::: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO :::
As we approached Zemi, I stared in wonderment at Riddick's swift, precise movements to gear the ship up for landing. He really knew what he was doing. I was slightly jealous -- I wished I was so talented at one thing. But that would've taken too much work on my part, and I liked to do everything easy. So in a way, I was actually proud of Riddick's endurance to perfect himself at one skill -- piloting -- even after all the shit he had to go through. Actually, he probably had to learn to fly because of all that shit . . . hmmm, quite a puzzle. Too bad I would never get the chance to figure him out -- he really was an interesting creature -- but we were landing soon.
I strapped in, and watched his concentrated features, as we weaved -- no, surged -- through tense atmosphere, and rattled the air up as we went. I really had to stop thinking "we," especially since Riddick was doing all of the angular twists to shatter through the planet's barrier. It really was incredible and if he had looked over at me in that moment, he would have noticed a look of admiration that was akin to the old Jack -- the fake one I made up -- painting my face. No, that wasn't completely true . . . the old Jack was infatuated and had feigned adoration . . . I instead had real appreciation for Riddick's dexterity. Lines were always blurred by emotion, so it was a good thing that I bit down hard on surfacing feelings and switched my gaze to the planet Zemi, the most colorful fucking planet I had ever seen.
Pink, lime, and purple gases swirled across the planet's surface, and it looked worse than a clown's face. Great, even the planet was mocking my arrival . . . having a semblance of jubilance, when all I would find on it was cuffs and chains. It was sick and demeaning that a planet colored for happiness would only contain pain for me. Sick, but realistic for my existence. As we got closer to the planet's surface, I noticed we were heading for a huge, cleared lot, that contained only a few other ships. Circus must not be in town, I thought wryly. Riddick expertly brought the ship down, making sure to dock away from the other ones.
He started clicking the ship to "power-off" and sat back, seemingly content with his work. Without being told so, I went to my room and picked up my packed bag. As I trudged back, as slowly as possible, I heard the entrance hatch lower and a warm breeze blow through the ship. Flinching a bit at the alien contact, I squinted my eyes over the onslaught of sunshine. Dread at the potential openness I would have to face carved slits in my heart, and I gasped as I stepped out unto the ground, after Riddick. I was actually frightened by being in the sun again, of having to see people, of having enough room to breathe . . . . It was petrifying facing all this after being cooped up in a ship . . . even if that ship had held a dangerous killer.
Riddick rolled his neck back and forth, working out the kinks. His back was to me and as he loosened his body he told me, "Don't worry . . . that initial panic will wear off. Trust me."
If anyone should know, it was Riddick. He had probably felt the same way the first couple of times he escaped Slam, and then gotten used to it. I nodded my head even though he couldn't see me and whispered more to myself than him, "Yeah, but I'll be going from one closed space to another."
After Riddick seemed fully slack, he tilted his head, telling me, "Come on."
I followed him to a booth, where he kept looking back at me while talking to the guy behind the glass. Yeah, Riddick I planned to run away while your back was turned. What a freak. How far would I get? A couple of steps? When he was finally finished confirming his stay on Zemi, he walked over to me and plucked my bag from my shoulder. "I'll take that."
I wanted to think it was just a nice gesture, but he probably only took it, thinking that I wouldn't try to run without my crap. He was wrong; if I thought I had a chance, I would've fled the moment my feet touched the ground. But whatever; if he wanted to haul around my things, so be it.
We left the lot and were almost immediately greeted with what looked like some kind of bazaar. Only I got the feeling it was an everyday sort of thing. Stalls, selling various crap, were lined up neatly in rows and men -- well, it was mostly men -- were shouting direct advertisements for their products. Even though this looked all droll and antique, I could see in the distance the looming effects of urbanization. Huge digital billboards floated in the sky and ugly, sharp, metallic buildings pierced the heavens. It actually looked as if this metropolis was threatening to overflow unto the ancient stalls, pushing them further and further away. Such a poignant contrast made for repelling scenery.
Riddick pointed to a particularly hideous looking building. "That's our destination."
I looked at him in disbelief. "Oh great, we're visiting Dracula." He frowned at me. "What?" I asked with light concern in my voice. "Was he a cousin of yours?" I laughed at my own quip and walked ahead.
Realizing I had no clue where I was going, I slowed down my pace, almost professionally blending my strides with Riddick's. We hiked up a sloping street and stopped at the shuttle waiting area. We were the only ones there, since a lot of people must have had hover cars on this planet, I assessed quickly. That meant it was a lucrative planet -- a lot of business deals went down here. No matter how peculiar my situation was, I had the obsessive-compulsive desire to evaluate my surroundings, detachedly. It was a gift. It was my downfall. Truly, I had to stop caring about perceptions, but I just couldn't.
Even in the mental squabble I lived in, I still cared what others thought of me. Strange . . . but I supposed an extension that comes with insanity. It wasn't that I wanted to please everybody; it was more along the lines of deeming myself perfect in their eyes so they could please me . . . remember me. I felt like I hadn't achieved that with Riddick and it sawed at my insides, creating tense knots.
As we boarded the shuttle and Riddick sat down, I opted to stand and stare pointedly at him. "So where are we goin' ?" I tried to ask dissuasively.
"Meet a guy," came the quick response.
"Care to elaborate . . . ." Getting fed up, the words didn't sound as composed anymore.
Riddick definitely picked up on it; his forehead wrinkled, as his eyebrows rose. "No."
I sighed and swung half way -- dishearteningly, may I add -- around a pole before spilling in the seat next to Riddick. Wanting to voice something that formulated to "are we there yet" in my mind, I chose to remain silent.
As the shuttle came to a stop, I immediately took in the appearance of the silver, yet gothic looking, building. It had blue tinted roses, obviously fake, running intricate patterns up its side and a huge glass door that allowed people a glimpse into the extravagant hallway. Riddick and me walked up to those very glass doors and while I remained mesmerized by the blooming roses, Riddick rang a bell. It chimed an acute sound and we were almost immediately buzzed in and welcomed by an electronic voice saying, "Welcome to the Shoc Residence." Inside, we entered a tin box that swept us upwards to the main floor.
Almost as soon as the doors slid open to the elevator, I was accosted by the wealth visible. There were chandeliers and gold interwoven through the carpets and a servant standing near by, almost "Shoc-still." Before I could take all of this in and poke Riddick to point out that whoever lived here must have a lot of time on their hands, a heavily dressed man came fleeting in. His nervous demeanor and expensive dress robe gave him a Paris-like countenance. However, it was blatantly evident that this "Paris" was all sugary smiles and glittering teeth. The way they glistened gave him the appearance of a hungry wolf. He reached us and the smile pulled back more to reveal countless rows of white teeth, ready to bite into something.
"Hello, I'm Mr. Shoc." His hand reached out to shake Riddick's. "I presume you're Mr. Riddick," he said and then tilting his perfectly blemish-free face towards me said, "and this must be Audrey."
I shoved my hands in my pockets and took slight offense at being called Audrey. I mumbled, "Jack," but I was sure he didn't hear me and Riddick didn't correct him.
Mr. Shoc quickly shuffled us into his grandiose salon. The material possessions of this guy made me sick. Soon I would probably just be another part of his exhibition. I purposely sat as close to Riddick as possible without touching him on the creme colored couch and stared at Mr. Shoc, across from us, with my mean face on. His hand reached for a tray on the table between us and presented us with some -- what is that? -- chocolate covered mints. Probably from Brazil, rich fucker.
"Care for a mint, Audrey?" his voice sounded velvety and wrong. "They're so creamy and refreshing." His eyes quickly flitted across my body, and I crossed my arms, shaking my head no. Fuck no. While I was getting smacked by the reality of my situation, Riddick had the audacity to pluck a mint off the tray and suck on it. Motherfucker. I had the intense urge to squish all the mints in his calm face.
Sitting there, seething on the wonderfully plush couch, I took into account a white envelope on the table. Great, here I am, I thought, becoming just another business transaction. "Meet your new master" was my last thought before Riddick and Mr. Shoc started talking, probably negotiating, and I just mentally blinked them out.
I stared around the room and mediated on my fixation to present myself a certain way to people. Maybe this life of exhibition is what I deserved, since all I did in my real life was play a role. I had always seen life in separate acts, so I acted accordingly to each change. When I had finally stopped trying to keep up appearances with my old life and boarded the Hunter Gratzner, my new life tumbled out of control and twisted itself so I was right back to Act 1. Marvelous how you could escape the clutches of razor sharp talons but couldn't escape destiny. It all melded together in Time.
Maybe I could re-teach myself to masquerade as a porcelain doll for this Mr. Shoc, I thought. But even as my mind tried to convince me -- no, comfort me --, I knew that whatever time I spent with Riddick had altered my perceptions -- I couldn't think of myself as passive anymore. Sure, I would keep my semblance of idleness but inside I would force myself to discern the truth in what I imparted -- imparted on my own life and the lives of others. It sounded like an easy transition but in fact for someone like me -- who didn't care -- it was a problematic assumption. The premise of being able to see things for what they really were was slowly becoming my talent.
While my brain visualized these novel speculations, I faintly heard Mr. Shoc speak in the background.
"I'm sure Audrey will make a wonderful daughter," he exclaimed.
My features contorted and I flicked my head to stare at Mr. Shoc. Daughter? Had he said daughter? Did he just fucking say that? I looked at Riddick, but I couldn't distinguish any change in him. My senses quickly clicked to the conversation.
Mr. Shoc went on to explain, "Yes, I lost my wife and only daughter in a hover-vehicle accident." He looked to Riddick for sympathy but of course he didn't receive any. "It was a horrible case -- the only solace I have is that they died quickly," he continued.
Riddick just nodded his head and I was just freaking out. Was I going to be some sort of daughter replacement? Sure, it was better than sex slave . . . but still, I would have to enact a role not meant for me. The greatest fucking performance of someone else's life.
"Did you complete your end of the deal?" Riddick suddenly asked, gruffly.
Mr. Shoc seemed frazzled for a moment; he wasn't used to Riddick's whiskey voice. "Um -- ye -- yes, everything is ready," he finally got out, picking up the white envelope and handing it shakily to Riddick.
Somehow, the thought that Riddick chose specifically a guy who didn't want a sex slave but just a daughter gave me a sick sort of consolation that maybe he really did care somewhat for me. He was selling me -- no doubt about that -- but at least it wasn't to some fiend. I looked over at the photos on the wall, imagining myself having to take over the life of the girl portrayed in the pictures. She displayed stupidity and naiveness for me, but I supposed that I could bluff my way through it.
While I licked my lips and thought up ways of surviving at least a few years of acting like some fluff of a human being, Riddick opened the envelope to reveal a gold cred-card, which meant a six-figure pay day. That's all I'm worth, I wondered, but quickly banished the thought.
As I allowed myself to feel a tiny bit relieved, my somber, much smarter, self, that had recently improved and pledged to see things clearly, tapped my obscure soul and told me to keep my eyes sharp.
As we approached Zemi, I stared in wonderment at Riddick's swift, precise movements to gear the ship up for landing. He really knew what he was doing. I was slightly jealous -- I wished I was so talented at one thing. But that would've taken too much work on my part, and I liked to do everything easy. So in a way, I was actually proud of Riddick's endurance to perfect himself at one skill -- piloting -- even after all the shit he had to go through. Actually, he probably had to learn to fly because of all that shit . . . hmmm, quite a puzzle. Too bad I would never get the chance to figure him out -- he really was an interesting creature -- but we were landing soon.
I strapped in, and watched his concentrated features, as we weaved -- no, surged -- through tense atmosphere, and rattled the air up as we went. I really had to stop thinking "we," especially since Riddick was doing all of the angular twists to shatter through the planet's barrier. It really was incredible and if he had looked over at me in that moment, he would have noticed a look of admiration that was akin to the old Jack -- the fake one I made up -- painting my face. No, that wasn't completely true . . . the old Jack was infatuated and had feigned adoration . . . I instead had real appreciation for Riddick's dexterity. Lines were always blurred by emotion, so it was a good thing that I bit down hard on surfacing feelings and switched my gaze to the planet Zemi, the most colorful fucking planet I had ever seen.
Pink, lime, and purple gases swirled across the planet's surface, and it looked worse than a clown's face. Great, even the planet was mocking my arrival . . . having a semblance of jubilance, when all I would find on it was cuffs and chains. It was sick and demeaning that a planet colored for happiness would only contain pain for me. Sick, but realistic for my existence. As we got closer to the planet's surface, I noticed we were heading for a huge, cleared lot, that contained only a few other ships. Circus must not be in town, I thought wryly. Riddick expertly brought the ship down, making sure to dock away from the other ones.
He started clicking the ship to "power-off" and sat back, seemingly content with his work. Without being told so, I went to my room and picked up my packed bag. As I trudged back, as slowly as possible, I heard the entrance hatch lower and a warm breeze blow through the ship. Flinching a bit at the alien contact, I squinted my eyes over the onslaught of sunshine. Dread at the potential openness I would have to face carved slits in my heart, and I gasped as I stepped out unto the ground, after Riddick. I was actually frightened by being in the sun again, of having to see people, of having enough room to breathe . . . . It was petrifying facing all this after being cooped up in a ship . . . even if that ship had held a dangerous killer.
