Tale of two Lives

Chapter One: Meeting

This story takes place after Pitch Black but before Chronicles of Riddick. Also, Riddick belongs to the creators of the characters, as does the place named New Mecca. The only character belonding to me is Serena.

Riddick looked down the dimly-lit, suburban street and calculated his odds of making it to the other side alive. It didn't look good, especially knowing that cops were patrolling all the major intersections in the whole area. He knew that his only other viable option was to break into one of the closest houses and take his chances with the owners. Out of pure practicality he chose the one where the lights were off already, only two houses away from where he crouched beside a garbage can.

He made a run for it, barely escaping the notice of a sleepy policeman at the corner. Jumping over the backyard fence, he entered the house through the backdoor, which was unlocked. No one in the sleepy, little town so far removed from New Mecca bothered to lock their doors, and it suited him just fine. After stepping inside, he looked about the meager living room and thought to himself, just one person lives here.

The one person turned out to be a woman in her early twenties with long, copper hair and blue eyes who was staring at him from the staircase. She seemed more curious than afraid, and indeed, she carried no weapon, save her 'recorder. Riddick almost groaned and extended his hand in a clear gesture, wanting the small, metal device.

"You gonna kill me?" the woman asked, bathrobe shimmering in the dim light of the moon.

"If you don't give it to me," Riddick said calmly, as if he was asking to use the phone. "Now."

The woman threw the small machine at him but continued staring as if she couldn't get enough of his hard face, the muscles on his chest, the short hair. In truth, she was fascinated and stunned at the same time by the appearance of a man her dreams could only whisper about. Suddenly, those muscled rippled, and a moment later Riddick stood in a dark corner, away from the front windows, eyes watering from the sudden light.

"Damn it!" the woman exclaimed. "The bloody bastards can't even conduct a search without waking the whole neighborhood. What the hell do we pay them for?"

The convict didn't bother answering that rhetorical question. "What's your name, then?"

"Serena," she replied promptly. "And you're Richard B. Riddick, a known criminal and murderer. Your name and face were all over the news a few weeks back; they claimed you were some fucking hero."

Riddick managed a half-hearted wince. "Tell anyone about me, and I will kill you. If the cops come searching, let them in."

Serena realized that she wasn't about to die, and more importantly that such a total hunk was now residing in her household. After closing the blinds on all the windows in the house, the copper-haired woman made them both some hot chocolate and even warmed up some pasta for her guest. He'd taken a shower in the meantime and dressed in her brother's old clothes, amazed that the pants and shoes fit so well.

Sitting beside the kitchen counter, he held the cup in both arms, comforted by its warmth. "Are you a reporter?"

Nodding, Serena took a seat across from him. "Yeah, did an article on you, among other things. You wouldn't believe some of the shit I dug—oh wait, you would!"

"I don't remember," was the man's only reply, said between bites of pasta.

The woman nearly fell off her chair. "Well, damn! That's so…unexpected! You want the basics, childhood, all that crap?"

Riddick shook his head and said softly, "No. It's done now, and that's the end of it."

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, followed by loud pounding and voices. When Serena glanced at Riddick's seat, she found it empty and, sighing, made her way to the door. Two cops, dressed in their turbans and uniforms, waited at her doorstep.

"What you want?" she asked, looking sleepy. "It's freaking two in the morning!"

The shorter of the two men made some crack of an apology. "Sorry, ma'am, but we're looking for a dangerous criminal. Loves knives."

"Well, he isn't here. Turn off those goddamn lights, too, before someone makes a deal about all the bright lights," she said, her hand on the door. "We don't welcome cops here."