The one good thing about going to bed especially early, was waking up especially early. Half-asleep, Jack padded to the bathroom and took a long shower, being sure to use up all of the warm water. After drying herself off she began to tend to the more severe of the wounds she'd sustained the previous afternoon.
Most of the cuts and scrapes she merely cleaned. The sprained ankle and bruised shoulder couldn't be helped, but the black eye she tackled with the little makeup she owned. Concealor. And Imam had thought she was finally loosening her hold on a few of her tomboyish ways when she'd started buying it. Ha, showed how much he knew.
When the colorful bruise had been hidden as well as could be expected, Jack walked back to her room, still drying her hair with a towel. It wasn't until she tried to close the door behind her so she could change out of her bathrobe that she realized the latch had been broken.
You locked it last night, remember? So who came crashing into your room while you were sleeping, Jack? And more importantly, why didn't you wake up?
She vaguely remembered a nightmare or two. Had Riddick? Na, the old coot didn't have it in him anymore. Heck, it was more likely that she'd flipped out and pulled it open herself while sleepwalking. Jack thought probably would've been strong enough to do that, it wasn't that solid of a door.
Really? So why's the impact point on the outside, huh?
No answer for that. Time to get dressed anyway. Just concentrate on what has to be done, worry about everything else later.
That's right, you've got better things to do today.
She changed quickly, pulling on her regular clothes, and hiding her favorite weapon amongst them.
Riddick half-stumbled into the kitchen while Jack was trying to prepare herself a sack lunch. Trying, and failing. All she could find in the house were non-sugary, non-meat containing foods. It was horrible. Shella didn't even stock peanut butter in the fridge, and she sure as hell didn't have any lunch meat or chips. Never mind the fact that Jack hadn't eaten since she'd torn into Conte's gummy worms the previous afternoon. She was freaking starving!
"Riddick," she almost snapped, getting ready to complain about the fact that there was hardly anything edible in the house.
But she paused when she did finally bother to look up from the carrots and celery she was wrapping up in plastic, and saw him sitting at the table. He looked sick, unbelievably sick. His normally healthy, bronze skin tone had faded. He was almost completely drained of color. And the most frightening thing of all was how the hand he had absently resting on the table was shaking. In fact, his whole body seemed to be trembling without control.
"Riddick?" Jack asked, softly this time.
She slowly approached him, and he turned to look at her. "Get me some Hydrite, out of the fridge," he wheezed. He was dressed for work, but his clothes were all messed up, almost like he'd slept in them. But judging by the dark circles under his eyes, she had a feeling he hadn't slept at all the night before. Sweat soaked his collar, turning the light blue of his shirt almost navy everywhere it came into contact with his skin.
Jack got the requested item from the fridge, opening it for him. Riddick took several, long, hard swallows before he finally put it down. And then he merely sat there, breathing.
Jack found herself hovering close to him, worried, in spite of herself.
Still going to call Imam today?
I can't leave him here like this, there's something wrong...
"I'm getting old," he said quietly, almost an admission of some horrible kind. "I get sick so easily, dehydrated so fast..." he trailed off, his empty stare seeing nothing.
"You reminded me of Johns," Jack replied absently. Riddick turned a questioning look on her, and she decided she'd better explain, quick. "You were shaking so bad just now, Riddick. It reminded me of Johns, when he'd go too long without his spike."
He shook his head, slowly, taking another drink. "I'm not on anything, Jack. It's just age, I think. I don't know if I like that. Guess I don't need to be particularly sharp anymore, my fighting days are done."
Tentatively Jack reached out with one hand, and let it rest on his shoulder.
Please, stop reminding me that you're getting weaker, Riddick. Please, I don't know how strong I can be if you're failing.
"Then I'll fight for both of us, until you get your edge back," she whispered, hoping she was being encouraging. Hoping, this could be a turning point for both of them.
He smirked, just a little. "I don't know, Jack. I think you do enough fighting for one girl. And it looks like you're picking some of 'em with people you shouldn't be."
She smiled a little at that. "I can take care of myself."
You have to, no one's going to do it for you, Jackie.
Twenty minutes later Riddick had regained his color, and most of his energy. He'd gone to change clothes, eaten breakfast, and by the time he'd let the dog in from the garage they were running late.
"Jack!" he shouted from the kitchen, getting her attention even though she was up in her room, stuffing pencils and paper into her travel pack to replace the school bag she'd lost. "We're leaving in two minutes!"
"Okay!" she shouted back down the stairs. "Get me something to drink during lunch, would you, Rick?"
He'd just opened the fridge to grab himself a fresh bottle of Hydrite, since he'd killed the first one already, and upon hearing her request grabbed the one behind it as well. Heck, if she was going to insist on fighting with the big boys, she'd need the electrolytes.
