13.
Jack: A Greatly-Exaggerated Report
Jack was alone in her room when she regained consciousness. Her whole abdomen felt strange -- tingly, crampy, sore. She tried to sit up and instantly regretted it as pain flared in her midriff.
Night was falling outside; her room was softly shadowed. "Riddick weather," she'd called this light level for years. But he wasn't anywhere in it.
After a moment she pushed the call button on her bedside table. She'd have been happy to lie still for as long as she could, but she needed to pee and somebody was going to have to help her up.
A few minutes later the door opened and an older woman in a nurse's uniform entered. Now that she'd gotten over her fright from the lobby, this place really did seem like a cushy private hospital. Still, she wished she knew where Riddick had gone.
"Did you need something?" the nurse asked.
"Yeah, could you help me up? I need to use the bathroom."
The woman smiled slightly and helped her to her feet, leading her into the bathroom.
"Fuck," she muttered. Every muscle in her abdomen was on fire. Nerves she hadn't known existed were screaming at her.
"It'll get better," the nurse assured her as she helped her back to the bed a few minutes later.
"Do you know where..." Shit, she'd forgotten the alias Riddick was using. "Have you seen my husband?"
"He should be back in a few minutes. He said he was going out to get a newspaper." The nurse shrugged at her, probably wondering why she cared. If she'd really been like the other women in this place, her "husband" would have just been her latest slaver. How many of the women here hated the men they were bonded to?
Probably a lot of them.
Riddick was standing in front of the door when the nurse opened it, reaching for his key. He grinned and stepped back so the nurse could leave, then entered carrying his newspaper.
"It's finally here, Jack," he told her after he closed the door. "It's official. You're dead."
He didn't seem either happy or unhappy about it. Like it was just a piece of news.
"Is it in the paper?" This planet had a serious thing for antiques. Newspapers! Amazing.
"'Course." He sat down in the chair next to her bed. "You can read it if you want, but I'm not sure I'd recommend it. Seeing as how you're supposed to be so sensitive right now and all." That was definitely mockery.
"Turn on the light and gimme," she answered. She wanted to see what kind of epitaph the galaxy would give "Riddick's Bitch."
He shrugged, and switched on the light over her bed. It was the old-fashioned, non-voice-activated kind. Probably cost a fortune. The room, she had to admit, was nicely cushy. "Your choice, kid."
She took the paper from him with some trepidation.
Two very familiar faces stared out at her from below a screaming banner headline: RIDDICK MURDERS TEENAGE GIRL.
His picture, below the banner, was a great many years old, predating the Hunter-Gratzner crash. The savagery in his face was vivid and frightening. Her picture, beside his, was very recent. Her expression was one of forlorn sorrow. Who had taken that and when? She'd been so careful not to let anyone see her looking like that...
It was a deliberate "Beauty and the Beast" ploy, she realized, an inhumanly brutal man juxtaposed with a calculatedly tragic woman. Girl. They were intentionally downplaying the fact that she was a legal adult to make the crime seem all the more vicious.
She glanced up from the paper. Riddick's face was expressionless, but she could feel his concern. She started to read the text.
In a moment she began to feel the urge to scream and throw things. Who the fuck was this sweet little innocent they were describing? They'd painted a heavily colored version of her life -- poor little orphan who ran away from an abusive uncle, only to crash-land on a desolate planet where the only shield between her and violent death was a dangerous serial killer. True, but they'd never believed it or cared before. Why the hell now?
Little Girl Lost continued her journey through the article, tagging along with her adored desperado until she was almost-fatally wounded in a gunbattle between him and Special Forces--
Fucking liars, he never fired a shot!
--and he abandoned her in his escape.
Another fucking lie!
She spent the next four years staunchly refusing to betray her hero, naïvely believing that one day he would come for her and everything would be made better. Finally, according to the article, he did. And then he tortured her to death.
The writer claimed that she'd been on her way to meet with her new employer when Riddick abducted her, a piece of pure speculation disguised as fact. She was missing for five days before her mutilated remains were found. The article dwelled lovingly -- almost pornographically -- on the tortures Riddick had supposedly visited upon her before she finally died. She already knew about those, of course, and Riddick had promised her that everything had been artfully faked by the coroner.
