at the camera, while Lisa still stared at it, internally panicking. Jackson continued, "See, those old kinds of camera became obsolete, what, twenty years ago? And they expect to protect people with them. Right now, I bet the only thing the security people can see are black and white images of the tops of our heads. The images aren't even that great. Most of the time, the picture's so fuzzy you could probably be holding a damn Uzi and they wouldn't know what the hell they were looking at. Of course, if they were to find a dead body in one of the beds…well, then it's a different story."

Lisa stopped staring at the camera, turning her head to stare at Jackson. He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect that his words had on her. "Any assassin worth his salt will tell you the same thing, Leese."

Lisa blinked. "You just called yourself an assassin in front of the security camera…"

"…that only records images. Plus, your little officer friend doesn't seem to be paying too much attention…" Jackson nodded towards the window on the door, where Lisa could see that the officer was still fixated on his magazine, "…since he would have rushed in here already if he'd been paying any kind of attention. You got lucky, Leese. Generally, it's about a one in three shot, getting an absent-minded cop around here."

Lisa tried to block out his words, since her head was now pounding from the onset of a sudden headache. Too much had happened in the space of less than a minute…oh shit, she'd tried to kill Jackson…

Jackson, for his part, pretended not to notice Lisa's expression of anxiety, and continued to talk as though this were an amiable conversation, even though Lisa could hear the venom that laced his words. "So, Lisa, what exactly brings you here? Other than my untimely demise, I'm sure you must have had some reason for coming here."

Lisa, snapping out of her daze, tried to recover her composure. "What did you tell the police?"

"Now, now, Leese, haven't you heard about confidentiality? If you really want to know, why don't you just ask your officer friends over at the station?" Jackson smiled with faux amiability at her. "Or are they not being as helpful as you'd like? Are they asking you questions you'd rather not answer, making accusations that you know aren't true?" The amiable smile turned into a full-on smirk as Jackson continued, "Or are you still embarrassed about getting drunk in front of the entire police department?"

Lisa glared at him, her hatred for him renewed. "How do you know about that?"

Jackson's eyes widened, almost in surprise, and he laughed, dumbfounding Lisa. "So the rumors are true! Lisa Reisert, the quintessence of respectability and professionalism, passes out from drinking in the middle of a police station."

Lisa's cheeks burned. "What about Jackson Ripner, certified assassin and quintessence of professionalism, getting stabbed in the throat by a zombie pen?"

The smirk vanished from Jackson's face, replaced by a look of anger and restrained temper, only to return again a second later on Lisa's face. "Hit a sore spot, did I?"

Jackson tried his best to look nonchalant, but she'd hit a nerve, and Lisa knew it. He shrugged. "You still haven't told me why you came here, Leese. And I'm sure it's not just to see my pretty face."

"What did you tell the police about me? Why do they think I'm a criminal?"

"Well, Leese, from what I heard when they came around for questioning, they pretty much laid it out for you: you've committed several different counts of assault, then there's the grand theft auto to consider, not to mention the fact that you keep insisting that a man with no criminal background or terrorist connections is really the one they should be watching out for. Then, you went out of your way to do something really stupid by passing out in front of the cops." Jackson paused. "By the way, was it just me, or are the cops under the impression that we had sex on the flight?"

Lisa felt her face turn red again, and she decided to ignore that last question. "They'll figure out the truth. They'll eventually find some evidence…"

"What evidence, Leese?" Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "What evidence is there for them to find? Last time I checked, all the evidence they had seemed to be against you, not me."

Lisa tried to think of something, anything that the police might find that would make them suspect Jackson. "Your associate. They haven't checked his background out…"

"Yes, they have. From what they've dug up, he's nothing more than a retired car salesman from New York who moved to Florida for the fresh air."

"But he was carrying a gun…"

"…just like thousands of other people in this country, Leese. It's not that suspicious."

