TITLE: Renascence
AUTHOR: Susy Strom and Shaz
FANDOM: Pitch Black
PAIRING: Riddick/ofc
RATING: R for sexual depictions and some violence
DISCLAIMER: The Characters of Pitch Black are copyright to USA Films. There is no infringment intended by the use of them in this story. I claim none of those characters.
SUMMARY: A Sequel to Interim by Susy Strom. Set after Pitch Black
Chapter 1: Goodbye Is Forever , (1-3, 4-6, 7-10/10)
"I forgot!"
Chapter Three: First Impressions Jeremy threw back his head and laughed.
"If I'd known how much fun it is to be honest, I would have tried this
long ago." Elisabeth was still kneeling silently by the side of the
chair. Jeremy reached out, grabbed her hair, and pulled her head toward
his crotch. "Come on now, wife, serve your husband." He laid back and
closed his eyes as she began to fellate him.
Chapter 2: Determination
"Sweetheart, by the time we're finished, you won't be able to walk.
I guarantee it."
"Dream on," Bet snorted. " Better men than you have tried and failed."
"Better men? Ouch!" Mark clutched his chest, feigning a mortal injury.
"You mean to tell me that any other man has ever left you as sore and
wasted as I have?"
Bet refused to concede the point, even though the burning muscles and
deep trembling in her legs as good as guaranteed that she'd be hobbling
by nightfall. "Feeling cocky today, aren't we?"
"Always." Mark grinned, waggling his brows suggestively.
Bet rolled her eyes and smiled, her first spontaneous smile in nearly
a month. Mark was incorrigible, but she found his banter refreshing.
No other trainer dared to tease her in such a way. Most people were
so damned guarded around Bet, treating her as if she were little more
than an extension of Jeremy. Not Mark. Either he was too reckless for
his own good, or unaware of Jeremy's reputation. Whatever the case,
Bet shouldn't encourage him. It could prove dangerous, for both of them.
"We're wasting our time. Add another pair of plates, okay?"
Mark shook his head, but slid another plate on each side of the bar.
"Definitely not going to be able to walk," he muttered.
Bet ignored him. Jutting out her lower lip, she blew a stream of air
across her forehead, lifting the damp tendrils of hair plastered to
her skin. She frowned, squeezing her eyes shut. Time to concentrate.
No extraneous thoughts or emotions must intrude as she compelled her
body to submit to the dictates of her will, defying both fatigue and
the emotional maelstrom that threatened to drag her down.
"Okay," Bet whispered, releasing the handle that secured the weights
in place. She checked the position of her feet on the sled, inhaled,
and slowly drew her knees toward her chest. Without pausing at the bottom
of the movement, she pushed the sled back to the top, exhaling with
the exertion. Out of the corner of her eye, Bet saw Mark's hand poised
above the bar.
"Don't…touch…it," Bet grunted through clenched teeth.
Mark took a step backwards, grinning and raising his hands in the air.
You're on your own, that grin declared, although Bet noticed that he
stood close enough to intervene if she got in trouble. Nice kid, but
he didn't have to hover. She wouldn't need him.
Not until the fifth press did her muscles start to fail, even then she
pushed on, gritting her teeth and forcing out a sixth, seventh and very
wobbly eighth repetition. Bet locked the sled into position and collapsed
back against the pad, her ears ringing.
Mark hunkered down next to her. "You all right?"
Bet nodded, too nauseated and breathless to speak.
He waited a moment, giving her a chance to recover. "What's up? Why
are you pushing yourself so hard lately?"
Bet swiveled her head to look at Mark. The glib response she intended
died on her lips when she saw his face, his brow puckered with concern.
Bet was ready for anything except kindness. A flood of tears filled
her eyes. After weeks of maintaining a false front she was about to
lose it in a public place, with Toyoshima's wife only meters away! Aghast,
Bet brushed away the incriminating tears before they could spill over
onto her cheek.
I will not cry, Bet vowed, blinking furiously.
Mark shifted positions, shielding Bet from view, so that only he witnessed
her struggle to compose herself. "Come on, tell me," he urged. " What's
going on?"
What's going on? An honest answer was out of the question. No one
would ever know the truth about her and Riddick, but perhaps some small
piece of the truth would satisfy Mark's concern. "Exercise induced oblivion,"
she said, lifting her eyes to Mark's face.
He frowned, confused. "What?"
"Exercise induced oblivion," Bet repeated. "A few weeks ago, someone
I care about died. The only time I don't think about it is when I'm
exercising. You know how you have to concentrate when you lift, how
everything else in the world goes away. And I can't sleep unless I exercise
'til I drop. So that's why I'm pushing it. I want to sleep and I want
to stop thinking for a while."
Mark looked skeptical. "You sure it's not that prick husband of yours?"
No, Bet was not going down that path with Mark. She liked him far too
much to take him by the hand and lead him to certain disaster. Any showdown
with Jeremy would be a hopelessly mismatched battle. The last thing
Bet wanted was another champion, another dead would-be hero on her conscience.
First her divorce attorney and then Riddick; fate struck down everyone
who tried to help her. Fate, with a little help from Jeremy Villiers,
fortune's invulnerable golden boy.
"Not this time," Bet lied, forcing a weak smile.
Mark rose slowly to his feet. "I'm going to get you some juice," he
said in a voice loud enough to carry. "Don't move 'til I get back."
Tears once again filled Bet's eyes as she watched Mark's retreating
figure. Nice man. She'd enjoyed working with him. That's precisely why
she'd stop at the front desk on her way out and schedule her next session
with a different trainer.