The testimonials were the worst part. Mrs. Baxter was quoted as saying what a fine, upstanding young lady she'd been. Parker had contributed a line about the brilliant future she'd had ahead of her. Her true test results had been published to back him up. Several girls from the shelter -- including ones she knew had called her "Riddick's Bitch" at every opportunity -- came forward to tell the worlds how sweet and kind and generous she'd been, how close they'd been to her.
She wanted to smash something.
Finally the article turned to Riddick himself, rehashing his well-known history. Abandoned as a baby, he'd grown up in a series of unsatisfactory foster homes. At fourteen he'd developed violent psychotic tendencies and had ultimately orchestrated a horrific mass-murder, killing nine of his classmates and mutilating their bodies. Ten years later he'd engineered his bloody escape from a maximum-security prison, where he was suspected of killing a dozen fellow inmates over the course of his incarceration. By the time he met Jack, more than forty murders had been attributed to him. Another score had followed, including his slaughter of a barracks-ful of Special Forces soldiers two weeks after she'd been shot. Now she was the newest notch on his belt.
He was the cold, cruel Beast who took pleasure in the suffering of others and felt neither compassion nor remorse. She was the sweet, naïve Beauty who had adored him and walked into his lair, baring her throat to him only to have it ripped out.
She crushed the paper in her hands and threw it across the room. The deadpan on Riddick's face vanished, replaced by concern as he moved to sit next to her on the bed.
"Bastards!" she snarled out, clenching her fists so hard that her boy-short nails cut into her palms. "Lying bastards! Why?"
His hand was under her chin. "Why what?"
She stared at him through burning eyes. "Why are they suddenly pretending they gave a shit about me? Every single one of them called me 'Riddick's Bitch' and now I'm fuckin' Snow White? I'm their fuckin' best friend?"
"Maybe some of them wished you had been," he answered slowly. "Maybe they saw deeper into you than you know. I don't think they lied about you."
"None of them ever cared about me!" she grated out. "They don't have the right to say anything about me now! I was just a thing to them, something to use to get to you--"
He pulled her into his embrace, stroking her hair and back. "And that's all this article is, too, Jack. That's all it is. Just something to get everybody in an uproar."
"Well they did a superb fucking job then!"
He suddenly chuckled. "I'll bet that holo-show, 'Galaxy's Most Wanted,' gets in on it, and gets a lot of Riddick sightings over the next few weeks." He started humming the show's theme song.
The idea of someone pretending to be Riddick for a true-crime show struck her as ludicrous and distracted her completely.
"They'll get some fuckin' Mary Sue to play me, won't they?" she found herself laughing. How did he do that?
"And they'll go to the pound to find somebody to play me," he joked back. "Probably a rottweiler."
"Hah." She sat back, wiping at her streaming eyes. "Rotts are teddy bears. Two-hundred-pound lapdog-wanna-bes."
He quirked his eyebrow at her. After a moment, she laughed.
"Maybe it would be more accurate casting than they know."
"I'm no teddy bear, Jack," he growled with mock-menace. "Take that back."
"Nuh-uh."
A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "You'd better."
"Make me."
He had her pinned beneath him in a fraction of a heartbeat. "Better change your mind, kid..." He pulled her arms above her head and grabbed both wrists with one hand.
"Not gonna," she laughed, delighted by how quickly he'd obliterated her anguish over the article.
"Okay, then, you asked for it..." He reached down and began to tickle her belly. Fire-white pain lanced through her.
"Oh shit!" She convulsed. He jumped back away from her.
"Jesus, Jack, I forgot." He looked completely out of sorts, a startling sight in and of itself. She took a deep breath, gulping as the pain subsided.
"Not your fault... I forgot too..." She gingerly rubbed at her abdomen. "Man, how long am I gonna feel like this?"
Riddick let out a heavy sigh. "I should go. They said you'd need a lot of sleep tonight... and there are some things I should do."
"But--" Something was suddenly wrong, she knew it. It was like the last time he'd tickled her, when he'd abruptly pulled back as if stung. She didn't understand...
"Don't worry. I'll be here for breakfast. I promise." He hesitated for a moment and then kissed her on the forehead. "Get some sleep."
He left the room swiftly before she could form another protest.
What the fuck was that about? she wondered. Sleep was a long time coming.
