Chapter Thirty: 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.