* * * * * * *
Riddick walked off the last transport ship and set foot on New Gates.
After six months on the run, five weeks on the Hunter-Gratzner, and
another seven weeks to get here, he was really fucking sick and
tired of being on god-damned ships! It felt good to be planetside again.
He went to the local library, and sat down at a computer terminal. You’d
be surprised what you can find out from public information, if you know
where to look, and have enough patience. The right hacker codes
help, too. A feral smile crossed his face. More benefits of that prison
education. He left a few hours later, with a complete floor plan
to the Villiers house, including diagrams of the security system, in
a hard copy printout in his backpack.
Back in the motel room he’d gotten, he laid down on the lumpy mattress
and put his hands behind his head. His shined eyes were staring at the
ceiling, but he wasn’t seeing it. Instead, he was seeing a woman,
in a seedy bar. The first time he’d seen Bet. He'd heard her tell Johns
to call her that. He'd called her Elisabeth all that night, just
so the same name wouldn't fall from his lips as from Johns'. But in
the months he'd spent away from her, he'd shortened it in his mind.
Elisabeth seemed too formal for her; it seemed like something
her husband would call her. Besides, she'd taken a gamble on him - he
liked to think that she would win her bet. As he reminisced, the
hotel room drifted away - instead, his eyes remembered what they had
seen, that night when he’d first met her…
Motherfucker! That fucking little weasel Johns was here! Riddick stepped
back into the shadows of the alcove. Johns had caught up to him faster
than Riddick had thought he could. Behind the mirrored blue of
his eyes, the brain that had gotten him out of Slam City weighed his
options. Okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad. If he could hide, lay
low, until Johns was convinced he wasn’t here, he’d be behind the drag
net. And the last place people ever looked was where they had already
been.
He watched as Johns moved from person to person, talking for a few moments
to each one. The last one was a woman at the bar. Riddick hadn’t paid
too much attention to her before that. Yeah, she was nice looking,
but he had other, more immediate concerns. When Law-boy stopped playing
“good cop” and left, however, she took out a room key to the motel
behind the bar, and a plan coalesced in his mind.
It was obvious she was running from something. Her whole body screamed
of fear - it hummed in her tightened muscles and showed in her movements,
sharp and easily startled. A trade, then. He could offer her protection,
and she could give him a secure place to hide, one where Johns wouldn’t
think to look for him.
She stayed in the bar another hour and a half, nursing the drink the
bounty hunter had bought her, before she finally, reluctantly, left
for the night. He followed her, planning to surprise her once she’d
actually opened the door and her guard would be down. It’d give him
a mental edge over her, make it easier to get her to submit.
Before she reached that point, however, a drunk accosted her. Riddick
had seen him leaning against the wall, and had already dismissed him
as inconsequential, but when the wino had stumbled toward the woman
he prepared to act. To his surprise, the blonde pulled a knife and stood
her ground. She was scared shitless, and couldn’t have held off
a determined insect, but her pluck amused him. Still, if she kept at
it like that, she’d be dead in a week or two. She was holding the shiv
all wrong, like it was a freakin’ fork or something.
First things first. He grabbed the drunk by the head and drove him into
the wall. Dropping the unconscious man to the ground, he turned to look
at her.
“You don’t wanna hold a shiv like that. Wanna hold it like you mean
business.” Careful to protect his unshielded eyes, he stalked around
to her back, then wrapped his arms around hers, changing her grip
and the position of the blade. The smell of her hair filled the night
as he instructed her in the finer points of killing with a knife. Her
body was pressed against his, which suddenly had some plans of its own.
He let her go abruptly and stepped back into his shadows to regain his
control.
“Now that I’m both armed AND dangerous, I suppose you’ll be leaving
me alone.” She even managed to keep her voice calm while saying that.
“You think?” While mostly amused, he actually considered it for a second.
The chick had bigger balls than a lot of guys. She had stuck up for
herself, even when scared. That deserved some respect. But not
enough to risk going back to Slam. “Nah. Don’t expect that I can do
that.”
“Listen, if you’re working for my husband, you should know that he’s
not a man who can live with loose ends. Jeremy will find somebody bigger
and badder to kill you.”
He laughed at the thought. Her husband was probably some two-bit thug,
or one of those pricks who got off on hitting women. “Ain’t nobody bigger
and badder than me.” Nothing but the truth, there. For years, he
had been the biggest guy around, just about anywhere he went, and he
DAMN well made sure everyone knew he was the baddest. In fact,
it was time to do a bit of that here. He took a step closer to her,
and the bright moonlight fell across his face.
“Oh shit!” she breathed. “Riddick.”
So that *was* a holo-pic Johns had been flashing around. He grinned.
“In the flesh.” He’d found that having a top-notch bounty hunter after
your ass was annoying as shit, but it had its advantages. In an
effort to pump up his own status, Johns did a great job of making Riddick
out to be some combination of Hannibal Lecter and every other boogie
man out there.
“You should get out of here. Don’t do anything to arouse suspicion.”
What, now she *cared* about him? And the idea of this novice, this tyro,
giving HIM advice was too fucking much. Chick didn’t know a thing.
Wrong way to hold a knife, wrong alleyway to walk down, wrong body language.
Those things would get her killed, real quick. Time to continue
her education, in the reality of life on the run.
“Oh, you’re offerin' me advice? From your long experience on the run?
How ‘bout I give *you* some?” He explained his plan to her. If she wasn’t
worried about him trying to rape her, she’d probably be more cooperative.
She hesitated, and he caught her chin, tilting her face up to meet his.