14.
Riddick: "Cutting Loose"
Nobody messed with Riddick as he shouldered his way through the crowd. Not even the roughest of locals would have dared. He looked like walking Death, a force of rage that could plunder whole worlds in an instant.
It was all aimed at himself, of course, although none of them could have known it.
You stupid fuck! he fumed as he walked. He followed it up with dozens of even worse obscenities he'd learned on as many worlds. If he'd actually known his genealogy he would have added that into the mix.
He'd come so close, so fucking close, to doing something damaging to Jack. What the hell was the matter with him?
She'd been so upset by the article. It had surprised him because he'd been a little touched to realize that others in her life had known what a treasure she was. But their time apart had apparently been an emotional wasteland for her. None of the esteem others held her in had ever been revealed to her and their posthumous tributes had filled her with offended anguish.
All he'd wanted to do was make the pain stop. It had brought him dangerously close, however, to violating his careful resolutions because the only thing he could think about, suddenly, was kissing her. He'd wanted to bury his face in her hair and lose himself in the scent of her. He'd wanted to fuse their bodies into one. The depth of his feeling had been almost frightening.
He'd retreated into one of their old joshing games, but that had backfired. Their innocent rough-housing had taken on a distinctly new flavor for him. Once again he'd found himself teetering on the brink, wanting to crush her lips and body against his until they were fused. His attempt at yet another retreat had been a royal fuckup, literally causing her pain.
Oh yeah, you idiot, just tickle her on her super-sensitive belly, why don't you? How else can you screw things up?
Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that. If he'd really lost control, he might have ended up ripping her gown clean off of her and fucking her senseless. It had been a closer thing than he liked to admit.
He had to get himself under control, fast. If he didn't he was going to end up damaging or destroying the most precious thing in his life.
First thing he'd have to do is get laid, he decided abruptly. He hadn't been with a woman since several days before Jack's arrival at Seti Station. The frenzy of final preparations for her return had consumed his attention. That had been back when he'd still envisioned her returning as his sorta kid sister, not precisely sexless but certainly not so stimulating. The impact of her return had been a dead-on kick in the libido.
He'd never expected it; he certainly hadn't planned for it. Now the animal within was getting dangerously close to breaking out of its cage. He'd better let it stretch its legs for a while, or Jack would end up being the one it ultimately mauled.
He was not going to let that happen.
Suddenly he knew exactly where he needed to go. But he was going to have to change out of his "Colin Tarsin" guise first. He headed for the ship.
The brothel was dimly-lit, as always, making it possible for him to remove his goggles. He did so, then scanned the room for Barbour. The rotund man was discussing something with another client, so Riddick took a seat at the bar, nodding to Tonia. She set a glass of his regular poison in front of him without a word. He sipped it slowly, waiting for Barbour to approach him.
"Good evening, Mr. Fry," the obsequious little man finally said at his side. "It's been too long since your last visit. Shall I tell 'Carolyn' to prepare for you?"
"Absolutely," he grunted, not bothering to look up.
"The usual arrangements?"
"Yeah." He took another sip of his drink. There was no need for this routine. They knew what he wanted.
"Very well. Give us five minutes and she'll be ready." The man bowed nervously and hurried off to get the ball rolling. Riddick stretched his drink out in his usual manner. He took his last sip five minutes later, then stood and collected the room key that had been placed before him. He headed upstairs without another word.
She was waiting for him, her back to him as always. Tight blue pants low on her hips, the small, sweat-stained blue top. Her short, dirty-blonde hair was tousled and damp on her neck. Perfect. He crossed the room to her side and put his hands on her waist, sliding one around to rest on the bare skin of her stomach.
"Carolyn," he whispered. "I've been meaning to catch up with you alone..."
She sighed and moved back against him as he rubbed his face in her hair. "You scare me, Riddick," she whispered, the way she always did. "That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"
She didn't believe it was his name. Hers wasn't really Carolyn, so why should he really be Riddick? Just another night of role-playing for her. But for him, these nights... they were as close to solace as he found. He slid his hand into the front of her pants and heard her small gasp. His mouth fastened hard on her throat.
He was back in the skiff, holding her against him, feeling her try to hide her fear and try even harder to hide her desire. She'd wanted him and despised herself for it. Now he'd take her, make her his, possess her utterly...
