Claimer's Keeps

DISCLAIMER:
I do not own Riddick, Imam, Jack, or any portion of the PB Universe. This work is not for profit and purely for the enjoyment of myself and others, should they so choose to read it. This pertains to all chapters.


I will come for you. You won’t know where, you won’t know when, and I don’t expect you to be ready. Your time has come, little girl, like it or not.
Happy Birthday.

Jack blinked at the cryptic note as she reread it. It was unsigned, of course. Just her luck.

Imam called through the screen door, “Jacqueline? Are you out there, child?”

Jack hastily folded the note into quarters and shoved it into her pocket. She knew that it would only upset him. “I’m out here, Baba,” she replied.

The old holy man joined her on the front stoop. The sun was just clearing the horizon line, and Jack tried to force the note she had found on her pillow out of her mind. Sunrise had always been a time for her to meditate, or as close as she could get to it. Sometimes her surrogate father joined her after his morning prayers.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” Imam proclaimed, gently kissing her on the forehead.

Jack bent to accept the caress. She smiled and nodded when she looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said.

Imam smiled in return. “I will tell you when breakfast is ready.” With that, he rose, dusted off his immaculate robes, and reentered the small house.

Jack’s smile promptly slipped away. What in all the worlds did that note mean?

***

All throughout the day, Jack read and reread the note. Something about the phrasing niggled at her memory. She should remember this, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure it out.

When she spotted Imam’s car outside her high school, she ran toward it with relief. It could have just been the aftereffects of that note, but all day, she could have sworn that someone was watching her—like a predator.

“Are you all right, my dear? You seem… troubled.”

“I’m fine, Baba. Really.” Brushing her dark hair out of her face, Jack tried to look ‘fine.’ Imam seemed to buy it.

That night, after Jack had been hugged and kissed by relative after countless relative, most of whom didn’t speak a thing but New Arabic, she retreated to her room with relief.

Turning seventeen hadn’t been all that thrilling, and she was tired and cranky. She plunked her gifts, most of which she would never use, down in the corner, grabbed a half-eaten bag of chocolate-covered peanuts, switched off the light, and literally fell into bed. Reaching for her headphones, she felt a slip of paper that she didn’t remember being there.

Frowning, she rolled out of bed, flipped on the light, and picked up the random sheet of paper.

Won’t be long now, Jackie-girl. Sweet dreams.

Jack’s stomach clenched. She crumpled the paper with her fist and tossed it at the little wastepaper basket that she kept next to her desk. It rebounded on the wall and lay there, mocking her. She rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she muttered, scooping it up and depositing it where it belonged.

There was no lock on her door, but there was one on her window. She made certain that it was shut and locked tight before turning off the light. With a look of trepidation at the door, she climbed into bed and into a restless sleep.

***

The next morning was a Saturday, but Jack woke up early for her customary sunrise anyway. She showered, dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a sleeveless blue top, and brushed her teeth. She tried to relax. She felt… threatened. Yes, that was it, threatened. She shivered, remembering the notes of the day before.

Imam’s absence only heightened her unease. There was another note on the kitchen table. Feeling sick to her empty stomach, she picked it up.

It was just a note from Imam, saying that he was on a retreat that weekend and would be gone until Sunday night. She wondered why he had never mentioned it to her, but dismissed it. He was getting pretty old, after all—maybe it had just slipped his mind.

Perfect. Just friggin’ perfect.

She gulped down some juice and sat down to watch the sun rise. She tried desperately to find the serenity she usually did, but it eluded her. When the sun was fully up, she went back inside, feeling frustrated. When she reached for the handle, however, she saw something she had obviously missed as she had walked out earlier.

Another note, this one taped to her front door.

Soon, Jack. Soon. I’m waiting.

Jack ripped it off the door and tore it to tiny shreds. “Whoever you are, leave me alone,” she whispered, going inside and locking the deadbolt behind her.

When she got back in, all of the shades were drawn closed. Imam never let the house get that dark. He said that it reminded him of the planet, and that the house should always welcome the daylight.

“What the hell is going on?” she said aloud. Suddenly, she knew she had to get out of the house. Sarah. She would go to Sarah’s for the weekend.

Wait. If this psycho really was watching her, she couldn’t lead him right to her friend. If she headed to Sarah’s, that would be exactly what she was doing.

Nevertheless, she packed a bag. She had enough creds to get to Imam’s retreat. The only problem was that he went to one every two or three months. Which one was he at now? Was it the worldwide annual retreat, or one of the nameless smaller ones? If it were the big one, then Imam definitely would have made a huge deal about in the past few weeks and she would have remembered.

Oh, God, she thought. I’m such an idiot. She could just go to the police. That was their job, right? Helping people? There we go. Perfect solution.She decided to forgo the trip to the police station until after she had eaten something. Perhaps she would feel less panicky with some food in her stomach.

As she was eating, she barely had a chance to register that there was someone right behind her until a large hand descended over her mouth. She froze mid-swallow when a low, cold voice met her ear with hot breath.

“Well, happy birthday, Jackie. I must say, you have grown up to be quite a beauty.”

As the stranger spoke, he used his other hand to capture each of her wrists. His hands were warm and dry, and felt nothing short of enormous. Jack was by no means small (slender, maybe, but not small), and yet her wrists felt insignificant and almost fragile in the stranger's grasp.

Relinquishing his hold on her mouth, he began tying her to the chair. Jack opened a terrified yet angry mouth and began to swear, something she rarely did in Imam’s house. “What the hell is this? Who are you? What the fuck is going on?”

“Shhh. Quiet, or I’ll have to gag you until you’ve calmed down.”

That voice… so familiar. Jack immediately clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t think she could bear the indignity of being gagged as well as tied up. Besides, there was something in that raspy, sweet-as-gravel voice that made her want to comply.

The intruder moved around and stood in front of her. Jack gasped, and promptly felt like an utter moron. Of course this was who it was. Who else would play cat-and-mouse like that, just to fuck with her? No wonder it had all seemed so familiar.

Riddick. The man who had saved her life and disappeared without a trace. She hadn’t seen him in four years, hadn’t thought of him in two. It was as though a phantom from her past had returned and suddenly slapped her in the face.