Riddick rolled his neck back and forth, working out the kinks. His back was to me and as he loosened his body he told me, "Don't worry . . . that initial panic will wear off. Trust me."
If anyone should know, it was Riddick. He had probably felt the same way the first couple of times he escaped Slam, and then gotten used to it. I nodded my head even though he couldn't see me and whispered more to myself than him, "Yeah, but I'll be going from one closed space to another."
After Riddick seemed fully slack, he tilted his head, telling me, "Come on."
I followed him to a booth, where he kept looking back at me while talking to the guy behind the glass. Yeah, Riddick I planned to run away while your back was turned. What a freak. How far would I get? A couple of steps? When he was finally finished confirming his stay on Zemi, he walked over to me and plucked my bag from my shoulder. "I'll take that."
I wanted to think it was just a nice gesture, but he probably only took it, thinking that I wouldn't try to run without my crap. He was wrong; if I thought I had a chance, I would've fled the moment my feet touched the ground. But whatever; if he wanted to haul around my things, so be it.
We left the lot and were almost immediately greeted with what looked like some kind of bazaar. Only I got the feeling it was an everyday sort of thing. Stalls, selling various crap, were lined up neatly in rows and men -- well, it was mostly men -- were shouting direct advertisements for their products. Even though this looked all droll and antique, I could see in the distance the looming effects of urbanization. Huge digital billboards floated in the sky and ugly, sharp, metallic buildings pierced the heavens. It actually looked as if this metropolis was threatening to overflow unto the ancient stalls, pushing them further and further away. Such a poignant contrast made for repelling scenery.
Riddick pointed to a particularly hideous looking building. "That's our destination."
I looked at him in disbelief. "Oh great, we're visiting Dracula." He frowned at me. "What?" I asked with light concern in my voice. "Was he a cousin of yours?" I laughed at my own quip and walked ahead.
Realizing I had no clue where I was going, I slowed down my pace, almost professionally blending my strides with Riddick's. We hiked up a sloping street and stopped at the shuttle waiting area. We were the only ones there, since a lot of people must have had hover cars on this planet, I assessed quickly. That meant it was a lucrative planet -- a lot of business deals went down here. No matter how peculiar my situation was, I had the obsessive-compulsive desire to evaluate my surroundings, detachedly. It was a gift. It was my downfall. Truly, I had to stop caring about perceptions, but I just couldn't.
Even in the mental squabble I lived in, I still cared what others thought of me. Strange . . . but I supposed an extension that comes with insanity. It wasn't that I wanted to please everybody; it was more along the lines of deeming myself perfect in their eyes so they could please me . . . remember me. I felt like I hadn't achieved that with Riddick and it sawed at my insides, creating tense knots.
As we boarded the shuttle and Riddick sat down, I opted to stand and stare pointedly at him. "So where are we goin' ?" I tried to ask dissuasively.
"Meet a guy," came the quick response.
"Care to elaborate . . . ." Getting fed up, the words didn't sound as composed anymore.
Riddick definitely picked up on it; his forehead wrinkled, as his eyebrows rose. "No."
I sighed and swung half way -- dishearteningly, may I add -- around a pole before spilling in the seat next to Riddick. Wanting to voice something that formulated to "are we there yet" in my mind, I chose to remain silent.
As the shuttle came to a stop, I immediately took in the appearance of the silver, yet gothic looking, building. It had blue tinted roses, obviously fake, running intricate patterns up its side and a huge glass door that allowed people a glimpse into the extravagant hallway. Riddick and me walked up to those very glass doors and while I remained mesmerized by the blooming roses, Riddick rang a bell. It chimed an acute sound and we were almost immediately buzzed in and welcomed by an electronic voice saying, "Welcome to the Shoc Residence." Inside, we entered a tin box that swept us upwards to the main floor.
Almost as soon as the doors slid open to the elevator, I was accosted by the wealth visible. There were chandeliers and gold interwoven through the carpets and a servant standing near by, almost "Shoc-still." Before I could take all of this in and poke Riddick to point out that whoever lived here must have a lot of time on their hands, a heavily dressed man came fleeting in. His nervous demeanor and expensive dress robe gave him a Paris-like countenance. However, it was blatantly evident that this "Paris" was all sugary smiles and glittering teeth. The way they glistened gave him the appearance of a hungry wolf. He reached us and the smile pulled back more to reveal countless rows of white teeth, ready to bite into something.