He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, listening to her breathless protests. "No, please, don't... Don't, Riddick..."
It had confused him, at first, that he wanted to hear her protest, but he'd long since stopped questioning it. Maybe it was his inner belief that the real Carolyn would never have acquiesced to his ministrations. Maybe he was just a sick, sick man. But he wanted to hear her beg him, to feel her struggle before she gave in.
He pinned her beneath him, his legs holding hers still while one hand wrapped around both of her wrists the way it had with Jack's only an hour ago--
Don't think about that.
His other hand caressed her face and throat. She drew breath to protest again and he lightly, warningly touched his fingers to her lips. When she made a small noise anyway he covered her mouth with his and kissed her deep and hard.
It had cost him a lot of money and negotiation to get her to let him do that. For the price of his kisses he could have bought the services of a dozen women for the entire night, but it was important enough to him that he paid the extra without complaint. The real Carolyn had been kissable. She'd kissed him, just once, on their way back to the cave where Imam and Jack were waiting.
He'd spotted the cave entrance just as she was giving up hope of ever finding it. When he pointed it out to her, she'd turned and flung her arms around him, kissing him on the mouth for a moment before they hurried over to liberate their friends. His lips had tingled for the rest of their journey. After she died, they felt like they had been scalded.
Now he pressed his body hard against her surrogate, giving in to the fantasy that she was the one beneath him. This was the journey that they were supposed to have taken together. Now, once again, they would.
He released her at last, long enough to pull her top off of her body before he lowered his mouth to her breasts and began to ravenously plunder them. She cried out, her hands coming to rest gently on the back of his head and neck. Her legs slid out from beneath him as he shifted his weight and wrapped around his waist.
He was even rougher than usual -- it had been too long and circumstances had left him far too hungry for this. After several minutes he pulled back, unwrapping her legs from around him. He pulled off the remainder of her clothing and followed up with his own. Usually he spent a lot more time on the preliminaries. Not tonight.
He was inside her almost before she realized what he was doing and her cry of astonishment was real. He covered her mouth with his again, thrusting into her over and over. He had his eyes closed tightly and his mind focused on Carolyn, his memory of her face, her voice, the taste of her lips. He groaned when another face abruptly superimposed itself over hers. Jack.
No. Go away, Jack, you can't be part of this...
It took all of his will to banish her visage, and he was unable to summon Carolyn's back in its place. He dared not open his eyes, though. He never had at this stage of the game before and the last thing he wanted to do was see the look of professional detachment that was probably on the face of the woman beneath him.
It was a hard, agonized ride to his release, and it was only achieved when he relented and let Jack's face appear to him once more.
Dammit! the last sane part of him thought as his orgasm took him. This can't be fucking happening...
He rolled off of "Carolyn" immediately afterwards and began to dress. Usually he spent the whole night, taking her several times, but he already knew that he'd found all the peace he was actually going to get from her tonight.
It had worked, more or less; the animal was back in its cage. But he already knew that its hunger for Jack had increased, not decreased. He left the brothel without a word after he settled his bill.
Great, he thought sourly, heading back to his ship. I've been cured of my obsession with a dead woman, finally. But what's gonna cure my new obsession?
He showered immediately upon arrival. He would not go to his breakfast with Jack bearing even the slightest traces of another woman's scent. He had in the past, but the very concept of doing so was offensive to him now.
The night was still technically young, but he felt exhausted. He climbed into his bed, expecting to drop almost immediately into slumber, but it didn't come. Finally he got back up and paced the ship restlessly. He went down into the dojo and spent an hour trying to bring himself to a state of physical exhaustion, but the restless energy remained.
What the hell did he have to do? he wondered, fearing the answer.
He headed back up to his room, only to stop in confusion as his hand reached for the knob of Jack's door instead. He spent several moments trying to resist the pull before he gave in and went inside.
In the scant week she'd lived in it, she'd already managed to impress her personality indelibly upon it. The room was filled with her scent, her presence. Almost hating himself, Riddick climbed into her bed, enveloping himself in the eau de Jack of the room, wrapping her sheets around him as if they were her delicate body.
Dancing on razor-blades here, he thought to himself, as he dropped into deep, satisfying slumber.