“Dark circles under your eyes. Not sleepin', jumpin' scared at shadows.
Don’t you wanna sleep all night, knowin' someone’s got your back?” With
a start, he realized that he meant this. This chick had something
he admired - a willingness not to back down, no matter how hopeless
the odds seemed. On her own, she’d be dead in a week, two tops, but with
a little coaching, she might have a chance. He was using her to escape
Johns; that was worth the 30 minutes or so of his time that would be
spent giving her the details she so desperately needed to know
in order to survive.
She looked skeptical. “Yeah, I’d sleep like a baby, waiting for you
to slit my throat.” Damn, she did have some sense after all. And guts,
talking like that to him. He’d backed down convicts in the Slam
just by looking at them, and here was this little alley cat, hissing
and spitting at him. He grinned at the image.
Still amused, he replied. “Even psycho killers take a night off.” He
got serious, and intense. “You think I couldn’t kill you here and *take*
the key? Forget the happy-crappy Johns told you. I generally kill
people who *need* killing, not ones who’re tryin' to help me.”
She was silent for a long time, then conceded the point. “Okay. Come
on.”
Once inside the room, he got her talking about herself, mostly to try
to calm her down, so she wouldn’t try to do anything stupid. He’d met
a lot of people who had had to learn how to be menacing. He’d had
to learn how not to scare people. Scared people sometimes did stupid
things. Be a shame if he had to waste her. He listened with half
an ear, not really paying attention to what she said, until she mentioned
her husband’s name.
“You’re married to Jeremy Villiers?” She nodded. He shook his head.
“He is one sick fuck.” He allowed his hatred and disgust of that bastard
to show. “How the fuck did you get mixed up with him?”
She explained it all, the courtship, the false pretenses, her impressive
pedigree that would help Jeremy to rise up the corporate ladder. How
she had tried to divorce him, once she found out what he was really
like, only to have her attorney and his entire family die in a suspicious
house fire. She finally just left, running for her life. And here she
was.
The confession seemed to have drained her. She talked for a while more,
then drifted off to sleep. Riddick eventually dozed lightly, sitting
in the room’s only chair. She woke him up, crying in her sleep.
Riddick wasn’t surprised she had nightmares about Jeremy Villiers. He
sometimes had them from what that asshole had done to him. He shook
her awake, and she bolted upright, looking around wildly like a frightened,
caged animal, before she regained her bearings. Tears still drying on her
cheeks, she looked down at her hands. “Fuck you, Jeremy. I’m done with
you,” she whispered.
She grabbed 2 tokens and disappeared into the bathroom. Soon he could
hear her showering. His creative and powerful imagination filled in
from there, and his body reminded him of its earlier plan. Ah,
what the hell. At the very least, he could get clean. He walked into
the bathroom, and watched her for a second, admiring her body in
the dim light given out by the dying light bulb. It was only for a second,
then she saw him.
“Riddick! Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Takin’ a shower. ‘Course, if you don’t wanna share, you might wanna
get outta there.” She surprised him again, by not leaving. It seemed
she didn’t want to give up any ground to him. Like a cat facing
off against a tiger.
“Turn around. I’ll wash your damned back.” So, she thought she could
take control of the situation, huh? He decided to let things play out.
She washed his back, roughly, as if she could scour the skin off,
or hurt him. He allowed it to continue for a while, then took control
again. Turning around, he grabbed the sponge from her. It was some
ridiculous thing that was supposed to take dry skin off. “Nah. Hands
are better.” Discarding it, he got her to turn around, then returned
the favor more gently, gradually running his hands over her body,
soapy and slippery.
From that point on, it had been a foregone conclusion, but again, there
was more to her than he had expected. Behind that demure exterior was
someone as experienced and talented as the most jaded whore, and
a hell of a lot more enthusiastic. The sex had been incredible, fucking
fantastic, but it was what happened afterwards that had changed
things. More than anything else, her simple belief in him, her trust
and acceptance of him, had quietly rocked him to the core. That was why
he had made the promise to her. Jeremy Villiers definitely needed killing,
but Riddick was doing this more for Bet. It was that promise that had
governed his actions back on that planet. He had to live, in order
to make it back to her.
His eyes opened, and he returned from those past memories to the hotel
room. It was time to pay back his debt to her.
The next night found him ready to make his move. Riddick loved dealing
with rich folk. Their arrogance and egotism made them such easy targets,
and helped him get into places that would have been difficult to
access, otherwise. He’d driven right up to the security gate that ‘guarded’
the exclusive community, and told the ancient security guard that
he was making a delivery to the Villiers estate. The wizened, creaking
figure had refused to let him in at first, until Riddick threatened
him.
“You want to interrupt Jeremy Villiers’ executive party to tell him
the vodka is here? Go ahead, old man. Ain’t *my* ass he’s gonna chew
out and fire.”
The guard had let him through without another word. Now he sat in the
truck, parked in an alleyway behind the house. You wouldn’t want the
help pulling up to the front door, now would you?
The 8 foot wall surrounding the lot had laser sensors across the top.
If the beam was broken for more than a quarter of a second, the alarms
went off. At least, that’s how it was supposed to work. Some delicate
splicing and hacking convinced the computer that the system was under
authorized repair, and thus it would do nothing. Riddick had even
ensured the repair order was logged at the security company, just in
case that became important. It wasn’t his size, or his strength, or even
his skill with shivs that made him such a dangerous criminal and such
a good escape artist; it was his careful planning, combined with the
ability to think fast on his feet. He was every cop’s nightmare
- a smart felon.
