29.
Riddick: Crumbling Facades
Riddick didn't leave Jack's side until well after sunset, when the growl of the beast within finally pulled him away. They'd watched the dusk fall together, Jack commenting in hushed, awestruck tones on the fiery beauty of the colors filling the sky. He wished he could have seen them properly himself, although her words had given him a vivid impression of what she was seeing.
In the end, though, he'd been forced to turn to her with a regretful sigh. "I need to go now, Jack."
He'd been stunned by the understanding that had appeared on her face. Whatever he'd expected to see, it wasn't the gentle, patient maturity that had been in her eyes. "I know," was all she said.
She'd kissed his cheek softly and gone back into the ship without another word, leaving him staring after her in bemusement. Now, as he walked toward his rendezvous with her surrogate, he wondered to himself how much longer the artifice would hold up.
The sex itself was spectacular; with one exception, any act he'd dreamed of doing with Jack could be performed. The woman felt a great deal like Jack when he held her, with the same soft, lean curves and high breasts, the same wavy mane of hair. The face was different, of course. The nose was a little too short and the eyes were the wrong color. He tried not to look her in the face very much. And her voice was wrong, much too high. The artifice crumbled for him whenever she spoke, even when she forced her voice into the deepest part of its range. Finally he'd been forced to ask her not to speak at all.
And that, he realized, made her more unlike Jack than anything else.
Carolyn had been different. He'd known her only briefly, and had been able to fill in the volumes of what he didn't know about her with his own imagination and the attributes her surrogate possessed. It had been less Carolyn he'd been fucking than the idea of Carolyn. He hadn't known it at the time, of course. It was only now, with a basis for comparison, that he realized the truth.
Jack's surrogate had given him a massage during their first night together and it had been fun, but she'd never be able to do it again for him now. Not since he'd felt the strength and competence of the real Jack's hands when she'd unknotted his neck. Another door into fantasy had closed on him. He knew what the reality was and the surrogate Jack couldn't match it.
He had the sneaking suspicion that, as time wore on, that would happen more and more.
He made a quick detour into one of the shopping centers as an idea occurred to him, a way to increase the authenticity of his experiences, at least for a time. He emerged with a small bag and a rueful smile. Some things were sure expensive...
He arrived at the brothel and took his seat at the bar, surprised when Tonia set his room key down along with his drink. Either he was late or they'd really anticipated him. Either one was a possibility, but the latter one worried him more than a little. He had to get a handle on this obsession soon; he was becoming a creature of habit and that was an exploitable weakness.
He downed his drink quickly and headed upstairs.
As of yet, he and "Jack" hadn't come up with any sort of standing arrangement on how she was to greet him. She was sitting at the dressing table of her room, brushing her hair when he entered. Catching sight of him in her mirror, she turned around with a smile.
"Riddick," she said with a smile. "I was starting to wonder if you were coming." She kept her voice pitched as low and huskily as she could manage, but she still sounded nothing like the real Jack's deep, dulcet tones.
"Got delayed a little." He walked over to her and held out the bag. "Here. Something I want you to wear from now on, when we're together."
She reached in and pulled out the tiny bottle. "Wow," she exclaimed, forgetting herself and speaking in her own naturally high tones. "Charmante. That's one of the most expensive perfumes on the market..."
"Tell me about it," Riddick grimaced. He'd bought the smallest bottle available once he knew the price. If she actually got all the way through the bottle before he left he'd be in serious trouble in entirely too many ways. Jack must have spent a fortune in the perfume store, he realized.
The woman smiled and opened the bottle, touching the stopper to her pulse points. "Does she wear it?"
He frowned. "She?"
"Your friend. The one I'm standing in for." She stoppered the bottle and set it on her dressing table. She was very matter-of-fact about the whole sordid thing, he thought. He wondered how many untouchable women she'd impersonated since she'd joined her profession.
"Yeah," he sighed after a moment. "It's her favorite."
Mine, too, he thought. He hoped it would heighten the experience for him, make it feel more real.
"Jack" rose and moved to stand in front of him. The smile she gave him now was falsely demure and annoyed him a little. "What do you want to try tonight, Riddick?"
