How to Break a Girl

Disclaimers: I don't claim to own Pitch Black – though I would like to own Vin Diesel

Flaws – Jack

Here's the chance of life

Get ready, set, fly, high

Above the fears of you mind

Go for it, it's hit or miss

Too late for you to quit.

(Athena Cage – "All or Nothing")

Brutal pain was threatening to split open her head as she fought to keep conscious. She dragged herself the last few meters, and passed out on the floor, next to the unmade bed. A puddle of blood was the last thing she registered before she passed out.

It was mid-noon before she woke again, although it was hard to tell, because of the constant pale light in the city, night and day alike. She was in her motel room, cramped together like a fetus on the smooth terrazzo floor of the bathroom. There was blood in the sink and all over the floor. Sometime during the night she must have dragged herself out here to get water, and she had left blood tracks on the carpet, from the door to the bed and from a large puddle by the bed a smaller trace of blood let to the bathroom.

She remembered screams, but thought they might be her own. But she hadn't been the only one screaming. Not when she left the parking lot. She had that knife for a reason, and the three young men, who had attacked her had been dead or dying when she left.

She tried to puke, but she hadn't eaten for days and a rough mixture of water and acid was all that ended in the toilet.

It wasn't like she hadn't killed someone before, but for some reason the latent anger she felt for Riddick had overwhelmed her last night and those young men died in the most painful ways. At least they had money, so they would be buying her dinner today. Thanks guys.

She found an isolated road café where two truckers were eating fried beans and toast and the waiter called her honey, and handed her a wet towel for her head, which had started to bleed again.

It took her two hours to eat the sausage and mashed potatoes, and the constant pale light outside was somehow darker when she left.

Outside the café a bulletin screen was showing updates on bounties and outlawed. No Riddick. There never was.

But at least she knew she was on his tail now. Some whore she had met out on the streets last night, just before she had been attacked, had seen him. Said he had killed her costumer; She remembered because of the eyes. She said it wasn't three days ago.

Back at the motel Jack met Carla, a hype who she had allowed to stay at the room once in a while. The two barely talked; Carla knew very few words and the once she did knew was a mess between swearwords and made-up ones.

But that night Carla surprised Jack.

"Ya know… ya had one motherfucking guy here to see ya." She said hoarsely. She was lying in the empty tub in the bathroom, drawing stars in the air with her index finger.

"Who?"

"Some sonuvabitch. Thought he was a fucking cup at first, coz of the shit-ass of a gun. Fucking turned out he was just somebody. Somebody fucking else. A dick." She stopped drawing stars and looked at Jack who was standing in the bathroom door. "Said 'e was lookin' for one Jack, and I said in my fucking self:I fucking know one Jack."

"Who was he? What did he want?"

"Umm, dunno f'sure. Said 'e be back later, the sonuvabitch did."

For some reason Jacks hand had reached for the knife in her belt. "What about his eyes? Was his eyes weird?"

"Weird? No. I dunno really. He was wearin' some glasses of a sort." Jack took a step back. Carla just keep talking. As if she had finally talked her self warm, and thought she'd say all the words she never normally said. "Black glasses. His clothes was all fucking black too. Dunno why I thought him to be a motherfucking cup, really. Dunno."

Jack was at the door before Carla had stopped talking. She didn't know why she was running away, just that she had always thought that she'd be the one to find Riddick, not the other way around.

How did he even find her? How could he know where she was? She'd let her hair grow out, she'd grown taller and older – looked nothing like the Jack he used to know. So how did he find her? Had he talked to Imam?

She was halfway down the streets when she heard a yell.

"Hey ya, Jack." It was Carla. "Where the fucking hell d'ya think ya going? That sonuvabitch is here to see ya."

She had been running about a minute or so, when she knew he was right behind her. She didn't know why she was running, just knew she was suddenly scared. Scared of Riddick? Normal people would have good reason, but Jack didn't.

So she stopped dead and leaned against a brick-wall, tears streaming down her cheeks, shaking like a dog, which has just been kicked by its owner. Her legs gave in and he caught her in his arms.

She looked up and saw that he hadn't changed a bit; that same smug smile on his face. And suddenly anger caught hold of her again, and she started to kick and hit every part of his body she could reach. He let her. He kept his arms around her, and he hushed her like someone would hush a pet or a baby.

When she was spent, she relaxed in his arms. She didn't even have the strength to cry.

"How the fuck did you find me?" she whispered. It was so softly, she wasn't even sure he heard it.

"Not difficult. Just had to follow the trail of dead bodies."

She smiled. "Likewise."

He picked her up, like she was made from dust bunnies, but she fought her way out of his arms and demanded to walk on her own two feet. He smiled.

"You smell beautiful." He said putting a hand on her head and stroking her hair.

"Furyans!" she hissed, and gave him a sharp look.

His smile widened. "Don't even get me started!"

Copyright © 2006 by EamonSweetmay