Chapter Two
Disclaimer-Heh, sorry I forgot this in the first chapter. Man, I don't know what I would do if I owned Lost and Red Eye. However, to keep the PG13 rating, I'll refrain from making a few suggestions. I don't own either. Sadly.
A/N-Another sorta-disclaimer. I'm not going to have Lisa and Jackson involved in every aspect of the Lost plot. Otherwise, this story would just be the Lost script with a few comments by Jackson and Lisa thrown in, which would be equally boring to read and write. Thus, while Lisa and Jack will interact with the Golden Group, they'll mostly keep in the background, dealing with their own Island Issues. I do, however, solemnly swear that Jackson and Sawyer will try to kill each other at least once. I'll take bets on who you think would win.
Chapter Two-
As the floor of the plane continued to buck, throwing unlucky passengers into the ceiling, Lisa felt Jackson's arms close around her in a viselike grip as they smashed into the opposite bathroom wall. Lisa could see Jack's jaw clench in pain as his head snapped back against the metal edging of the door.
With another jolt, both fell to the floor, and Lisa found her face only inches from the one that had invaded her dreams and nightmare's alike for the past three years.
For a few seconds, neither moved, just lay there taking in the shock. Then Jackson scrambled to his feet, pulling Lisa up with him none too gently.
Lisa tore her arm out of his grip and took a step back, clutching onto the open bathroom door for balance as the floor quickly began to tilt downward.
"What the hell did you do, Jack?" she yelled over the whining of the engines and the screaming of passengers.
Jackson ignored her, swiveling to look at a nearby window displaying layers of clouds whizzing past. He swore violently and turned back to grab her arm once again and drag her back towards the midsection of the plane.
Lisa struggled, screaming for help from the other passengers no more than two feet from her. To her dismay, everyone was either screaming themselves or had their eyes tightly shut, praying or simply holding on to the best of their ability. No one could hear her cries for help.
As Jackson continued to pull her down the aisle, she caught the eye of the bald man she had spoken to earlier. He looked positively terrified, but unlike most others he was conscious and alert.
"Sir!" she shouted, trying to make herself heard. "Help me! Please!"
The bald man stared at Jackson in horror and gripped his handrests until his knuckles were white, but he didn't rise from his seat.
In one of her last moments of consciousness, the man shoot her a look of anguished apology, mixed with the helplessness she had seen earlier.
Then Jackson stopped at an empty row and turned to her, taking her shoulders in his hands and slamming his forehead down on hers.
Lisa's world turned a peaceful black.
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The bright light was killing her.
Lisa groaned and covered her eyes with her palm. She always kept the drapes in her apartment fully closed, for this reason among others. Always a light sleeper, she could be wakened at dawn by the rising sunshine. As she shifted to bury her face into her pillow, her eyes shot open as she realized her face was now covered in sand.
As sound slowly returned to her, Lisa could tell that she most definitely was not in her bedroom.
The first thing she heard was the rhythmic thumping of waves hitting the shore, not unlike something programmed in fancy musical alarm clocks.
Unfortunately, the pleasant sound of the tide was overwhelmed by heart-rendering screams and sobbing.
Planting her hands at her sides, Lisa pushed herself up and slowly climbed to her feet, still squinting. Her ascent was followed by a rush of nausea and dizziness, and Lisa reached to her side for her aspirin in her purse, but realized it was gone.
The second thing she noted was that her hair was wet. Funny, because all of her clothes were sandy, but dry. She reached her hand back and touched her head, shocked when her fingers came back coated in red.
As her eyes slowly adjusted to the light, Lisa forgot about her newly attained head wound and stood in stupefaction at the grisly scene in front of her.
The entire midsection of the plane, wings still shakily attached lay like a giant metal sausage on the beach. Strewn around it were various pieces of the plane, including one of the jets, the blades still spinning dangerously.
The front and back of the plane were nowhere to be found.
Various battered and bloodied people ran through the wreckage, screaming. Some screamed names with heartbreaking desperation, while others just screamed in pain or shock. A young blonde woman stood on a flat piece of metal, shrieking simply because it looked like the only thing she could do.
Lisa began to stumble towards the plane, her eyes searching for a slim, dark-haired man in a suit. There was nothing.
Her pace quickened as she raced through the maze, her mind too numbed to wonder what she was doing, looking for a man who most likely wanted to kill her.
"Jackson!" she called hoarsely, pushing past masses of shell-shocked men and women, scanning their faces for a familiar pair of eyes.
In the corner of her vision, she spotted a man in a suit and whipped around, his name at the tip of her tongue. But it wasn't him. The man pulling another out from beneath the wreckage was larger than Jackson and had close-cut hair.
Running past him, Lisa sprinted towards the body of the plane. At the opening, the jagged hole where she assumed the plane had broken off from the back, Lisa could see the rows of seats, most empty. Some, however, were still filled with inert bodies, and the overwhelming smell of blood forced her to retreat several steps.
There. A few rows from the back. Lisa could see the back of Jackson's head, slumped back on the headrest.