He studied her body carefully while he thought about it. As he'd requested, she was dressed much the way Jack had when he'd first seen her again. Her outfit was almost exactly like the one Jack had been wearing when they'd finally been reunited...
...and that gave him an interesting idea.
"Turn around," he instructed her. She complied. He bent down and whispered his instructions in her ear. She nodded when he was done.
"Remember," he repeated. "Don't say anything." He would conjure Jack's voice out of his own memory and imagination.
She nodded again. Time to begin.
"And you remember what to say if I get too rough, right?" One final nod. Yes, she'd remember the safe-word. He turned her around and backed her against the wall, pushing her up against it. He whirled her around to face the wall.
As his hands began to move across her body, he closed his eyes and imagined Jack's voice.
"Jeez, I'm not armed or anything! What the fuck is your problem?"
This time his hands lingered on her breasts, feeling them through the fabric of her shirt. There was nothing impersonal about this little frisking session. He ran his palms across her entire body, familiarizing himself with her curves. Then his hands slid under her top and cupped her breasts again.
"Goddamn it, you sick psycho-fuck bastard," the remembered Jack shouted at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He sighed, stepping closer to her, one hand traveling up to her throat while the other toyed with one pert nipple. "Checking you for wires," he'd answered her. Not this time.
His hands slid back down and pushed below the waistband of her leggings, just as they had before. This time, however, their destination was different, sliding between her legs to stroke her most sensitive flesh. She shivered against him as he explored her slick folds, sliding one finger deep inside her. He pressed his mouth against the joint of her throat and shoulder, grazing the skin with his teeth.
In his mind, he could hear her outraged protest. "Jesus, do you think I'd have let somebody wire me? Dammit, watch where you're putting your hands!"
Oh yes, he answered, sliding a second finger inside her. This time I'm watching closely, Sweetheart.
He pressed closer to her, pulling her against his body. There had been one moment, back in the cargo bay, when he'd almost done this to the real Jack, when he'd almost lost control. She'd saved him then, pulled him back from the brink with her angry words, but nothing could save him now...
His decision made, he began stripping off her clothes. She writhed against him, seeming to struggle but somehow becoming all the more accessible for it. Finally she was naked. He turned her around and lifted her up, spreading her legs and wrapping them around his waist. When her throat was level with his mouth he grasped the soft skin between his lips and teeth. She gasped and began to pant as he licked and nipped at her skin.
He lifted her up higher, his lips and tongue leaving a wet trail on her skin as he turned his attention to her breasts. He was not gentle but she didn't protest. Instead, she writhed and moaned, thrusting her chest forward to meet his hungry mouth. The scent of her perfume engulfed him.
He carried her over to the bed and tossed her onto it, on her back. He climbed on, keeping her legs spread wide as he lifted her towards his mouth. In the back of his mind, he heard Jack's final, infuriated suggestion... "If you even think of doing a cavity-search..."
He parted her labia with his fingers and gazed down at her for a long moment before lowering his mouth to cover her. She gasped as his tongue snaked between the folds of soft, wet flesh between her legs, dipping into her opening for a moment before continuing its journey. She tasted wonderful. He closed his eyes and gave into his hunger, tonguing and nipping at the flesh until she cried out and ground herself against his mouth.
He traced a long, wet path back up her body with his tongue, climbing onto her as he did. His hands found the sides of her face and he pulled her towards him, covering her mouth with his. She gasped beneath him and her hands came up, pushing at his chest. He kissed her harder, forcing her mouth open and darting his tongue inside. He released her after a moment and sat up, undoing the buckle of his belt.
"You son of a bitch!"
The blow came out of nowhere, striking his jaw and actually making his head rock back. He blinked in astonishment at the enraged face below his. So unexpected... so perfect.
Moments in time swirled, crossed and mingled before his eyes, assembling themselves into an incoherent progression. Jack rounding on him, furious at his intrusive behavior, slapping him hard across the face when he finished checking her for wires... Jack in the dojo, pulling her little surprise move and whirling around in his grasp to backhand him and cut his lip...
Jack, just the night before, her face contorted with her own rage as she spat out her denunciation of him, making him want to wrestle her to the ground and take her hard...
I can, he thought. This time, I can.
The shout of exultant laughter surprised even him. "Now that's my girl!"