He met her at the bottom of the stairs, looking up to see Shella standing at the top, leaning against the rail.
"Hey, baby, you cooking dinner tonight?" he stopped to ask.
Jack grabbed his arm, jerking him towards the door. "Come on, we're late."
He allowed her to pull him along, but it was obvious what his eyes were on. He didn't pull his gaze away from Shella until Jack opened the front door and pulled him most of the way through it. He turned to close the door behind him, and paused upon seeing the dried blood on the door handle.
He looked up, trying to catch Jack's eye, but she was already halfway to his car by then.
Shoulda noticed that last night, Dick.
Jack made the decision to sit with the blonde crew at lunch again that day. Who else was she going to sit with?
When she approached their regular table she found the rumor mill was already turning at full tilt, hushed voices were talking up a storm. Jack sat down across from Hope with her sack lunch and bottle of sports drink, and almost immediately all the girls went silent.
"What?" she asked, unscrewing the lid on the bottle and taking a sip of the red liquid.
Hope leaned a little closer, a slightly twisted look on her face. "You know the guy you beat up yesterday? Well, a kid who was in his gang, Steve Jackson, was killed last night. They found his body this morning. They say he was stabbed in the heart and had his neck broken."
The girl on her right leaned in close as well, joining the hushed conversation. "They say that the cross town gang, the Vipers, brought in a new guy who's stalking the streets at night, killing guys in with the Flames. That's why Shane and his friends aren't here today. They're out looking for the guy who did it. At least, that's what they say. I think they're hiding at home, hoping they won't get killed too."
Jack shook her head, confused by the sudden influx of information, and a bit frightened. "They should get out of town as fast as they can," she said, mostly to herself, a little bit of fear clenching her insides. Fear that the rest of them were too naïve to feel.
Gazes of confusion rested on her, a silence falling over the table as the girls all stopped to look at her. Her confusion mirrored back at her in every single one of their faces. Jack sighed. So, she was actually going to have to explain this one too. They couldn't see her reasoning, based on the details they knew. But it was the details that had tipped Jack off. You didn't live around a convicted criminal as long as she had and not learn a thing or two.
You didn't live on the streets for very long at all, if you didn't learn a thing or two.
"This Steve guy, he's the blonde, right?" Her question/statement was confirmed by short nods, and Jack went on with her explanation, nervously picking at the edge of her napkin. "If he got stabbed in the heart that means one of two things. Either the guy who did it was a complete amateur, or the most precise of professionals. It takes lots of...practice, to get a knife to slip between a person's ribs just right. Otherwise you have to go through the bone, and that takes a hell of a lot of strength. Especially considering that most victims don't exactly hold still to make it easier. Most guys off the street don't even know exactly where the heart is located, so if the killer does most of his work with a knife, and he went for the heart first, that's his way of showing off. Going for the hardest kill shot possible."
"So how would you tell the difference?" Hope asked, but not out of fear as Jack expected. Genuine interest was gracing her features. "If it was an amateur or a professional?"
Jack crumpled the napkin up in her palm, squeezing it tight. "If it was an amateur, the body would be all hacked up. Even if they got lucky, only one in a hundred of them wouldn't have at least nicked the ribs on either side of the entrance point. If he was a professional, it would be a clean kill. It would bruise his pride if he even touched the bone. If he wasn't that good, he wouldn't have gone for that shot. He would've gone for a major artery somewhere else; carotid, subclavian, axillary, celiac..." she trailed off, her eyes glazing over.
Sweet spot, her mind whispered. What all did you tell Riddick last night while he was in your room, Jack?
"How do you know all that?" asked one of the younger girls at the table, Jack wasn't paying enough attention to recognize which one. But she did recognize the hint of terror present in her voice. Misplaced terror. Terror of her, of who she could possibly be to know everything she did about killers and how they ticked. About the best ways to kill a man...
Strange how it's always the messenger they fear more than the message itself. Time to tell them about the one you plugged, Jack?
Why make them wet themselves any more than they already have?
"I was a runaway for over a year, I saw a lot of shady things, met a lot of shady people," she replied softly, still feeling the strange anxiety, the excess nerves that were putting her on edge. So strange that she was getting them now.
Jack took another drink of her Hydrite, forcing herself to take out some of her lunch and eat it. Her gaze retained a semi-permanent glaze throughout the lunch period, and none of the girls attempted to startle her from her thoughts. Each one of them was in awe of her in their own way. Some out of fear, some out of respect. And at least one of them was planning how to use her as their pawn.
And deep down, inside of her, she felt so...strange...
