The Fallen

Chapter Four: Forgiveness

It had been two weeks since Riddick had killed Clark. Two weeks since he'd brought Imam to the hospital. A very long two weeks.

Riddick sat at Imam's side now, the beast contained for now, its hunger for blood satiated by Clark's violent death. Imam looked old; older than Riddick had ever really noticed before. Not that him and Jack had visited their friend often in the past five years. They were usually all over the universe, traveling from one interesting place or another, usually for Riddick's "work."

Riddick noticed now. He saw the deep lines bracketing Imam's mouth, the crows feet etched in the corners of his eyes, the white that streaked the once pitch black of his hair. Imam was old, tired, and now almost dead.

The doctors told Riddick he would be fine. Full recovery, surgery went well, his body is strong, et cetera, et cetera. It didn't really matter. Jack was gone and Riddick still had to tell Imam that his adopted daughter had been beyond rescue. That Riddick had rocked her and sang to her as best he could through his tears for one short hour, and then she'd died. That the only reason she'd made it an hour was because she'd held on for him.

He'd known that they wouldn't be able to save her at a hospital. Too much blood loss, too many broken bones. The wheezing in her breath had spoken of a collapsed lung. The blood she coughed up was proof of internal injuries, as was the bloated, purple mess that had been her stomach. Her right knee had been shattered into dust, probably by the sledge hammer Riddick had found stashed brown with dried blood beneath the bed. Skull fracture, broken arm, dislocated shoulder. The autopsy Riddick had had the coroners office perform on her body had shown him everything he needed to know. Given him the strength to fuel the flames of his hate and rage.

And raped. Her body had been used so horrible and savagely that everything had been torn, infected, and bleeding. Clark hadn't just raped her vaginally, though. He'd raped her anally as well. Abusing her body in so many ways that Riddick, after looking her body over himself, just after she'd died, had ran into the bathroom and retched again and again. He vomited and cried himself weak, shaking and heaving over the toilet until he couldn't move and laid in a heap on the bathroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

It was with hollow eyes that Riddick watched Imam wake from his drug induced sleep. As Imam's own dark eyes met Riddick's, the other man seemed to go from weary ache to wakeful horror.

"No," Imam said, shaking his head slowly, back and forth across his pillow. "No, Riddick. No. Tell me no. Tell me it is not true. Tell me."

Riddick could feel his carefully constructed facade cracking into pieces in the face of Imam's horror. He covered his face with his hands and dropped to his knees by Imam's bedside, silent sobs causing him to shudder. He pressed his forehead against the side of the bed and shook, begging for Imam's forgiveness. Begging Imam not to hate him for losing his daughter the way he despised and hated himself.

"He killed her," Riddick managed painfully. "Tortured her for three days and then left her for dead. It was horrible. And I couldn't save her. I couldn't help. I just sat there and held her and she died because of me."

The pain and terrible grief Riddick had felt from the start, and then had stashed away so he could function, hit him again. He felt sick and used up. He felt no shame at weeping before Imam, but a fearful ache was building in his chest as Imam continued to stay silent.

When one, callous roughened hand was gently placed on his head where he knelt, an acceptance of apology, Riddick felt the relief and grief inside of himself conflict with one another. Grief over Jack's torture and resulting death and relief that Imam wasn't cursing him and sending him away. The old holy man was now the only thing Riddick had left.

Riddick began to regain his composure but didn't move from where he was. He could hear Imam's own quiet sobs above him on the hospital bed, feel his grief deep inside. Riddick was thankful that Imam hadn't been subjected to the sight of Jack in her last hour. He was unsure if the holy man would have been able to handle it.

"Come here, Riddick," Imam said after long moments of silence, broken only by the quiet sobbing of the two men, who had both loved the same woman in their own, and very different, ways.

Riddick lifted his head and stared at Imam, knowing his face was a mask of pain, not caring that Imam could see it.

"I do not blame you," Imam said, holding Riddick's gaze with his own. "Jack chose her life with you because she loved you and she knew that you loved her. Sometimes terrible things happen without purpose and without reason. No logic can explain it."

"Where do I go now?" Riddick wanted to know. He'd been avoiding that question for weeks now. His mind turned off to fuel the beast that craved revenge and blood. But the blood was spilt and the vengeance exacted. Jack was still dead. His grip on the beast was tenuous.

"I wish I knew," Imam answered. "There are no simple answers."

"I'm ready to give up."