He caught her fist as it swung at him again and pinned her hands down on the bed. Below him, "Jack" snarled something incoherent as she bucked and twisted. Not the safe-word, though. She was just getting into the spirit of things. He wondered how she'd figured out that he'd like this. He hadn't known...
It had never occurred to him to have her try to kick his ass. It had never occurred to him that such a thing would turn him on so much.
He brought her wrists together and pinned them under one hand. With his free hand he fumbled at the fastenings of his pants. His own breathing had quickened. Finally he freed his erection from its restraints.
"You crazy fuckin' bastard, don't you even think--"
He had her legs apart already. Sliding his free hand under her, he lifted her hips up and centered himself against her hot, slick flesh before plunging into her with one rough thrust.
"Get the fuck out of me, you psycho!"
He laughed in a combination of exultation and agony. The voice was wrong and the words made no sense to him, but the aggression was perfect. He released her hands for a moment and felt her small fists begin pounding against his chest. He sped up his own rhythm to match the pulse of her blows, teetering on the brink of delirium. In this moment, for this instant of time, the woman beneath him had captured his Jack's fire, the ferocity and strength that lay below her skin, that surpassed his own and had long since conquered him.
He gathered her face in his hands again and he covered her mouth with his once more, probing its recesses deeply. Her struggles became even more fierce and he felt the nails of one hand rake his back just before his world exploded into pure sensation.
Oh Jack, he thought as oblivion swallowed him whole, Oh god, I love you, Jack...
He was still coming down from his release when she shoved him off of her. He rolled over onto his back and lay still for a long moment, catching his breath. More than either of their previous nights, this one act had brought him so close to complete satiety.
"Get the fuck out," the woman's quiet voice snarled.
He opened his eyes and looked over at her. She'd left the bed and was standing by her dressing table, her robe around her. The look on her face was one of pure, poisonous hatred.
He sat up, frowning slightly. "What's wrong?"
"I told you to stop, you son of a bitch, and you kept going--"
"You didn't use the safe-word," he answered reasonably.
Her face contorted. "Fine! Hunter-Gratzner! Now get the fuck out of my room!"
Riddick sighed and rose, drawing his pants up and refastening them. Apparently the fun was over for the night. Well, he'd definitely gotten his money's worth; it had been incredible. Disturbing, but incredible. It must have disturbed her, too, somehow, he guessed. He couldn't figure out why she was so angry, though. He'd have stopped any time she said the word. That was the point of having a safe-word, after all.
He paused at the door and looked back at her, smiling slightly. "Night, Babe. See you tomorrow."
She grabbed the perfume bottle off of the table and threw it at him. He ducked behind the door and pulled it closed, hearing the bottle smash against the other side.
Shit, he thought. There goes five hundred New Francs. What the hell got her in a twist?
He shook his head, chuckling slightly, and headed downstairs. He felt wonderful. He'd figure out later what he'd done wrong, if anything.
Tonia was surprised to see him back so quickly, raising an eyebrow at him. "Done so soon?"
"Apparently so," he replied with a grin. "Think I annoyed her a little or somethin'."
"Did you want the night pro-rated?" She looked doubtful about that. They probably hardly ever offered it, and only if the "John" was tossed out of the room the way he had been.
"Nah, I got what I came for," he grinned. "See you tomorrow."
"Good night, Mr. Fry," she answered, returning to the bar.
He spent the walk home mulling what had happened, the exact moment when things had gone from good to amazing. What was it that had made it so incredible?
Passion, he decided after a moment. There had been real anger behind her punch, the first genuine emotion she'd shown him. In it he'd felt a hint of the unbridled honesty Jack almost always shared with him, the raw emotion she only poured out to him and hid away from the rest of the world.
Even stranger, the idea of Jack taking him on, getting into his face and standing up to him... the idea of someone being so completely unafraid of him, no matter how much larger and stronger he actually was...
It wasn't so much that she'd hit him as that she hadn't been afraid to. What an amazing turn-on. How purely Jack.
He entered the ship and headed straight for the shower. Jack, apparently, had already gone to bed. She'd left the lights set on dims for him, although he could navigate in utter darkness and they both knew it. It was a touching gesture nonetheless.
