He Didn't Come

That night, Jack hovered uncertainly at his bedroom door. Riddick understood her hesitation, but surely she knew he had no desire to hurt her.

“It’s okay, kid. I promise,” he said from the edge of the bed.

“Why can’t I just sleep on the couch?” she asked meekly.

“Look at your arms. See those stitches?”

She touched one of her cuts thoughtfully. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I can’t have you doing that to yourself. I’m not going to hurt you. What are you so afraid of?”

Jack looked at him as though he were a complete idiot. “Haven’t you heard a single word I’ve been telling you? I’ve been used since I was eight years old. Beds with men in them terrify me, Riddick.”

“Do I terrify you?”

She said grudgingly, “No.”

“Then come on. See, I’m fully clothed, and you’re fully clothed. If you don’t want me to, I can make extra certain not to bump you in my sleep. But I swear, I will not rape you. I’m no rapist.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Just a murderer.”

She slowly stepped into the room. “Lights off,” Riddick commanded the computer.

“Lights to fifteen percent,” Jack quickly countered.

Riddick let it slide. “Come on. It’s okay. We’ve got lots of training to do, so you need to sleep.”

She cautiously sat on the bed.

“Lay down, Jack.”

She complied, her entire body extraordinarily tense. Riddick tried not to sigh with exasperation as he lay down next to her. If there was a different way, then he wouldn’t be doing this, but he had to keep an eye on her and there was absolutely no floor space. She scooted as far away from him as the small bed would allow. “Good night, kid.”

“’Night.”

Riddick made certain not to fall asleep until her breathing grew deep and smooth. Even then, he made sure to sleep lightly in case she had another nightmare.

Sure enough, about halfway through the night she started squirming and whimpering. Riddick sat up and said to her soothingly, trying to wake her, “It’s another nightmare, kid. It’s okay.”

He sounded like a broken record. ‘It’s okay’ was the only thing to cross his lips these days.

She woke up suddenly, and rolled over, masking her face with the pillow. He knew enough by that point not to touch her, and so he just sat next to her, at a loss of what to do.

She was murmuring something. He leaned in closer in order to hear her better, and it sounded like, “I need it, I need it. It hurts.”

“What hurts?” he asked curiously.

She turned a tearstained face toward him and said helplessly, “I need to cut, Riddick. Oh, God, I can’t stand this, please, just let me cut, please….”

Without thinking, he pulled her tight embrace. Even as he did so, he half expected her to panic and fight to get away. Oddly enough, however, she pressed her thin body to his strong one.

“I hurt, Riddick….” she said dully.

After a moment he responded heavily, “I don’t know how to fix this, kid. I’m a killer, not a healer.”

She didn’t answer him. All she did was lie in his arms limply, with her head against his chest. Riddick wondered, yet again, just how he was going to handle this girl.

~*~

It became a ritual with them; after intensive self-defense and martial arts training, they would get a bottle of water and sit in the main cabin, getting their breath back. Jack tapped out much sooner than Riddick, of course, but she would take a break, then begin again, so that they ultimately finished at about the same time. After which, they each would shower and one of them would fix some type of dinner. They would eat and then sleep soon afterwards. If the kid were to have a nightmare, Riddick made sure that she knew he was there to protect her, even from herself.

Her mood swings lessoned considerably as she threw herself into the rigorous training that Riddick prescribed for her. It did wonders for her mindset. Riddick understood how she felt- calmer, yet empowered by her growing physical prowess. Her confidence skyrocketed, much as his had when he first began training.

Her whole two inches of hair thoroughly amused him, for no real reason. He kept his head shaved like always, but apparently Jack decided to quit imitating him in that respect. She still asked about his life in and out of slam occasionally, though she hadn’t said anything about killing at all since she accidentally ghosted the drunken merc.

Food became scarce. The refridge was completely bare. Riddick had found a locker with stacks of dehydrated food, but the packages could hardly be called meals- more like protein soup. It would last until Riddick could come up with a decent plan. They suffered for a week or so before Riddick made a decision.

He lay silently beside Jack, waiting to be sure she had fallen asleep. He didn’t want her aware of what he was about to do. When her breathing grew regular and even, he got up, moving carefully. In his years of experience, he had grown more than proficient at stealth. She never felt a thing.

He kept the lights off as he made his way toward the main console. Sliding into the cockpit, he activated the computer and blinked as he was suddenly bathed in the glowing blue-white light. The shine of his eyes was a hindrance, but he soon adjusted and turned the sound off. Configuring it to communicate with text only, he accessed the automatic satcomm function.

He typed in the contact address from memory and waited for an indication that his signal had been picked up.

The screen darkened for a brief second, before flicking to a somewhat green haze. The text flashed. What do you want, Riddick?

He typed, Nice to hear from you too. Let me know if you need me to finish that job if I’m ever in the neighborhood. I got picked up.

I know, the response flashed in seconds. I thought you were dead.

So did the rest of the Con’m. Listen, do you have any jobs that need doing soon?

I’m surprised. Since when do you contact others for jobs? I thought you waited for people to come to you. I thought you had pride.

Riddick smiled briefly at his contact’s bluntness. Since I escaped again and need money fast.

If his contact asked for his present location, he’d end communication right then and there, reconfigure the tracer, and mark the presumptuous bastard for future offing.

The response came: Hold on.

Riddick waited, feeling uncharacteristic impatience. This meant that his contact would confer with his boss. It was the same contact he had been using for years. Who knew how many crime lords he had done jobs for through this guy?

Riddick didn’t know names. He didn’t want to know names. He never gave his name out, either, but somehow his contact knew it after the first communication. While this made Riddick distrustful, it was a reliable contact and he had always gotten paid well. There was an untraceable account number that he could access wherever he was, as long as it was near an ATM. Those machines had been around forever, but the concept was the same: money easily accessed and easily deposited. It worked great when wire transfers were impossible, as was always the case in his line of work. Technology was too easily traced. The only reliable denomination was cold hard currency.

I’m going to feed you some coordinates and job details. Just indicate if you’ll be able to take a job. Don’t bother telling us which one. Contact again when complete. You’ll get the money in ten minutes after we receive confirmation.

It was standard procedure. Nobody ever asked about location at all. The less everyone knew, the better.

Riddick compared his present location with the coordinates that flashed on the screen, replacing the text. No… no… no… maybe… damn, they had a lot of jobs that needed doing. Okay, there was a definite possibility. He double checked the location, direction, and fuel store. It would be tight, but feasible.

Yes. Expect contact when it’s done.

Good. I’ll be waiting.

Nothing threatening in that final statement. Again, standard procedure. Never conclude a deal until it’s complete.

Riddick ended the transmission and turned off the main screen. The computer kept working, humming in tune with the faint vibrations from the ship. He opened the navcomm. Rerouting their course took less than a minute. He was lucky. They could be there in less than a week.