Author's Note: This isn't new. In fact it's old and most of you probably know it already. But I re-read it recently, blushed and decided it needed - and deserved - a brush-up and some love. So I've edited it carefully, and am now re-posting the whole story. Adding a maybe much longed-for little something towards the end. ;) Nic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye, Jackson, Lisa, or any of the events that this story is built on.

AN2: This has been re-re-re-edited... so this is a a second re-post. It's still more or less the same, but I hope I've tightened it up a bit. Thanks to Greyhaven and Emma. /Nic. Reposted 010410.

1. Courage Is Not The Lack Of Fear But The Ability To Face It (John B. Putnam Jr.)

I sprinted for my life through the arrivals at the Miami International Airport, my impractical heels clicking rapidly against the marble floor. The late afternoon sun shone steadily, its light distorted through the giant windows that displayed the planes outside. It was beautiful scenery really, a real display of mankind's landmarks, and I didn't have even the slightest moment to admire the sight. Instead was falling into a dark abyss of raw fear screaming inside my head, making me oblivious to everything else other than to get away from him.

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. Jackson could be right on my heels, he could catch me any moment. I just couldn't stop looking over my shoulder again and again, even though it slowed me down. The skin on my back crawled from not knowing if he'd grab me in the next instant, or the next, or the next. I remembered his hands on my skin, over and over throughout the flight, rough warm fingers. His touch, burned into my very soul.

I took a chance and glanced behind me. No. Still nothing. Where is he?

I saw no blue-eyed wrath hunting me, just anonymous faces; people glancing uninterested at me and then away, minding their own business, on their way home to their loved ones. I didn't have business of my own anymore, and if I didn't hurry I'd lose my loved ones as well. He was responsible for that. And now I was risking my life to try to save others.

Jackson.

Images from the last few hours flickered mercilessly by as I kept running, pounding at my mind like a hammer: the intense gaze that had me spellbound from the start, the smooth laugh and that slight rasp to his voice that made me shiver. Just a charming stranger I'd met in an airport in Texas. Only a few hours ago. A lifetime ago as it turned out. After hesitant flirting and pleasant small-talk, and that tingly feeling of having found something that I had lost a long time ago - because no matter how much I hated to admit that, he did catch my interest – he'd turned out to be a terrorist.

Just a criminal.

::

After, very convincingly, having threatened to murder my father and prying into my personal life until I had felt all ripped to pieces, I had finally done what he demanded that I do. I had made the call. Being a manager at the Lux Atlantic Resort, I was in a position to access the customer database and, more importantly, the personal trust of some of our most important guests.

And that's why Jackson had chosen me.

He hadn't flirted with me because he liked me. He hadn't made me feel special because he'd been interested in me as a person. He'd just wanted to prey on what I had achieved in life.

I loathed him for fooling me so fundamentally, but I despised myself even more.

Because I had fallen for it. I had been in the dark for so long, so lonely and lost, and something in him had woken something inside me. I felt like he saw me. Saw me.

I had been wrong. Terribly, utterly wrong.

In the end I'd crumbled from the pressure and the threats, had called the hotel and spoken to Cynthia, the desk clerk on duty. I had wanted so much for her to be able to tell from my voice that something was different, that she couldn't trust me. We've known each other for long enough. But Cynthia - kind, good-natured Cynthia - had only expressed her concern for me. She'd thought it was my fear of flying. With Jackson sitting a few inches away I could do nothing other than reinforce that belief.

Jackson had wanted me to change the room that Charles Keefe, an upstanding politician from Washington DC, was going to stay in during his visit in Miami. It had sounded so simple really. So harmless. Just lift the phone and make the call.

I couldn't let them kill my father.

I had fought him so hard, done everything in my power to stall and to make him budge, make him sympathize with me, my dad, and the Keefes, but in the end I still lost.

'Cynthia, I need you to change Keefe's room…' '4080…'

No stone had fallen from my heart when it had been done. Jackson, the bastard, had been sitting next to me with a satisfied look on his unbelievably handsome face. The pain in my heart had increased until it felt like I was going to explode. The plane had been descending rapidly and Jackson kept rambling about something I barely listened to. I hadn't been able to care less about what else he had to say. I'd done what he'd asked, and my heart had been sinking with every foot the plane descended. I'd been looking out the window, seeing Miami in evening light approaching fast under us. It was my home, my territory, not his, and I'd be damned if I'd let him destroy all these lives. I had to stop this. Somehow I had to undo this terrible mistake.

Clutching the pen I had found on the floor earlier, I'd made a terrifying decision. I'd needed to break free of him as soon as we landed; get his phone and call the hotel again. I'd prayed to God it wouldn't be too late.

It hadn't worked out as I'd planned, though. Jackson had been quicker than I and had stopped my hand in mid-air when I'd tried to stab him in the throat. I'd seen the way he looked at me as he'd held my wrist in a crushing grip: I would die for that. I think it surprised him when I bit his hand, hard. It had surprised me. But I had gotten loose and jumped across him, grabbing his phone as I'd gone. His arms had shot out and caught a fistful of my cardigan. I had stumbled and almost fallen back onto his lap, then I'd shrugged out of the garment. In the tumult I'd felt his hand grip my ankle but I'd kicked out and hit something soft, and then I'd been free.

::

Now I was running like a frightened rabbit through the domestic arrivals, afraid to get caught, afraid to not make it. Clutching his phone in my hand, I evaded someone, almost ran into someone else. Fear and anger pulsated through my veins. I have to get away. I have to make a call. I have to hide!

Realizing he could find me easily out in the open and that I was unable to use the phone while running for my life, I dove into a vacant handicapped restroom. The phone, bless it, connected without a password, up until then I hadn't even thought of that. Not very professional of you, is it, Jackson? But thanks!

Cynthia! Pick up!

"Lux Atlantic Resort, this is Cynthia speaking. How may I help you?"

Thank GOD! "Cynthia, it's Lisa." Even I was alarmed by the tremor in my voice.

"Lisa? Are you still on the plane?"

"No, I…"

"It wasn't easy, but I fixed everything before Keefe's arrival…"

"He's there already?"

"Ehm, yes, I…"

"Listen, Cynthia. Listen really hard: Keefe is a target."

"What?"

"I don't have time to explain. I don't know what, but something terrible is going to happen. You have to get Keefe out of that room."

"But I just ch…"

"It's not about that. Someone is going to kill Keefe! You have to get him out of that room."

I heard a faint 'Oh God', and then: "What do I do?"

"Get everybody out of the hotel. Pull the fire alarm. Pull the alarm, then you have to go up personally and tell them Keefe is a target. Tell them that I said so. Do you get it?" Cynthia, please…

It was quiet again, I heard two beeps, telling me the phone's battery would soon be dead, then I heard a distant, rapid click of heels against tiled floor and suddenly the blessed sound of the fire alarm. Thank. You.

I didn't know if everything was going to be all right, but I had done everything I possibly could. Sinking to the floor, I trembled so hard that the phone almost slipped out of my sweaty hand. Catching it, I quickly cancelled the call.

One more. Come on. This was the most important call I would ever make. In my life.

My bladder made itself heard, reminding me I'd had a large drink some hours ago. Pulling down my stockings and panties, I slammed down on the toilet, dialling my dad's number and waiting impatiently for the dial tone. A sudden rustle of feet outside the door startled me. I had almost forgotten about my own precarious situation during the battle of getting Cynthia to understand. Now I froze and stopped breathing. My heart raced and I began to shiver. The handle was pressed down once, stayed down, and then was slowly let back up again. Meanwhile the phone connected and I jerked at the sound of the first ring.

Come on, pick up. Transfixed, I stared at the door while listening to the second ring. Then the phone beeped twice again and died in my ear. "No!" I hissed.

I clapped my hands over my mouth; I'd made a sound. What if it was him out there? Him waiting patiently, quietly, for me to come out of hiding. Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. The door seemed to vibrate from the unknown presence on the other side, and I waited, holding my breath until it became unbearable.

Squeezing the phone hard in my hand, I lowered my trembling hands and tried to make it connect again, but the display only blinked once in faint green, almost teasingly, and died on me once more.

What did I expect? After all, it was his phone.

I had to get out. I had to take the chance with the stranger outside, praying it wouldn't be Jackson. What would be the odds? In an airport with tens of thousands passing through each day and night, why would it be him? He was probably long gone by now, on his way to a phone… to call his 'good dog', his associate placed outside my father's house.

Oh my God! My heart pounded harder at the thought. I had to get to a working phone. Fast.

Jackson's now useless phone fell to the floor as I got up. It shattered against the floor and staring vacantly at the little plastic parts I suddenly realized I didn't have any money. My stomach clenched. I didn't have anything. My bag was still back on the plane, stuffed in the overhead compartment.

As I let my skirt back down, a feeling of nakedness crept up on me. My first instinct was to head back to the plane to get my personal belongings. My second thought was that it was the stupidest thing I could ever do; it would be a total waste of time.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember what lay outside the restroom; I'd seen a gift shop, a couple of cafés, an information desk… Any of those would do if I only thought that Jackson wouldn't touch me if he spotted me. I wasn't so sure about that. Who could help me? A guard! I needed to find a guard, they'd help me; they'd make sure my dad would be safe and then they'd find Jackson and save me.

I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. It was as if the hours spent with Jackson had altered my sense of reality. He'd sucked me into his twisted world, had taken me hostage and shrunk me until I was nothing but obedient clay in his hands.

No more! I'll find a way out of this.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stretched out my trembling hand to the lock and turned the knob after only a moment of hesitation. Inhaling deeply, I unlocked the deadbolt. I swung the bathroom door open quickly, to surprise a possible attacker on the other side. I was terrified but ready for battle and screamed when I saw a lifted hand. The confused face of an elderly man, thin and grey-haired with crutches, met my wide-open eyes and as relief flooded through me I started to cry.

"Little girl, are you OK?"

Brushing past him, I tried to gain control over my speeding heart while I stared at all the people. Where was Jackson? I was sure he was around still. I'd seen the look in his eyes; he wasn't going to let me get away with attacking him. He'd have to assume that I'd used his phone. He wasn't stupid. But would he think that I'd call my dad, or the hotel first? What would be the sane thing for him to do at this point? I shook my head. I couldn't focus.

There! At the far end of the main hall I saw two men in green uniforms standing and chatting with each other.

I hurried my steps and glanced around me. I felt him. It was almost physical. I knew with a frightening certainty that he wasn't far away.

I'd hurt his pride and I would probably die for betraying our deal.

I looked over my shoulder and gasped when I saw a lean dark-haired man to the left of me. He looked up when I stared at him and smiled at me. I quickly turned away from him, nauseous. If I got out of this alive I would never talk to a stranger again, no matter how nice he seemed, no matter how much his eyes glittered. I bit my lips hard and glanced in the other direction, nearly colliding with a slowly moving old couple in front of me.

Nothing suspicious yet.

About thirty feet separated me from the two men in uniforms now. Oh, how I wished they'd look in my direction. I willed them desperately to, but instead, as if on cue, they looked in the other direction and began walking away.

"No," I whispered, for a moment forgetting to be careful.

All the little hairs on my back rose when I felt a presence to my left, something brushed by my arm and as I turned I was looking directly into enraged icy blue eyes. I inhaled sharply and stumbled as my knees weakened.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" someone yelled in my right ear and a stench of alcohol reached my nostrils. I recoiled, avoiding the noise and the smell. As I glanced back, Jackson had directed his deadly glare at the man screaming. And, for the second time this evening, I bolted.

Choking down my sobbing, I was almost out of breath, out of strength. Please… I wanted so much to beg him to stop doing this. It was so unreasonable. I still couldn't believe he was this man, had transformed into this man. Some part of me had trusted him right from the beginning, had judged him and approved him, and that little piece inside me was in pain from the loss.

Tears burned in my eyes and a lump was growing in my chest as I ran. I didn't want to do this. I wanted my dad. I wanted to be at home and to know that everything was okay. My whole life, my sanity and happiness lay in the hands of the man who was now chasing me relentlessly across Miami International Airport.

Please Jackson! But he didn't listen. He didn't hear my silent plea. And I knew that even if he had, he'd have laughed cruelly at me.

I stumbled over an elevation and almost fell to the floor. With one hand on the tiles, I regained my footing, and as I glanced back, Jackson was but one inch away from catching me. Whimpering, I dove to the side, falling onto a woman next to me. I heard her male companion shouting something at me and then I was on my feet again. And that was my small luck - the crowd. I was a good sprinter. He was faster, but I was smaller, and without him having to dodge and dive in between the slowly moving mass of bodies I'd never have stood a chance.

I glanced behind me and couldn't see him. Then as I looked in front of me again, I was just about to rush past a door. I didn't think it over but just twisted the knob, surprised that it opened, and slid inside.

Sinking to the floor, I gulped hungrily for air, pressing my hands to my chest and my wildly beating heart. Then I tightened my hands into fists and got up, taking a first look around me. I was in a corridor. It appeared to be a maintenance area. The lights were almost non-existent, and I stretched out my arms in front of me, feeling along the wall as I started towards the far end of the corridor. I had no illusions; Jackson was a clever man and he would soon figure out what had happened. Before he did that, I had to reach a phone and call my father. The sounds from the lively terminal behind me began to fade in the distance and were replaced by a steady humming coming from the ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

Finally, I reached the end and another closed door. A cool breeze blew on my ankles from under it. I listened carefully but couldn't hear anything from the other side. Just as I laid my hand on the doorknob, the door far behind me opened and closed swiftly, almost unnoticeably. I couldn't see anyone and I didn't hear a sound but I knew all too well who it had to be.

Jackson Rippner.

I swallowed hard and came to a decision. I knew he'd be unable to see me until he got further, but I couldn't stay here. I had to keep going. I knew I'd give my presence away when I opened the door, but I had no choice. As silently as possible, I opened it just a crack and squeezed myself through, closing it behind me.

I waited for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My legs trembled and my heart was beating too fast. I was terrified of what he'd do to me if he found me. I was afraid of the pain, afraid of death, loathing myself for thinking about myself when my dad was in danger because of me. Again and again I regretted the impulse to try to stab him and that I had run from him. And then guilt struck me when I thought of what I had done to Keefe. I clenched my fists hard until I had several small burning crescents imprinted in my palms. Then I turned around.

A parking lot!

I wanted to laugh at the irony of it, if it hadn't been so serious. Had I evaded my fate two years ago, avoiding getting killed after the rape in one parking lot, only to die tonight, in another one?

A distant rustle from behind startled me and awoke me from my trance.