He left the truck a block away and walked back to the house. Jumping
up, he grabbed the top of the wall and pulled himself up, the powerful
muscles in his arms and back rippling and bunching under the dark
brown shirt he wore. He levered himself up and over immediately, dropping
quietly behind the plants softening the austere nature of the wall.
He loved landscapers, too. The tall, striped grass he was behind was
thin, and wouldn’t have hidden him in daylight, but it broke up his silhouette
just enough to make him invisible at night. The long blades had saw
teeth on them, but that was why he wore long sleeves.
It was early in the evening, soon after darkness had fallen, and the
party was just getting started. That hadn’t affected the guests, though.
Most of them were well into their cups. They weren’t exactly looking
for large, dark men walking around in the yard. Even if they did look,
their eyes were so dazzled by the bright outdoor lights they couldn’t
see more than a few feet out into the darkness. He strolled casually
along to the ambush spot he had chosen earlier. A huge staghorn fern
resided next to a large brick terrace with a fountain. Good; the
noise of the fountain might cover any sounds he made. The terrace had
2 sets of French doors, leading into the kitchen and the library.
From where he crouched, he could see both rooms. He settled down to
wait, a hunter anticipating his quarry.
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear that you two are still on your honeymoon."
Sissy Toyoshima smiled and placed a hand on Jeremy's arm.
Casual physical contact discomfited Jeremy, but he covered his squeamishness
well. He laughed and shrugged off Sissy's hand, slipping the arm around
Bet's waist and drawing his wife to his side.
"Elisabeth and I will still be on our honeymoon when we're eighty, won't
we darling?"
So preposterous, so appalling was that prospect that Bet's social savvy
and sense of self-preservation both fled. She stared at Jeremy, at a
loss for words. Jeremy tightened his grip on her waist, his fingers
digging into her side. His smile didn't falter. The famous Villiers
charm exuded from every pore, but in the subtle lines of his expression
Bet could read his displeasure with the two women in his line of sight.
"I tried," Bet said, turning again to Sissy, "but I simply can't imagine
my husband as an eighty-year-old man." She laid a palm on Jeremy's cheek.
"Can you imagine this face withered and wrinkled? That hair thin and
gray?" She shook her head. "No, Sissy, it's impossible to picture Jeremy
as an old man. To me, he will always be as he is right now."
"Isn't that romantic?" sighed Sissy. "You two are so lucky."
Jeremy kissed Bet's cheek. "We are indeed."
Bet resisted the urge to rub the damp spot he left on her cheekbone,
resorting instead to a convenient lie. She glanced over Sissy's shoulder
toward the kitchen.
"Please excuse me, Sissy, Jeremy. The caterer wants to see me."
Jeremy caught Bet's hand as she stepped away. "We'll go together."
"That man has been following you around like a lovesick puppy all evening."
Sissy exclaimed. "I'm more than a little jealous of your devoted husband,
Elisabeth dear."
Once again, words failed Bet, so she merely smiled her farewell to Sissy.
Jeremy tucked Bet's hand in the crook of his elbow and led the way across
the foyer, pausing now and then to shake a hand or call out a boisterous
greeting.
Even as Bet smiled and nodded to their guests, she eyed her husband
with mounting suspicion. Something was afoot. Jeremy worked a party
as skillfully as he worked a boardroom. A calculated self-interest guided
all his interactions, both personal and professional. While always polite
and attentive to his wife at public functions, he never before had demonstrated
such an ostentatious devotion to her. Following her around like a lovesick
puppy, that's what Sissy said, and it was true. At one point he actually
snagged a crab puff from a passing tray and popped it in his startled
wife's mouth, cooing that Bet needed to keep her strength up. Sissy
squealed with suggestive laughter at that little exchange, while Bet
blushed as bright red as her dress.
Why? Why would Jeremy fawn over her in such a fashion? Surely not because
this was her birthday party? Why, unless it were to prove a point?
Of course! Jeremy was trying to prove what a happy and devoted couple
they were. That must be it. To quash rumors that all was not well in
the Villiers household. Perhaps her three-week absence hadn't been swept
under the rug as successfully as Jeremy had hoped and now he was engaged
in damage control.
Well. This explained a lot. The speculative glances exchanged by some
of Jeremy's peers as they watched the Villiers greet their guests. The
unmistakable sense that people were following Bet with their eyes, whispering
behind her back.
Clare Hannigan, the CEO's kindly wife, had pulled Bet aside, seized
her hands and whispered, "How are you, sweetheart? Are you all right?"
Bet had laughed and assured Clare that she was fine, stifling the urge
to hurl herself into the older woman's arms and to sob her eyes out.
Bet closed her eyes for a moment, pained by the memory. She hated deceiving
Clare, but apparently that lie was just one in a string of fraudulent
acts Bet and Jeremy perpetrated tonight. God! To think that she worked
in collusion with her husband to create the sham illusion of a happy
marriage. Jeremy's partner in deception as well as life. What a damning
state of affairs!
Not for the first time, Riddick's image popped into her mind. Bet envisioned
him shaking his head with repugnance as he watched her performance.
Odd. While he was alive, Bet rarely allowed herself to think of Riddick.
When she remembered their night together or when she anticipated his
arrival on New Gates, time screeched to a standstill and the waiting
grew too painful to bear. So Bet resolutely refused to think of Riddick,
except late at night, when Jeremy's snoring kept her awake. Then Bet
would snuggle close to Buckingham and relive every moment of her encounter
with Riddick, the pictures of Riddick unfolding one by one before her
dazzled eyes.