He showered quickly and pulled on the sweats he habitually wore to bed now, before quietly opening Jack's door and creeping into her room. She was lying on her side, breathing softly. Beautiful, so beautiful. Faced with the truth about his madness, this morning, she'd been utterly fearless, startling him with her calm confidence in him.
"You don't have to be sorry," she'd said, coming over to him and taking his hand. "If it's still in you, then it's part of what I love. What I've always loved, since we first met."
Oh Jack, he thought as he gazed at her, I wish I trusted myself as much as you trust me. The hunger is growing, Babe, and I'm not sure whether I can keep holding out against it. I don't want to hurt you. You've had enough pain in your life. And I don't want to lose you, either. I'm trapped here, kid. How did you get so far inside me without me noticing until it was too late?
Suddenly he froze, his heart lurching. Jack's eyes were open, gazing into his.
30.
Jack: Moving Closer
She couldn't help feeling wistful as she watched Riddick saunter away along the tarmac. She knew where he was going and it did still bother her a little.
Let's be honest, "kid," it bothers you a lot. Just not as much as it would if he had a genuine girlfriend.
She sighed and sank down into Riddick's seat in the cockpit, leaning back. The day had been wonderful, actually, as the two of them spent hours just talking about anything and everything. Whatever agenda Riddick had originally planned for the day had been put aside in favor of their re-acquaintance.
The two of them had promised each other some important things over the course of the day. They would always answer each other's questions with complete honesty, and they would never ask each other questions that they didn't want honest answers to. Jack, who had already resolved that she'd never ask Riddick about his nights out again, had been touched nonetheless.
She wondered if she'd ever get up the nerve to ask him the question that still burned inside her. She was still a little afraid of what his answer might be, though. She wondered when the day would come -- and she knew it would -- that her need for the truth outweighed her need for hope.
She'd been a little shocked by one of his own revelations, that he was afraid the madness that still lurked within him would one day drive her away. She'd done her best to reassure him that it would never happen. That if it was an integral part of him, it was a part of what she loved.
There had been a moment, right after that, when her stomach had suddenly felt like it had dropped down to the cargo level. Oh my god, she'd thought in a panic, I just said "love..."
But Riddick had taken her hand and brought it up to his cheek, closing his eyes and leaning against it. "I hope you're right, Jack," was his only response. She'd come very close to blurting out the fact that she was in love with him then.
Now he was gone for the evening, off to have sex with some woman. Some woman he paid to spend time with him. She had to stop thinking about it.
For a moment she considered heading out herself, back to the library, but she quashed the idea quickly.
First of all, you twit, she told herself, Riddick's right. This is a bad part of town and you have no business out in it after dark. Not until Riddick says you've progressed further in your combat lessons. You're really lucky nobody messed with you last night while you were running home.
Secondly, she could just see herself losing track of time again, until a pissed-off Riddick stormed into the place and dragged her out. And that would be embarrassing beyond belief.
Wonder how much I can access from here? she asked herself after a moment. They had an excellent comm system, after all, complete with a terminal that rivaled the one she'd been using in the library.
A quick examination of the terminal yielded unexpected results. Riddick had some of the most advanced hack-and-slice hardware she'd ever seen in one place. She wouldn't have to content herself with just his press kit this time; she could probably get all the way into the Law Enforcement systems and see anything she wanted.
During the ten years he was incarcerated, Riddick claimed that no one had ever successfully diagnosed or treated his mental illness. Jack had to wonder what sort of conclusions the authorities had drawn in that regard.
It was too tempting. Her hands were already moving over the keys, bypassing the Public Domain records for the dossiers that ordinarily only law enforcement officers would have access to. With his equipment, it was a breeze to get past the safeguards. She wondered how Riddick was described in the system. "Armed and Dangerous?" "Approach With Caution?" "Shoot on Sight?"
Oh, of course, she thought as the images came up on the screen. "Terminally Dangerous." How did I forget that designation?
This material was a lot more interesting than the news digests. It was segmented into different sections: psychological profiles, physiological profile, criminal history, weapon proficiencies... She entered the weapons area and was dazzled by the array of data listed. When and where had he learned how to use all of this stuff?
She looked under the "Unarmed Combat" category and noted that Riddick had no actual black belts, but had been given the equivalent of black belts -- highest dan every time -- in every listed discipline. Once more, there was no mention of who had taught him these skills or when.