Steeling herself and taking a deep breath of air, Lisa climbed through the hole and into the aisle of the plane.
She forced herself to keep her eyes completely forward. She didn't want to chance a glance at the other occupants of the plane.
Arriving at his row, Lisa turned and looked at Jackson, inhaling sharply. In addition to a deep gash on his forehead, Jackson's shirt was soaked with blood from a horizontal cut across his abdomen.
Lisa swung into the empty seat next to him and hesitantly pressed her fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse. She found one, weak but fairly steady.
Letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, she closed her eyes and tried to clam yourself. "You can do this, Lisa." she whispered, ignoring the warning bells in her mind that were asking why she wanted to do this in the first place.
Unbuckling Jackson's seatbelt, she slung his arm over her shoulders and wrapped her arm around his back, straining to lift him from the seat. Jackson gave a low moan, but didn't wake up.
Pulling with everything she had at the moment (which wasn't much), Lisa managed to get on her feet and drag Jackson out of the aisle. She let out a small prayer of thanks that Jackson was a slim guy.
Shuffling sideways, Lisa pulled him down the aisle, stopping for breaks to catch her breath. Now facing the airplane wall, she was subjected to the gruesome view of passengers who hadn't been quite as lucky as she was. Lisa dropped her gaze to the bloodied carpet and tried not to throw up.
She had absolutely no idea how she was going to climb down onto the ground without dropping Jackson. Luckily, as she was standing at the edge of the plane, she caught the glimpse of a red t-shirt as a young man raced by.
"Hey!" she called, her voice sore and cracking. The man stopped in his tracks and turned, looking at her in surprise.
"Help me with him, I can't climb down." she pleaded, breathing a sigh of relief as the man nodded and jogged over, taking Jackson from Lisa's arms as she jumped down into the sand. Together, they dragged him up away from the plane, until they were closer to the jungle at the edge of the beach.
"That's good." Lisa panted. The young man, who was probably a year or two younger than her, dropped Jackson carefully in the sand.
"Do you have a pen?" he questioned breathlessly, resting his hands on his knees and staring down at Jackson.
Lisa almost laughed. "What did you say?"
"There's a doctor over there; he needs to do one of those throat pen-things to a woman who's not breathing. That's where I was going when you saw me."
Lisa fumbled in her jacket pocket for her black ballpoint pen with "Lux Atlantic" written on the side. "Here." she offered
The man reached over Jackson's body. "Thanks."
"It's nothing. Thank you so much for helping me…..um…."
"Boone. I'm Boone." the man said, smiling.
Lisa smiled tiredly as she dropped to her knees by Jackson's body. "Thanks Boone. You should probably get that pen to the doctor now."
"Right."
As Boone took off toward the plane, Lisa surveyed Jackson's wounds again.
The cut on his stomach was long but pretty shallow, though there was a surprising amount of blood there. Frowning, she pushed Jackson's suit jacket off of his shoulders and unbuttoned his collared shirt.
If someone told me yesterday that I'd be undressing Jackson Rippner on a beach, Lisa thought, chuckling grimly, I'd say they were a few logs short of a roaring fire.
She grimaced as Jackson's wound came into full view. Stripping off her jacket to wipe away the blood with, Lisa could see that most off the blood came from a circle inside the cut, most likely an old bullet wound, reopened. It fact, it was in the right place for the bullet she had shot at him three years ago.
Lisa's head jerked up as one man's hoarse shouting broke through the quieting shrieking, and turned to see the suited man she confused for Jackson sprinting towards a extremely fat man and an extremely pregnant woman.
"Get up! Get her away from there!"
Lisa's gazed traveled upward and she gasped in horror as one of the wings of the plane broke away from the body and plummeted toward the ground, right where the man and women were standing.
As the wing made contact with the ground, a gigantic explosion rocked the beach and Lisa threw herself down on the sand next to Jackson, covering her head with her hands.
Wreckage flew in all directions, one large piece narrowly missing Lisa and Jackson and almost crushing a short man clothed in black, who looked surprisingly nonchalant.
As the smoke cleared from the area, Lisa lifted her head, scanning Jackson to make sure he was intact and then turning her attention back to the plane. To her relief, the pregnant woman was alright, having been shielded by the suited man who had reached them just in time.
Crawling back into a sitting position, Lisa dusted herself off and massaged her temples, wondering if this was all some kind of Advil-induced nightmare.
Sweeping her gaze back over to Jackson, who still had blood pooling on his forehead, Lisa reached for her coat and tried to dab some of the blood away.
"I swear to God, Jackson." she grumbled, "If we live through this you owe me a lifetime supply of Seabreezes."
It was at that moment that Jackson's eyes shot open.
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Reviews are Happiness!
Oh, and for those who don't watch Lost, I've decided to add links for the pictures of charecters from the show I introduce on my bio, since I can't post links on chapters. If you want to see Boone, just go to the "stories" part of my bio, to Probability, and there should be a Boone link. Just to get a mental picture in your head.
Thanks for reading!