"…you…you came to my house. You tried to kill me…"

"The police have already written that off as an act of rage after a certain incident with a ball-point pen. They seem to think it's understandable to be a little pissed after something like that, and no one really thinks that charges are going to end up being filed."

Lisa stammered for something to say, some iron-clad piece of evidence that Jackson was really the bad guy, not her. Try as she might, though, she couldn't think of anything. "There'll be something. There just…there has to be something…"

"Why? Why does there have to be something?"

Lisa's headache pounded in her head as her frustration mounted. Why had she come here just to hear him mock her? "Because it's the truth, dammit! It's what happened…"

Jackson laughed, and Lisa found herself hating him more than ever. "What's so funny?"

"You. You think the truth really matters? Do you think anybody really cares what really happened back there?"

"Of course they do, that's why they've been…"

"Wrong. What they care about is finding an easy explanation for everything that happened, and right now, you're it. They blame it all on the crazy, alcoholic girl from the plane, and that's all the answers they need." Jack smiled at Lisa condescendingly. "You're a smart girl, Leese. Even you should know by now that the truth is almost never what really happened, it's just what everyone wants to believe happened. 'The truth' is nothing more than what everyone thinks is correct."

Lisa hated how Jackson talked down to her, and she tried her best to ignore it. "And here I was, thinking that you prided yourself on being such an honest person."

"I am an honest person…when I have no reason not to be. You'd be surprised how few people can say that."

"That's nothing special. Most people don't lie unless they have a reason."

"Yes, they do." Jackson gave Lisa a cold look, off-set by his ever-condescending smile. "You'd know that better than I would, Leese. After all, why lie when someone's simply asking you, say, how you like your vodka sweetened?" Jackson seemed to take delight in the way Lisa had no response to his question, one which he knew would dumbfound her. "People lie without thinking, Leese. I know that you do. I watched you long enough to know that."

Jackson began mimicking Lisa's voice by making his own sound more high-pitched. "What's that? Have nachos with you? Sorry, I can't, I have some, erm, calls. You know, the things with the phones? Hello, Dad? Am I okay? Yeah, Dad, everything's peachy, no terrorists or anything. By the way, Jackson, I have to go to the bathroom, but I swear I won't do anything stupid while I'm in there…"

Lisa's hand flung towards his face, but before she got to slap him as she'd planned, he'd grabbed her wrist and began digging his nails into her skin. "Hit a sore spot, did I?"

Lisa hissed in pain. "You son of a bitch…" She yanked her arm out of his grip, backing away from him as he watched her check her arm. Tiny beads of blood sprouted from where his nails had dug in, and Lisa felt her frustration mount. "You lowlife son of a bitch…"

"Sticks and stones, Leese." Jackson glared at her coldly, observing Lisa's anger with an almost clinical detachment. "By the way, you never answered my question."

"What?"

"Why are you here?" Lisa looked up to see Jackson's steely gaze, and she realized, for the first time since she'd gotten there, that she had no answer. She just gave him a hard look, which he reciprocated before sighing and turning to the books that were still littering his night table. One by one he picked them up, putting the ones he seemed to like back while tossing the rest to the other side of the room.

"Too long…pretty good…okay...so-so…too boring…piece of shit…overly laden with symbolism…"

Jackson smiled at the scattered books that lay on the other side of the room. "Well, that cuts down my reading list."

Lisa heard a small clicking noise, and the door swung open quietly to reveal the police officer. He frowned a little at the books on the floor, then turned to Lisa. "The station just called. They need me back there, so I'm afraid it's time for you to leave." Lisa nodded, picked up her purse, and walked out quietly. She made sure that she didn't even glance at Jackson as she left, doing her very best to let him know just how much she hated him. The officer, for his part, took the magazine he'd been reading with him as they left.

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"I will avenge my ghost with every breath I take

I'm coming back from the dead and I'll take you home with me

I'm taking back the life you stole

This hole you put me in

Wasn't deep enough and I'm climbing out right now

You're running out of places to hide from me"

-'It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish'