Red Eyes Cry Blood: A pleasant daydream

By Ima Pseudonym

Rating: R for this chapter. Various ratings for the rest... I'll post the rating before each installment.

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Red Eye', nor am I making any money off of this story.

Warning (for this chapter): Non con. Fantasies of torture, and murder. And I'll repeat, "This is NOT a Jackson/Lisa story." There will be no sex between the two, in any way, shape or form. If you're looking for a het fic... You're in luck. They're a penny a dozen on in this archive. Which is in no way to impugn the quality of JxL stories. I simply wish to point out that my story will be one of the few without the pairing.

Summary: Jackson seeks his revenge when presented with a second chance.

Notes: This story is based, loosely, on my philosophy that no antagonist is all bad... Just as no protagonist is all good.

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Chap. I (A pleasant daydream)

"Hey, Red Eye. Up." Jackson grunted as he was yanked off of the uncomfortable bed, landing heavily on hard, cold cement.

Red Eye. God, he hated that nickname. It almost made him long for the days of "Jack" were they not so terrifying in their own way. But there was no way to keep secrets in the joint. Everyone knew everyone's crimes... And he was a joke. Never mind how many successful missions he'd been on before her. Never mind, that he'd 'almost' done it this time. He had failed.

He'd failed spectacularly. On such a level that he was clinically dead for nearly a minute, before they managed to start his heart beating again. There hadn't been a day gone by that he didn't curse those paramedics for their meddling.

The trial had been short. Thank God for that. Jackson couldn't stand the sight of that bitch, sitting in her pristine business outfits, while he was hunched over in chains, in an obscene orange jumper. He hadn't even been allowed a suit. Kidnapping, attempted murder, conspiracy to murder... They had him on several charges, all enough to see him away in prison for two lifetimes. (Unsurprising, considering his target.) It was just as well. If he ever set foot outside of this prison, he would have his 'bosses' to contend with.

Which, after endless hours and days and weeks of contemplation, was still better than the daily tortures he endured here. The publicity afforded from his crimes made him known throughout the expansive prison, and the continual reports and interviews with Lisa, describing how badly she'd wounded him made him seem an easy target. Well… against three grown men, anyone might be an easy target. It wasn't even that the guards turned a blind eye to the abuses he suffered, but in a large prison (already far over the ideal occupancy limit), things go unseen every day. And his personal tormentors knew all of the best hiding places to play with their pretty boy fuck-toy.

The only thing that kept Jackson from taking pilfered sheet metal to his wrists... and the throat of his bear of a cell mate, Jim... was his revenge. On everyone. He would spend hours every night, curled up with Jim's semen cold and sticky between his thighs, planning just how everyone who put him here would suffer. Keefe would live. But his children and wife wouldn't... He'd do them in, and watch from a safe distance as the man discovered his slaughtered family.

Lisa's friend, at the hotel… Sylvia, was it? Or perhaps Cynthia… Regardless, he'd find her, and she'd die, too. Long before Lisa did. That little girl on the plane who'd tripped him, and that horrible woman with the scarf. Perhaps the old woman too... Just because.

And Lisa's father… Jackson had ambitions to make him beg to die... His very slow death would be recorded and the tape sent to her… Right before her...

Lisa, he would explain his reasoning to. It could have been simple. She could have done what he'd asked, and everyone would have gone about their merry fucking way, but she'd frustrated his every attempt. For as much as she might have been terrified, Jackson had been more so. Failure meant death (one that was, apparently, overdo), and he wasn't about to give his own life for a politician he'd never met.

