You aren't supposed to feel pain in dreams, or at least Jack had heard as much from someone. Probably Tam, when they were young. He always knew odd things like that, but her dream at the moment was extremely, extremely painful. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she was in a desert. Sand whipped through the air in every direction, taking off pieces of skin as it collided with her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there -- it felt like ages -- but she hoped she wouldn't sleep too much longer. It wasn't a pleasant dream, but somehow it wasn't a nightmare either.
Just as she was starting to forget where she was, to forget everything but the sensation of being scrubbed away she felt something thrust between her lips and a heavy liquid coated her mouth. It stuck to her throat, but it took away the feeling of the sand. Another swallow and she became aware of her body stretched out on the sand. Another and another. Jack blinked open her eyes and pushed the water skin away. The tall woman holding it obligingly took it back. The noise from the wind dropped off sharply and the silence seemed oppressive in the sudden absence.
She smiled serenely down at Jack's face, seemingly unaffected by the sandstorm. Her braids dangled around her face like vines, the only still thing in sight. Her mocha skin was the same color as the sand and sky making her seem curiously indistinct.
"Hi," Jack said eventually.
"Hi," the woman answered.
The woman didn't seem inclined to say anything more so Jack sat up and was surprised to find she felt no discomfort. She frowned and squinted into the storm. The woman offered her the water skin again but Jack pushed it away and stood up. She took an experimental step forward, staring hard and saw it -- there were shapes moving in the distance.
"Who are you looking for?" the woman asked.
Jack turned to face her. "I don't know. Who's out there?"
Smiling beautifully the woman said, "The dead." Her teeth were bright white.
"I know lots of dead people." Images of Shazza, Fry, Paris, Johns, her brother flooded her and she felt her eyes well up with tears, but she didn't cry.
The woman nodded. "Are there any you're looking to find?"
Jack said, "No," but she felt uncertain. "Who are you?"
"I'm Shazza," the woman said, and suddenly she was. She had Shazza's long face and curling dark hair. Her skin was still the same sand color, though. More brown than Shazza's.
Jack frowned. "No," she said again, her voice stronger this time. A tiny spark of unease floated into her mind.
"Okay," Not-Shazza answered agreeably. Her hair coiled together to become braids again and her face seemed to dissolve for an instant before resolving into the unknown face from before. It sent a chill up Jack's spine.
"Who are you really?" Jack asked.
"That's up to you. I can only be who you know."
Jack felt vaguely distracted and realized the sound of the wind was in her ears again. "But I don't know anyone like you."
The woman showed all her teeth. "Then I guess that makes me Nobody. Thirsty?" Her long fingers offered up the water skin.
Jack realized she was more than thirsty. She felt parched and couldn't answer. Without so much as nodding she grabbed the pouch eagerly. Again the thick liquid coated her from the inside out, leaving her somehow lighter. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and passed the partly empty sack to Nobody, then blinked. She didn't know how she'd missed it before but Nobody was holding a shiv in her right hand. No, not a shiv, a hatchet. An axe.
Nobody's hair shifted around her face, dissolving into golden locks that framed her face. It was a metal handle with a red grip in Fry's hand. A gun in Johns'. He tossed it to her, flipping it end over end until it wasn't a gun. It was an oar and Jack caught it by the paddle. Dave reached over her shoulder and pulled it away.
"That's mine," Jack said.
Dave just smiled. "You can buy it back if you really want it."
"I don't have any money. All I've got is your coin." Jack looked down at her hand which held the coin and saw red streaked across it.
"That's all you need."
Nobody was there again, beside Jack. Her indistinct hand plucked the coin from Jack's. "Blood has always been the coin of our realm," she said and swallowed St. Jude.
Dave blew away on the wind.
Nobody smiled down at Jack. "Thirsty?" Her hair uncoiled and recoiled, seeming satisfied.
Jack took the sack and swallowed once. She touched her mouth. Her fingertips came away red.
Nobody showed her white teeth. "Blood is important."
Jack didn't sit up, but she did snap open her eyes. Riddick's hand tightened momentarily on her own but when she didn't make any further movement he relaxed back into sleep. Or whatever counted as sleep for him. Jack had her suspicions that he was never really asleep in the way that other people were, but she wasn't sure if it was a prison thing or a Riddick thing. She only half wanted to find out.
Just long enough to get the eye-shine wouldn't be too bad, she thought, but even as she thought it, she knew she didn't really want to go to prison. Riddick's stories weren't enough to scare her, but the look on his face when he told them was. If it was bad enough to take Riddick to a dark place, it had to be bad.
Taking care not to move her arm, Jack rolled over onto her back, her eyes penetrating the gloom of the cabin easily in the semi-darkness. She thought again about how much sharper her vision would be if she had shined eyes too.
Maybe I would've seen that guy before he shot me. Her free hand came up to brush the scar meditatively, but she stopped before she reached it. In the dark it was hard to distinguish color, but the streak of blood across the thumb was obvious, even to her ordinary vision. She felt her stomach part ways with her lower intestine, or at least that's what it felt like. Something crucial dropped away from the rest of her and she started shaking slightly. With what remained of her faculties she did a quick check on her body and found no injury. She had not scratched herself, or bitten her tongue. Her lips were untouched and Riddick would not have slept through even the faintest injury.
Jack got to her feet slowly so Riddick would have time to recognize the movement.
"Where you going?" he rumbled, his eyes twin slits of mercury.
"Got to take a piss," she muttered, putting a gentle pressure on her arm. She looked down and away to try to mask the expression she knew was on her face.
He held her for a moment too long, his eyes sharp, probing, but then he let her go and rolled over to face the wall. "Keep it down."
She tip toed as quietly as she knew how to the bathroom and closed the door behind her with relief she could barely contain. She didn't want to have to explain. She wasn't sure she could explain, for that matter.
Trying to keep the shake from her voice she said, "Lights 20%."
Partly dried, the streak was that peculiar shade of rust only oxidizing blood manages to take on. She'd seen enough of it to know, and when she put her tongue to it, it tasted like copper and salt. The tremors in her limbs increased and before she could lose all gross motor function, she flipped the water to high and blasted the offending mark away. She left her hand there under the tap until it ached and turned red. The pain helped still her shaking and she went back to bed before Riddick could come looking for her.
She closed the door was the bare minimum of drag and crossed the floor in near silence. She hoped her heartbeat wasn't audible because though it had slowed considerably in the time it took to burn her skin, it hadn't yet stopped beating hard. Sometimes Riddick could hear that stuff. She lay on her makeshift bed with her eyes open, trying to be still and trying not to go to sleep.
Relentless, the night ticked past as it always did, but for Jack it seemed endless as if the station might stay plunged in darkness forever. The quiet pressed in, heavy.
She did not break it.
