Chapter 15
"Doc." The greasy man turned slowly, eyebrows perched on his forehead quizzically. Sarge leaned against the doorframe, that precious bag slung over her shoulder.
"Let me check you out first," he said with a short nod toward his table. She pulled herself from the wall and hoisted herself to sit on the edge of the table, eyeing the penlight in his hand warily. "It's got a filter on it," he offered after following her gaze. Her eyebrow rose, but she didn't say anything. She squinted slightly, but it didn't hurt at all. And Riddick made it sound like light would hurt, she thought with a mental snicker. A few moments later, Doc sighed, clicking the light off. "Seeing okay?"
"Better than ever," she said with an evil smirk. It was contagious, his lips slowly curling upwards as well.
"Keep the cigarettes," he said, returning the collection of 25 once she'd handed everything over. Her eyebrow arched, but her hand closed around them, eyes lingering on the precious currency.
"Actually, I need something else," she said quietly, glancing out into the hallway before turning silver eyes on him. His eyes narrowed, and she reached out, pulling an open palm toward her and depositing the cigarettes. "Back room," she added. He nodded, and she slid off the table to follow him down a hallway. He turned, lowering himself onto his cot. She watched his fingers arrange the cigarettes and select one finally, sticking it between dry, cracked lips. Her hand withdrew a matchbook from her pocket.
"Let me do that," he said quickly, reaching out. She struck a match, dropping it with a hiss as her hands covered her eyes. The dampness on the ground extinguished it, a slow trail of smoke coordinating with the smell of sulfur. "I warned you," he said with a shrug, taking the matchbook from her hand. "Keep them closed." She sighed, hearing another match strike and sizzle. "Okay." Her eyes opened again, focusing on him. "Your something else," he pressed, the words accentuated with smoke pouring from his mouth.
"Information," she said, her fingers returning to a pocket. "Orbis 12 had a neuro program on their tags," she said slowly, fingers still searching.
"I heard," he said slowly.
"And here?"
"I don't know. Why?" His eyes searched hers, but there was no information hidden in the silver orbs. She shrugged.
"Peace of mind." He shook his head slightly, eyebrow raised. She knew he didn't believe her.
"Sarge…" he started, but she shook her head.
"No, I'm not, Doc," she insisted. "They're legally required to tell us shit like that when we're tagged. That's how Orbis 12 residents know. They have to." She bit back a grin, only a smirk sliding past. "I figure we can get moved if that legal requisite wasn't met. Figure I could raise a stink so bad they want me out before I start a riot." Doc sighed.
"I've never seen one," he said, scratching his arm where his tag was imbedded. She held out a hand, and he looked at it as though it were an alien.
"You're the only one with a magnifier."
"What makes you so sure I'd be able to see it, assuming it were there, even with a magnifier?" he asked flatly, reaching out to take the chip from her fingers.
"See," she said, leaning against the wall, "I know a thing or two about medicine. A college graduate is a rare thing in a prison, granted, but it does happen."
"I didn't know that," Doc said. She smiled.
"For a reason, be sure of it," she quipped. He returned the smile. "The smallest lethal dose of even the strongest neuro toxin is one cc." Doc's eyes met hers again. "That's visible with a magnifier." Doc nodded, turning the tiny chip over in his hand a few times. "Let me know?"
"Sure."
"Tonight?"
"What's the rush?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow again. She shrugged. He took a breath, glancing back down at the chip.
"I'll be back," she said, leaving the room. Doc turned, taking his magnifying glass into his hand and inspecting the chip.
"Shit," he muttered. "I'm gonna have to take the damn thing apart."
"What's the word?" She glanced up from her book, eyes holding Riddick's for a moment before returning.
"I don't know yet," she offered quietly. "Haven't gone back." He nodded, entering the cell. "And yourself?"
"You have an ex-con to thank." She smiled. "And our good friend Twosy had quite the collection." Her eyebrow rose, eyes finishing a sentence before glancing to his.
"Meaning…"
"Anestephine, Morphine, Ephedrine, more clothes, couple of shivs…" he paused to lick his lips, her other eyebrow joining the one already quirked. "And a credit chip."
"Fuck." Riddick nodded, tossing it across the room to land at her feet. She picked it up gingerly, as though the touch alone would break it.
"And," he added, "A list of codes." Her brows furled.
"He had the codes in the room," Sarge said quickly. Riddick only shook his head, watching her face fall. "He was going to leave me," she said slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. "Mother fucker."
"Yup." He shrugged. "But you don't have to worry about that now," he said. "So let's go talk to the good doctor." She sighed with a slight nod, folding the corner of a page down before closing her book and standing. "How many times have you read that?" he asked. She glanced back at it and then up to him.
"I learn something new every time," she said with a smile. "That's seven new somethings, at least." Riddick shook his head with a snicker. "Dude, Wittgenstein was a fucking genius for his time," she insisted, following him down the hallway. He didn't say anything as they walked, wondering why the hell anyone would care about the book she was explaining to him. None of it mattered. They both halted upon entering Doc's cell.
"Christ," Riddick whispered. Blood covered the room. "That's arterial spray," he said quietly, pointing to a definite line of blood at an angle, halfway across the wall and halfway across the ceiling. She nodded, jaw clenching. He stood, staring, as she flounced to the back room. He heard her swear, and then followed. "If he's not dead, I don't know what dead is." She growled, throwing a chair across the room. "Where's the tag?"
"I don't fucking know," she said, dropping her head as her hands went to her hips. He reached out, clasping a hand loosely around the back of her neck and squeezing gently. "Now what?"