Instead of retreating into the recesses of her memory, growing hazier
with the passage of time, Riddick's image only grew stronger after his
death. He hovered at the edges of her consciousness, a sort of Greek
chorus, his muttered asides and gestures offering commentary on Bet's
life.
His spectral presence was not unwelcome. Bet would take Riddick any
way she could get him, and she hoped that he'd haunt her until her dying
day. It seemed that Bet would always live with ghosts of one kind or
another. When she fled Jeremy he intruded constantly into her thoughts,
an evil spirit she feared she'd never truly escape. Riddick laid him
to rest, proving to Bet that she could banish her husband from her life.
Now Riddick himself haunted her thoughts, not a dreaded wraith, but
a reminder of what her life should be. Strange, to find her conscience
embodied in the image of a dead murderer, a moral compass who pointed
the way less between right and wrong than between the truth and a lie,
between strength and weakness. Strange, unless you knew Riddick.
The caterer appeared in the door to the kitchen and nodded to Jeremy
and Bet. Jeremy clapped his hands, calling his guests to attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is served."
* * * * * * *
The minutes and seconds of this interminable party limped by, still
Bet kept up the pretence of the gracious hostess and contented wife.
She chatted with every guest, laughed at every joke, and complimented
every ensemble. By the time the caterer rolled out her birthday cake,
a monstrous confection shaped and frosted to resemble the Company headquarters
- the Stanhope building as Jeremy proudly poointed out - a frazzled
Bet almost greeted the cake with the giggles it deserved. At the last
moment, she rallied and clasped her hands together in mock delight.
Jeremy waved aside a slice of cake, pacing the library with undisguised
anticipation. The balmy weather and overcrowded room made the air stuffy.
Someone had thrown open the French doors leading to the terrace, and
more than half the guests had spilled outside into the fresh night air.
As the staff collected the last dessert plates, Jeremy seized Bet's
hand and pulled her through the throng to the terrace. Taking up a position
next to the fountain, he turned to face the crowd.
"Friends." Jeremy held up a hand for silence. "Friends," he repeated,
nodding to the upturned faces. "Twenty six years ago today, a blessed
event brought a new light to the illustrious Stanhope family. On that
day, the great-grand daughter of our founder drew her first breath."
Sheesh! Could Jeremy be any more obvious or heavy-handed? A blush crept
up Bet's cheeks. How could a man possessed of such unfailing business
acumen, so adept at manipulating his fellows, be so clumsy socially?
"That child grown to woman, that scion of the House of Stanhope, stands
before you now, my beloved wife, Elisabeth."
He paused. A scattering of applause filled the awkward silence.
Okay, Bet thought, fixing her gaze over the heads of her guests. I don't
care if it takes an earthquake, tidal wave or alien invasion. Strike
me dead. Strike me dead now.
Jeremy continued, oblivious to her mortification. "What could be more
fitting than to celebrate the birthday of one member of a great family
by bestowing upon her a prized heirloom from another great family."
Jeremy signaled to his assistant, who handed him a small, leather case.
Jeremy opened it with a flourish. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you,
the Trump rubies."
He held the case up for the crowd's inspection before turning and presenting
it to Bet.
She stared in amazement at the necklace. Rubies. No wonder Jeremy insisted
that she wear this red dress. Her simple, strapless sheath would show
off the garish jewelry to perfection. Rubies? Could Jeremy possibly
find a more pretentious, less useful gift? A tiara perhaps, or a jeweled
scepter? Why would anyone want to deck herself out like Old World royalty?
At least she could fence it, Bet thought, as Jeremy fastened the necklace
around her neck. She knew from experience the value of portable wealth.
Jeremy turned Bet to face the crowd, which greeted the sight with all
the appropriate "oohs" and "aahs."
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Jeremy, raising his hand once again for
silence. "My friends, if I may beg your indulgence for another moment."
As a hush fell over the guests, Jeremy wrapped an arm around Bet's shoulders.
"We are all familiar with the tragic destruction of the Hunter-Gratzner.
Elisabeth and I lost a dear friend when that ship went down." He squeezed
her shoulders, immobilizing her. "Yes. Someone we cared very deeply
about met his fate on that doomed ship."
Bet's heart turned over in her chest. What in God's name was Jeremy
doing? Impossible that he'd try to pass himself off as Riddick's friend.
The Director of Human Resources claiming friendship with the convict
who slept with his wife? Not likely.
Jeremy sadly shook his head before he continued. "Over the years, Paris
Ogilvie became more than a procurer of rare merchandise, more than a
delightful raconteur and bon vivant. He became our friend, and his loss
is deeply felt by both of us. He brought me the Trump rubies on his
final visit to New Gates. I ask you to join me in a moment of silence
for Paris Ogilvie and all the other poor souls who perished on the Hunter-Gratzner."
He bowed his head, as if in silent prayer. Jeremy's effrontery was staggering,
matched only by his cruelty. As Bet gazed in amazement at his face,
Jeremy cast her a sideways glance and grinned.
She looked away, afraid that her expression would give away her true
feelings. At the fringes of her field of vision, Bet spied a pair of
eyes shimmering in the bushes. Oh shit, not now. Buckingham was out.
Somebody must have opened the laundry room door by mistake and now Buckingham
was prowling the grounds. The fattest, slowest cat in God's creation.
A cat, moreover, who considered it beneath his dignity to dodge oncoming
vehicles. With the party winding down, Buckingham was in very real danger
of getting squashed by some departing guest. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The moment of silence concluded. Jeremy released Bet's shoulders, kissed
her cheek, and sauntered into the library. Sissy Toyoshima and several
other women swarmed around Bet, exclaiming over the Trump rubies. Bet
glanced back over her shoulder once or twice, looking for some sign
of Buckingham. Nothing. Swell. He'd taken it in his head to go into
hiding. As soon as she decently could, Bet detached herself from the
chattering group and went in search of her wayward cat.
Bet stepped off the terrace and followed the narrow brick path into
the border.
"Buckingham," she whispered. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."
She detected a very faint crackling sound off to her right, and picked
her way through the shrubs in pursuit of its source.
"Come on Buckingham," Bet pleaded. "This is no time for hide and seek."
Silence.
She held her breath and stood perfectly still, her ears straining to
hear even the slightest sound. There. Finally. A barely perceptible
rustle, behind the roses, near the stand of birch trees.
Cursing her heels and holding her long skirt out of the dirt, Bet tip-toed
between the bushes, trying to catch Buckingham unawares. As she passed
the last moss rose, a thorn snagged her skirt.
"Shit!" Bet hissed. She crouched down and felt along the branch until
she found the offending bramble. She worked it free and was about to
rise to her feet when another, louder rustling pierced the darkness.
"Buckingham?" No sooner had Bet said the name than she knew that no
cat had made that sound. Her breath caught in her throat as she sensed
a human presence hidden in the shadows. Bet wobbled, her limbs suddenly
unsteady, and braced her fingertips against the dirt.
Bet swallowed twice before she dared trust her voice. "Who's there?"
A man dropped to one knee beside her.
"What's a matter, princess? 'Fraid you ripped your pretty dress?"
Riddick.
* * * * * * *
Hours passed, as the party wore on, and Riddick had only caught glimpses
of Bet. What he did see stabbed him to the core, as painfully as if
one of his own shivs had turned against him. At first, he had been
proud of Bet for being such a good actress. He'd told her to go back
to Jeremy, to pretend to be the good and dutiful wife. But as it continued,
he grew less amused. No one was that good. Bet, with a smile
on her face and not a care in the world. Bet, hanging onto that fuckhead
Villiers' arm and fawning over him. Every time Riddick saw her, Jeremy
was there. The two were in almost constant physical contact, holding
hands, hugging, kissing, even feeding each other. It was enough to make
him sick. She looked like she was having the time of her life, smiling
and laughing, talking to every single one of the spoiled asses
gathered here. His sense of betrayal grew.
After the catered dinner, the cake was brought out on a cart. It was
made to look like some kind of building. Bet - no, Elisabeth - smiled
and clapped her hands together at the sight of it. About half of the
guests moved out onto the terrace as they ate. When everyone was finished,
Jeremy brought his adoring wife out and presented her pedigree to them.
Not her, her pedigree. This was exactly the kind of shit she
had told him she hated, and yet here she was, eating it up. She even
believed his crap about being "the scion of the House of Stanhope" -
her nose was stuck so far up in the air she'd drown if it was raining.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the Trump Rubies!" Riddick pursed
his lips in a silent whistle. Nice chunk of change, there. Ok, modification
in the plan - he'd kill Jeremy and then take the rubies. Elisabeth turned
around as Jeremy fastened the necklace on her. Bet would have called
it a collar and hated it. Elisabeth basked in the adoration,
letting the oohs and aahs wash over her. Strange, how she had separated
into two people in his mind; Bet, the little alley cat, defending her
freedom fiercely, and Elisabeth, the whore who had sold herself out
for a necklace.
Jeremy spoke up again, and his words tore Riddick's attention away from
Elisabeth. He spoke of "the tragic destruction of the Hunter-Gratzner,"
and the loss of Paris Ogilvie. What a waste of flesh he had been! Paris
had brought about his own death, through cowardice. Jeremy would do
the same, if he was ever in a situation where he faced his own death,
and Riddick intended to give him that opportunity.
Elisabeth glanced over in his direction, then took a second look. Riddick
doubted she had seen him, but there was no sense in taking chances.
He'd been wanting to get her alone all evening, but by now he was too
angry to keep his voice down. He backed off, and made his way around
to a group of trees. He stood there, reining in his anger, at least
somewhat. After a short while, he spied Elisabeth coming his way.
"Buckingham. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."
Well, wasn't that sweet. The innocent young lady walking blindly into
the tiger's lair. He deliberately stepped on a small twig, making it
break underneath his boot. Sure enough, she moved in his direction,
looking out of place in her party dress and heels that were sinking
into the soft loam of the garden.
"Come on, Buckingham. This is no time for hide and seek."
Riddick had thought of Bet as a little alley cat, and the sight of Elisabeth,
so obviously worried while looking for her cat, made him wish she were
indeed looking for that lost past, the surrendered freedom she'd had
for three short weeks. The thought lasted for less than a second, then
he quashed it ruthlessly.
She stopped, holding a pose of intense listening and concentration.
She obviously wasn't hearing the noises he was making. Shaking his head
in annoyance, he rattled a few branches on the bushes he was standing
next to. She heard that, and resumed walking towards him, until a rose
thorn caught her dress. She bent down, trying to work the expensive
skirt free without damaging it, no doubt.
He'd had enough of waiting for her to come to him. He strode towards
her, not caring about the noise he made now. She called out to the cat
again nervously, putting one hand down on the ground to steady herself.
"Who's there?"
Riddick dropped to one knee beside her. "What's a matter, princess?
'Fraid you ripped your pretty dress?"
She startled at first and instinctively shrunk back, then she recognized
him. "Riddick!" A smile blossomed on her face, making it as beautiful
as he had remembered it, all those days he was blindfolded and had only
his memories to see. "He told me you were dead!" She moved toward him,
her arms outstretched as if to embrace him, but he stopped her by grabbing
her upper arms hard enough to bruise them. The smile faltered for a
bit, then reappeared, its intensity lessened not at all. Damn, the little
bitch was a great actress! "I thought I'd never see you again, but you're
here. You're here!"
"In the flesh." Time to test her. "Jeremy dies tonight."
A worried expression crossed her face. "No, Riddick, we can't do that.
I don't want him to die anymore. Listen, I have another plan…" Looks
like she failed the test.
"Tough shit, babe. I'm takin' him out."
"Riddick, no! I have another plan, a better one."
"Here I am, come all this way to keep my promise to you, and what do
I find? A whore in a red dress, who sold herself out for a jeweled collar."
His bitterness was evident in his tone, as well as in his words. Her
mouth gaped open. Good - he'd scared her, the little weak-willed sell
out.
"That's not true, I…" She broke off as he pulled her towards him, stopping
when his face was mere inches from hers.
"What's not true?" he hissed from between clenched teeth. "The red dress?
The rubies? Selling yourself out to him?" He grabbed her shoulders and
spun her around. She ended up leaning against him, with one of his arms
across her chest, imprisoning her, while his other hand covered her
mouth. He could smell her fear, the sweat gathering across her torso,
and beading on her face. For the first time since he had materialized
out of the shadows in that alley, she was truly afraid of him. Good.
Let her know exactly what she was messing with.
"Know about the unscheduled stop the ship made, huh? More'n forty people
walked onto that ship, Elisabeth, but less'n twelve walked off. Onto
a hell hole of a planet. No food, no water, and three suns burnin' in
the sky, bakin' the moisture out of your flesh." She was holding herself
perfectly still, her body tense, her breathing quick and shallow. "But
the best part was the eclipse. That's when the creatures came out, the
predators that started killin' us off one by one. And in the end, there
were four. Me, a holy man, a kid, and Carolyn. The captain. She took
control and she did what had to be done. Every god damned time, Elisabeth. She
never fuckin' gave up, even when I did."
His voice grew softer and more intense. "And I left them there. I abandoned
them in a cave, with the night and the creatures that had killed everyone
else just outside. I left them there to die. All for you, Elisabeth.
So I could make it back to you."
He could feel her crying now, her shoulders shaking silently. Tears
spilled over her cheeks and onto his hand as he continued. "I was powerin'
up the emergency skiff when Carolyn walked out of the darkness. She'd
come through everything, to talk me into goin' back and getting' the
others. I tried to get her to leave, to come with me, but she wouldn't.
You see, that would have broken her promise to Jack and Imam.
I held her life in my hands, and she told me she was willin' to die
for them. And a funny thing happened, Elisabeth. I started thinkin'
about you, and about how I didn't think I could look into your eyes
if I left the kid and Imam to die."
He snorted derisively. "Pretty fuckin' weak of me, wasn't it? Look to
thine own ass first, right? Isn't that what you're doin'?" He drew a
breath and held it for a moment, then released it. "We went back and
got them. On the way to the skiff, I got separated and cornered by two
of the beasts. The others made it to the skiff, then Carolyn came back
for me. She DIED for me. It was because of her that I was able to come
back here, to rescue you." He released Bet and stood up.
"She died for her promise. And you, you sold yours out for a cage and
a collar."
Bet stood and turned to him, tears in her eyes. "No, you don't understand…"
"Elisabeth! Darling!" Jeremy's voice came from somewhere in the garden.
Bet looked in his direction, then turned back to Riddick. Or rather,
to where he had been. He was gone to her now.
* * * * * * *
From the empty night, cold blue eyes stared at Elisabeth as she slowly
walked back to Jeremy. Instead of running into his arms, as Riddick
expected, she stood in front of him talking, apparently trying to explain
where she'd been. Riddick frowned - this was not the happy reunion he
had expected to see. Evidently, whatever Elisabeth said placated Jeremy
and they returned to their guests.
Something was going on that he didn't quite understand, and that pissed
him off. He'd learned how to deal with situations where he wasn't in
control, but he still hated it. He had planned to wait until the guests
were gone to kill Jeremy - delaying that a few more hours or even a
day or two wouldn't make much of a difference. He needed to talk to
Elisabeth one last time, to see if maybe there was still a spark of
Bet, hidden deep within her.
He mentally reviewed the house plans, remembering where "the owner's
retreat" was located. Staying in shadows behind plants whenever possible,
he spirited his way around the revelers to a place where a tree gave
him access to the roof. With such a large party under way, he wouldn't
be walking in through any of the doors. No way he'd be able to pass
himself off as one of the guests. Nor as a waiter. "Hors d'oeuvres,
ma'am?" A quick, bitter smile. Nah, he just didn't see that happening.
All of the windows had locks holding them closed, and security alarms
that would go off if they were broken. But there was one method of entry
nobody seemed to have thought of. A skylight, located over the master
bedroom. Made of security glass, it couldn't be broken, and it wasn't
designed to open, so everyone considered it sealed. Riddick knew better.
A quick scramble over the slippery slate roof (couldn't these people
just have shingles?!), then he made his way to the skylight. He removed
the copper flashing, then cut the rubber gasket off, exposing the screws
that held the frame in place. He unscrewed them and freed the frame. Sliding
it out of the way, he lowered himself down the shaft, then dropped lightly
onto the floor next to the fireplace. The last time he'd been able to
spy on Elisabeth, from a window on the other side of the house, she'd
been making polite noises about being tired. He'd wait for her here.
While he waited, he prowled around the bedroom. It held a big four poster
bed, with Oriental rugs on the floor, and two chairs next to the marble
fireplace. There was a small nightstand on either side of the bed. One
had papers on it - evidently Jeremy's side. Riddick spent time looking
through them, but didn't see anything that he could use. The other nightstand
was apparently Elisabeth's. It had framed pictures on it - both holos
and old photographs. He opened the drawer, and inside was a book of
poetry, the same one Elisabeth had had that night they'd spent together.
He opened the front cover, and found the note he'd left her. His eyes narrowed
behind the goggles, a question forming in his mind.
Two sets of footsteps sounded in the hallway. Shit. He didn't want to
confront Jeremy yet, not until he'd had a chance to talk to Elisabeth.
There was only one place to conceal himself - Riddick stepped onto one
of the chairs. From there he braced his arms in the shaft of the skylight
and pulled himself up. From where he was hidden, he couldn't see who
it was, as one person entered the bedroom and closed the door, but the
footsteps sounded like Elisabeth's. Easing his way down, ever so carefully,
he lowered himself until he could just see her. She was trying to open
a safe, but didn't seem to be having much luck. A grim smile touched
his lips. As usual, she didn't know what she was doing and was
screwing it all up. Nice to know some things hadn't changed.
"Well that went well, my dear." Elisabeth closed the cover on
the safe and moved swiftly away from it, as Jeremy walked into the room.
Riddick silently recoiled into the recesses of the skylight. Again,
her reaction was not what he had expected. Jeremy appeared in his narrow
field of vision, plopping down into the chair Riddick had used as a
ladder. "Help me with my shoes," he said, holding out one leg. Wordlessly,
Elisabeth knelt by the chair and started unlacing his shoe. Jeremy watched
her for a second, then laughed, shaking his head over a memory.
"If only you could have seen your face when I was spouting platitudes
about your 'illustrious' family. You were actually too embarrassed to
meet anyone's eyes. The irony was delicious. I humiliated my wife by
publicly praising her. I surprise even myself. " He laughed again.
Elisabeth looked up at him, disgust on her face. "Are you drunk, Jeremy?"
"What? Do I seem uncharacteristically forthcoming?" His face grew hard,
as he leaned forward and spat out "Don't blame it on alcohol. It's not
drink; it's ennui. Any pleasure pales over time and the pleasure of
watching you play the good little wife is beginning to wear thin." He
reclined back into the chair, and affected a look of blasé magnanimousness.
"Tonight's performance was magnificent, of course. I commend you. The
perfect public persona for the wife of Jeremy Villiers. I believe that
we finally laid to rest any rumors about discord in our marriage. It
had better stay that way."
Elisabeth's head was down, but from where he was, Riddick could see
her shoulders tensing up. "I'm slow. It takes me a while to figure things
out, but I guess that's one of the things you love about me, isn't it
darling? You had been sticking to me like fleas on a dog for half the
evening before I realized what you were up to."
Jeremy leaned forward again. "That's my girl! A little honest hostility.
So much more refreshing than that compliant, mealy-mouthed act of yours.
And it makes no practical difference, you know. Whether you scowl or
smile, curse my name or tell me a pretty lie, in the end, you'll do
whatever I say. Because your life depends on it. Because you belong
to me." Elisabeth slumped, the tenseness, the preparedness to fight
gone out of her. He patted his knee like he was summoning a dog. "So,
wife of mine, come here."
"What do you want, Jeremy?" she said in a resigned tone of voice.
"What do you think I want? Your experienced ministrations, of course.
" He unfastened his belt and pants and relaxed back in the chair, smiling
broadly. Crooking his fingers, he gestured for her to come. "If you
don't like it, pretend that I'm someone else, maybe that convict you
fucked. What was his name?" She was silent, refusing to answer. "Riddick,
wasn't it? A big brute, according to Pym and Jasper. A real thug. Is
that what you like, darling, a Neanderthal, short of brains, but long
of …What was he long of, dearest? No answer? Shall I guess? What's
wrong? You aren't going to cry, are you? Do you miss your big, bruising,
dead felon?"
Son of a bitch! Riddick fumed. Maybe he had been wrong about Elisabeth,
in which case Jeremy desperately needed to die, slowly. Not much he
could do about it right now, though. Bet was right below him. He couldn't
drop from the shaft without hitting her. If he climbed back up the shaft,
and out, the noise of the moving skylight frame would alert Jeremy.
Riddick had no choice but to be a voyeur to this perverted conclusion
to Jeremy's plan.
Finally, Jeremy grabbed Bet's head, arched his back and cried out in
satisfaction. Without another word to her, he undressed and got into
his side of the bed. She stayed where she was for a few more moments,
then slowly rose to her feet and walked into the bathroom, her head
down.
He waited a moment more, until he heard snores coming from Jeremy, then
Riddick made his move, dropping down from the shaft as silently as a
floating leaf. He walked to Jeremy's side of the bed, and looked down
at the sleeping man he so desperately wanted to kill. Desire to X him
out once and for all warred with desire to find out the truth behind
Elisabeth's wish to keep him alive. Riddick stood there for a moment,
hoping Jeremy would wake up and force his hand, but the idiot snored
on, mouth agape, oblivious to his danger. Riddick finally put the knife
back in its sheath and walked over the bathroom door. Jeremy was not
forgotten, not by a long shot, but Bet was more important now.
She was in the shower, scrubbing herself raw.
"You got somethin' against backs? First you try to take the skin off
mine, now you're tryin' to erase yours."