Fourteen years old when he went crazy, she thought. Crazy for the first five years of his imprisonment. Sane for the next five, but still locked in maximum security. On the run for the next eleven years. When did he train to do all of this?
The math made no sense at all.
If she asked him, she was sure he would tell her. That was, of course, assuming it wasn't one of the things missing from his memory. His recollections of his five years of psychosis were spotty and strange.
No matter how she searched the file, there was no mention of teachers or training in any of the various arts of war he'd mastered. Only the fact that he'd mastered them, and was considered equal or superior to any Elite Special Forces soldier.
She moved on to the file that really interested her -- the psychological profiles.
The earliest ones were written shortly after the Tech School killings. Pure speculation, a lot of them, as various psychologists and psychiatrists contemplated why he'd murdered his nine closest friends.
Riddick, they noted, had displayed none of the characteristic warning signs that signaled violent behavior to come. He had no history of tormenting playmates or abusing animals. He was standoffish with people for several years after the foster home incident, but that was attributed to post-traumatic stress. He'd displayed no violent or homicidal ideation in the months leading up to the killings. Most of his peers had described him as "calm" and "likeable."
Despite the fact that he repeatedly "advised" people that he should be put to death for his crimes, he made no suicide attempts.
One doctor noted that the killings did seem to occur while he was in the height of puberty and his body was changing more rapidly than ever. He'd grown almost a foot in height in the six months leading up to the murders, and gained almost one hundred pounds in muscle mass. The doctor theorized that his physical instability had led to corresponding emotional instability. Few of his peers accepted the theory, preferring instead to look for an external cause, some incident in his distant or recent past which had driven him over the edge.
They never found one.
Various doctors attempted to analyze him during his term in the Texas Slam. Once again, his behavior was far too enigmatic for them and they were reduced to speculation and grasping theories. One doctor made an odd, resonant comment along the way, shortly before Riddick turned nineteen:
"I feel like a man on safari, confronted with the Jungle's deadliest predator. I watch him, but he is watching me. And for every thing I manage to learn about him, he learns much more about me. We study each other, and he already knows what makes me tick, while I can only guess with him. Worse, he knows how to make my ticking stop."
A notation six months later indicated that Riddick seemed to have taken up meditation. As his behavior began to stabilize, the reports got odder and odder. One doctor commented in disgust that Riddick was now manipulating the people who tried to study him. He was shipped to Nereid soon after, and no further mention of testing was made.
The last reports in the file were all written by a Dr. Martina Aspen. They were "profiles" commissioned three years ago. Pieces of them seemed to be missing, but what was left was interesting.
The most interesting one of all was the profile of Riddick's sexual tastes. Jack couldn't help lingering on that one. As she read it, she began to feel a little hot...
"Richard B. Riddick," Aspen had written, "appears to have an insatiable appetite for sexual intercourse. Interviews with women who have had sex with him all indicate that he has an unusually quick refractory period and very high stamina..."
Yes, Jack was definitely feeling a bit hot.
"Almost all of the women interviewed confirmed that Riddick prefers to be the dominant partner. However, several of them also mentioned that, when they suggested the use of mechanical restraints of any kind in their sex play, he responded with extreme distaste. I believe that this is a residual effect of his incarceration. He associates restraints of any kind with his imprisonment and finds them disgusting. They inspire no sexual arousal within him at all and may even turn him off..."
I could have told you that, Jack thought, remembering how Riddick had responded when the orderlies had brought in her restraints before the regen procedure. Riddick hated few things as much as chains or bonds of any kind.
"Although Riddick appears to have no homophobia, he did respond violently and savagely in prison to any attempts by other inmates to forcibly initiate a sexual relationship. It is confirmed that he was completely celibate for the entire period of his incarceration..."
That was interesting. Had he actually been a virgin when he broke out of prison? Because if not, he had a lot of explaining to do about his "you were only fourteen" remark.
Unless, of course, there were horrors in his youth to rival the one in hers. Wouldn't be all that unlikely.
Jack finished the article and began scanning the others. This Dr. Aspen seemed to have a much better grasp of Riddick's true nature than any of the other "experts" who had written about him. Had Riddick ever read any of these articles?