And then he would tell her about his stint in prison… She'd been traumatized because one man took her dignity away... He'd meticulously press a pen to 'her' throat, as he explained how he'd been raped every day (often several times.) How they took turns passing him around, knowing he'd never be able to truly scream… Why couldn't he scream? She wouldn't ask of course, but he'd pretend she had, and then he'd tell her... Show her... Pushing the pen a little harder, until it broke the smooth skin, and she'd scream, of course, while she could. Until he gagged her, because he wasn't finished talking, and interrupting people is simply rude. Just as blood was beginning to stain the pale column, he'd pull the pen away, and sit back, watching as she fought against the binds. He'd sit and ponder what to do next... Stab her in the leg... with a stiletto heel, it was only fair. Or hit her with a field hockey stick... Perhaps a golf club. Replay the tape of her father's final… hours... Maybe he would tell her of his meeting with Keefe's famil-

"I said get up, you fucking whore." Jim was, apparently, in a foul mood. But Jackson could hardly see why he should stand up. The other usually held his face down into the dirty mattress while he fucked him. Images passed through the smaller man's mind. The first time. The second. And then a blur... He'd lost count of just how many times he'd been used by this no-necked cretin. And again the thought of his sentence stung. Two consecutive life times in prison. With 'this' as a cell mate.

"On your knees." Thick fingers in his hair, forced him to the hard ground again, and Jackson fought the urge to roll his eyes. What was the point in standing up?

A shiver ran up his spine, and he grit his teeth for a moment, fighting back a scream of frustration. /This is her fault./ Thought as Jim pushed down his prison issue pants, not bothering to hang a sheet, to save Jackson from the humiliation of being watched by the other inmates. /This is HER fault./ Heavy hands twisted in his unbrushed hair, tugging painfully, and he felt, for a second, that he'd sneeze. The moment passed and he squeezed his eyes shut as something hot and damp brushed against his cheek. /Thisisallherfuckingfault/

Something inside of Jackson... something that had been drawn tighter with each day of his three month incarceration finally snapped. Enough was enough, and with images of Lisa's bloody death still fresh in his mind, he pushed at the bole-like legs of the other, only managing to propel himself backwards. Jim looked down, surprised. Jackson had generally been a pushover. The surprise intensified when his 'bitch' rasped out a hair-raising "No." and brought him down with a leg quickly hooked around the backs of his knees. Jackson would later swear that the beds rattled from the force of the huge man's collision with the floor.

With an agility and precision that everyone underestimated in him, Jackson took only a moment to hold the other man's head between his hands and twist. There was a sickening snap, and Jim fell back onto the floor, face surprised, eyes dull.

Jackson was drawn from this fantasy as Jim grunted his climax, head held still from the painful grip in his hair, as the larger man's vile release dribbled down his chin. One of these days... He would actually do it... One of these days...

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Just as Jackson had been so rudely awakened, shady orders were being given in shady places outside prison walls.

A tall man, thick and dark, spoke with a heavy accent to two able-looking gentlemen before him.

"I want him out. And I don't want anyone looking for him. Do it." That was all it took. The large man, alone now, sat back with the air of a man who knew he'd have what he wanted. The two men he'd sent had never failed him before. Prison was far too good for the likes of Jackson Rippner.

TBC…

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Obviously, there are several things about this story that make it entirely implausible. I'm sure there would be some lasting physical consequences to being technically dead for a minute. They probably would have killed him before he made it to a trial... But for the sake of my story continuing, let's pretend that he never said who he was hired by. (He may not even 'really' know, himself). And his name is, obviously, not Jackson Rippner… But I'm going to pretend he had his name legally changed to that, some years before. When he starts to get his revenge, I'll have him use several aliases, and let ya'll guess which one, I intend to be his 'real' name.

The second chapter, when I get around to it, will be about Jackson's... 'escape'. Chapter three will be the first in a series of gory revenge scenes. -cackles evilly- So if you liked 'ANY' of the characters in the movie... This isn't the story for you. You may not assume that any character is excluded from harm.

My whole point is to bring a semblance of realism to my story. No untrained girl is going to kick a trained assassin's arse... But no 'villain' (even a trained assassin) is going to do everything perfectly.

Comments/reviews/flames are adored.