"Now what what?" Riddick asked. She turned slowly, staring up at him.
"We don't know if there's anything in these god damn chips, Riddick. I'm not fucking chancing it." His eyebrow rose, head cocking to the side. The anger melted off her face. "Now, why didn't I think of that?" she said slowly, reading his mind.
He was leaned up against the wall, the darkness of lockdown concealing their motions from the rest of the population. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, one of his legs resting in the space between her ankles and her butt. Breath blasted against his skin, her forehead pressed into his chest as her fingers dug into his other thigh.
"Almost done," he whispered. She nodded, a small whimper escaping. Man, they plant these things deep, he thought, cringing as he manipulated a thin shiv through the skin on her forearm. She shook against him as he dug deeper, finally hearing metal on metal. "Higher than I thought," he commented, prompting another whimper. This should have been easy. She drew in a sharp breath, holding it as the chip was pried out of her skin, sent flying across the room with a quiet ping. A small chuckle shook her shoulders at the sound, and she sat up, eyebrows still trembling.
"We have to go today. They'll wonder if we're both torn up where the tags are placed." she said quietly, rubbing her nose as he wrapped torn fabric around the new wound. He nodded slowly. "Did more damage than I thought you would," she said, arching her eyebrows. "I thought you were supposed to be good with a shiv." His eyes met hers, and she only smiled at the scowl he gave her. "Am I getting yours?" He shook his head. "You sure?"
"I can get it," he maintained. She shrugged, watching him tie the fabric off. "I don't want you getting revenge on me for my small miscalculation." She snickered.
"Anything but small, darlin'," she snorted. "That's a good three inch miscalculation there." He shrugged. "I wouldn't get even like that anyway," she said with a shrug, flexing the fingers that had just been clenching his leg, satisfied with the small cracks and pops they emitted.
"Oh?" She nodded. "And how would you get even?"
"I don't know," she dodged. "When you least expected it." He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. She ran a hand over his head, letting it come to rest on the side of his neck, her thumb moving back and forth across his cheek. "We're really going to do this?" she asked quietly. He nodded, wiping the shiv on his pants. She cringed as it tore into his flesh, hearing his breathing quicken. His extraction went much more smoothly than hers did. "Nice," she commented, eyes narrowing.
"I watched them put it in," he said, gritting his teeth as he pried the tag out patiently. "Remembered where it was." She nodded slowly, reaching for the pre-torn fabric laid out for his wound.
"Here," she said quietly, taking the shiv from his hand. He glanced up at her, then watched her reach for his wrist. With a rag, she mopped up the blood running down his forearm and dripping off his elbow, then gingerly wrapped the incision tightly enough to stop the bleeding but not enough to stop the circulation. He sighed, running his free hand through her hair, which was falling out of the loop she'd placed it in earler, the wavy strands falling in her eyes. His fingers closed around the black elastic holding it back loosely, and pulled, watching it fall around her shoulders. He'd never seen it down before, and was surprised at how long it was, reaching to the middle of her back in slow, lazy waves. Her eyes closed as he toyed with it, and she leaned forward to curl up against him. "I'm scared, Riddick," she whispered.
"Of what?" he asked, pulling back slightly to look at her.
"Being out." His eyebrow rose. "They say the real cause of recidivism is fear of freedom," she continued. "Convicts get used to being in the system and freak out when they're released. So they commit another horrendous crime just to go back home."
"I've been in the system longer than you," Riddick said, equally as quietly. "I don't have any problems leaving."
"I've been in for eight years straight, minus transport time between here and Butcher Bay," she insisted. "You hopped all over the place with more free time between slams." He cocked his head, granting the point. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know if I can do this."
"Sure you can." She sighed. "We can trade in the transport we get here, find a cozy little sleaze planet and find us some unrespectable jobs." She snickered. "Or," he said slowly, "we can find us a lonely planet somewhere no one will find us, where no one would ever think to look for us."
"And live happily ever after my ass," she interjected flatly. He chuckled. "I'll take option number one." She sighed, pulling away from him. "You do know I don't plan to stay with you forever, right?" she asked slowly. He licked his lips, eyeing her.
"I figured that, yeah," he finally said. She blinked a couple of times, trying to convince herself he didn't really sound dejected. "How long were you planning on staying?" She sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"I don't know," she admitted with a shrug. "Until you get over me."
"What makes you think I'm attached?" She shot him a look, but his face said he was totally serious, and her expression wavered.
"I can smell it on you," she said with a smirk, sniffing to make her point. He grinned, shaking his head.
"You're so full of shit," he groaned.
"So are you." Her eyes met his, and she stared at him for a while. "It's too good to last, Riddick," she said slowly, the weightiness returning. "You know that as well as I do."
"I'd like to thing more than one good thing can happen in someone's life," he said quietly. She stared at him for a moment before dropping her eyes to focus on the wrapping around her arm. He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, watching her eyes close.
"When are we going?" she asked quietly.
"A little before lockdown," he answered. ""You sure you can get us there?" She nodded. "We can wait in the vents until the timing's right." She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. "Silent kills, and only where necessary." Her eyes met his. "The fewer missing people, the less suspicion, the less likely they are to know we're gone." She nodded again. "We have to be on the transport before morning though. Cons will know something's up tomorrow." She nodded. "We can go when everyone's turning in for their afternoon naps after showers."
"What do we say about the cuts?" He shrugged, and she sighed. "Common enough no one should ask," she guessed. "Everyone gets banged up around here." He smiled, but it was fleeting.
"No goodbyes," he instructed.
"There's no one to say goodbye to," she said quietly, meeting his eyes with a convincing stare.