"Hello, I'm Mr. Shoc." His hand reached out to shake Riddick's. "I presume you're Mr. Riddick," he said and then tilting his perfectly blemish-free face towards me said, "and this must be Audrey."
I shoved my hands in my pockets and took slight offense at being called Audrey. I mumbled, "Jack," but I was sure he didn't hear me and Riddick didn't correct him.
Mr. Shoc quickly shuffled us into his grandiose salon. The material possessions of this guy made me sick. Soon I would probably just be another part of his exhibition. I purposely sat as close to Riddick as possible without touching him on the creme colored couch and stared at Mr. Shoc, across from us, with my mean face on. His hand reached for a tray on the table between us and presented us with some -- what is that? -- chocolate covered mints. Probably from Brazil, rich fucker.
"Care for a mint, Audrey?" his voice sounded velvety and wrong. "They're so creamy and refreshing." His eyes quickly flitted across my body, and I crossed my arms, shaking my head no. Fuck no. While I was getting smacked by the reality of my situation, Riddick had the audacity to pluck a mint off the tray and suck on it. Motherfucker. I had the intense urge to squish all the mints in his calm face.
Sitting there, seething on the wonderfully plush couch, I took into account a white envelope on the table. Great, here I am, I thought, becoming just another business transaction. "Meet your new master" was my last thought before Riddick and Mr. Shoc started talking, probably negotiating, and I just mentally blinked them out.
I stared around the room and mediated on my fixation to present myself a certain way to people. Maybe this life of exhibition is what I deserved, since all I did in my real life was play a role. I had always seen life in separate acts, so I acted accordingly to each change. When I had finally stopped trying to keep up appearances with my old life and boarded the Hunter Gratzner, my new life tumbled out of control and twisted itself so I was right back to Act 1. Marvelous how you could escape the clutches of razor sharp talons but couldn't escape destiny. It all melded together in Time.
Maybe I could re-teach myself to masquerade as a porcelain doll for this Mr. Shoc, I thought. But even as my mind tried to convince me -- no, comfort me --, I knew that whatever time I spent with Riddick had altered my perceptions -- I couldn't think of myself as passive anymore. Sure, I would keep my semblance of idleness but inside I would force myself to discern the truth in what I imparted -- imparted on my own life and the lives of others. It sounded like an easy transition but in fact for someone like me -- who didn't care -- it was a problematic assumption. The premise of being able to see things for what they really were was slowly becoming my talent.
While my brain visualized these novel speculations, I faintly heard Mr. Shoc speak in the background.
"I'm sure Audrey will make a wonderful daughter," he exclaimed.
My features contorted and I flicked my head to stare at Mr. Shoc. Daughter? Had he said daughter? Did he just fucking say that? I looked at Riddick, but I couldn't distinguish any change in him. My senses quickly clicked to the conversation.
Mr. Shoc went on to explain, "Yes, I lost my wife and only daughter in a hover-vehicle accident." He looked to Riddick for sympathy but of course he didn't receive any. "It was a horrible case -- the only solace I have is that they died quickly," he continued.
Riddick just nodded his head and I was just freaking out. Was I going to be some sort of daughter replacement? Sure, it was better than sex slave . . . but still, I would have to enact a role not meant for me. The greatest fucking performance of someone else's life.
"Did you complete your end of the deal?" Riddick suddenly asked, gruffly.
Mr. Shoc seemed frazzled for a moment; he wasn't used to Riddick's whiskey voice. "Um -- ye -- yes, everything is ready," he finally got out, picking up the white envelope and handing it shakily to Riddick.
Somehow, the thought that Riddick chose specifically a guy who didn't want a sex slave but just a daughter gave me a sick sort of consolation that maybe he really did care somewhat for me. He was selling me -- no doubt about that -- but at least it wasn't to some fiend. I looked over at the photos on the wall, imagining myself having to take over the life of the girl portrayed in the pictures. She displayed stupidity and naiveness for me, but I supposed that I could bluff my way through it.
While I licked my lips and thought up ways of surviving at least a few years of acting like some fluff of a human being, Riddick opened the envelope to reveal a gold cred-card, which meant a six-figure pay day. That's all I'm worth, I wondered, but quickly banished the thought.
As I allowed myself to feel a tiny bit relieved, my somber, much smarter, self, that had recently improved and pledged to see things clearly, tapped my obscure soul and told me to keep my eyes sharp.