But these were digests, not the full articles. She ran a query to see if she could track down the complete texts. She frowned at the result.
ACCESS TO FULL TEXTS REQUIRES CLASS 7 OR HIGHER "CHARYBDIS PROJECT" CLEARANCE.
What the hell was that?
There was a link. She could try to slice into it, see if Riddick's equipment was good enough to open it up...
She was about to try the link when she noticed a shadow moving through the night outside of the ship.
Oh shit, that's Riddick!
A glance at the chrono told her she hadn't lost track of time this time, at least not as badly as before. He was home early. She shut down the terminal as fast as she could and began switching off most of the lights. He might have already seen the soft light of the cockpit, so she left a few on. She ducked into her room and shut the door.
Why am I hiding what I did? she wondered. He told me I could ask him anything. Why the hell am I sneaking around now?
After a moment she heard the shower in the bathroom turn on. She switched on her light and changed into her pajamas as silently as she could, still wondering what game she was playing at anyway. She extinguished her light and climbed into bed.
What is up with me? she wondered. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep. She didn't know why she was hiding this from Riddick, but until she figured it out she might as well pretend she'd gone to bed before he got home...
She heard a tiny, almost inaudible click as the door to her room opened. Only the training Riddick had given her over the last few weeks let her hear the soft footfalls as he walked into her room. She could feel his approach.
She heard the whisper of fabric as Riddick knelt down beside her. His breathing was the barest trace of sound. So silent. Why was he here? Had he come in to make sure she wasn't out playing truant again?
Would this wake me up? she thought. If I were really asleep, would I wake up now?
She pondered it as she listened to the slow, almost inaudible sound of his breathing. She breathed deeply herself, inhaling the amazing scent of him, clean from his shower but still so... so Riddick. At least there was no trace of the woman he'd been fucking. That was one smell she'd have loathed. Would she be awakened by the scent of him, so close to her? Would she react to that aspect of his presence, even if no other?
I'd have to, she decided. There's no way he could come into my room without my sensing something. I'd better react normally. Better open my eyes...
She could barely make his features out in the dim light spilling through her open doorway, but she saw him start after a moment. He'd looked lost in thought, but now his shining silver eyes focused on hers.
"Hey," she whispered.
He took a breath, which sounded oddly hitched. "Hi, Jack. I didn't mean to wake you."
He sounded embarrassed, as if he'd been caught doing something naughty. But he'd just gotten home from that part of his activities.
For a moment her mind wandered back to the things she'd read about him, about his appetites and tastes. She felt a small tingle spreading through her lower body. Down, girl, she thought, hoping he couldn't see her reaction.
"'Sokay," she whispered, unable to keep from stretching a little. Did she imagine it or did his eyes move over her body? "I haven't been in bed for long."
That much, at least, was true.
He was silent for a long time.
"Did you just get home?" she asked after a moment. He'd finished up his fun in record time, she realized. He hadn't been home this early in ages.
"Yeah," he breathed. Slowly he rose from his crouch. "I just wanted to see if you were okay, before I went to bed."
Funny; she'd never heard him sound so awkward before. Could it possibly mean what she hoped it did?
He turned to go.
"Hey." This came out well above a whisper. He stopped moving and turned his head to look at her. "Don't I get a goodnight kiss?"
It took him a moment to turn back to face her. He stepped over to her side and leaned down. For a moment, she could have sworn his lips were approaching hers. She closed her eyes...
...and felt his lips press against her cheek.
"Goodnight, Jack," he murmured softly. He was closing her door as she opened her eyes.
She stared at the closed door for several minutes before she managed to lie back down.
Did that just happen? she thought to herself. Could it possibly mean what I hope it does?
She didn't fall asleep for several more hours. Her dreams, when she finally did, woke her up repeatedly throughout the night, panting and gasping. Riddick was in every one of them.
The Charybdis Trap had lain quiescent for almost two years now. In that time, no one had tried to access the data it protected except those genuinely cleared to do so. Nothing else had wandered into its maw. Tonight, someone almost had. It knew nothing about Riddick, nothing about Jack Kowalczyk. It was just a device, designed to close its jaws around anything that reached in without permission. It was ready. Sooner or later, it would bite again. Sooner or later, someone would come.
And someone was coming soon.