"I swear to God, Dad, it was like he could see me. I think he's lying. I think he can see just fine!" Cam groaned, poking the darkening bruise on the right side of his jaw. His face hurt on both sides. Surprisingly, the worst of the injury was opposite the impact point, where the padding behind his mouth's left hinge got compounded by the blow.
His father only chuckled, morbidly amused by his son's misfortune. He took a seat next to Cam at the kitchen table and placed an icepack unit on each side of his son's swollen face. "You underestimated him. You pushed him down, let him get up, walked close enough for him to hit you, and didn't bother to shut up. You handed this to him. All he had to do was listen. He walked right into the living room and told us he'd punched you. It could've been worse."
"How?" the boy complained. "I heard him tell Rachel he's a sub-species. How could it be worse?"
His dad shrugged his broad shoulders. "Could've used a hook instead of a jab. Kid's no southpaw. He took it easy on you."
"Funny, I didn't notice. Besides, I had a right to push him down. I don't like how close he's getting to Rachel. I think he's playing her. Damn half-breed."
His father made a noise that sounded neither like an agreement, or a negation. "Yeah, maybe he is playing her. Hard to say. I've never been a blind kid with a girl my age throwing herself at me. For all I know, she's taking advantage of him. Whatever the case, he's leaving tomorrow night, and I doubt we'll ever see him again."
Cam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. Rachel's the one I really have a problem with, though. It's like, I try to watch out for her, and she doesn't appreciate it at all. She's an ungrateful brat. You've seen how she is to Kyle. Half the time she's trying to kill him."
"She hasn't adjusted to him yet," his dad said, and then paused for a moment to think. "Then again—I'm not entirely sure I've adapted to Kyle yet, and he didn't even usurp my throne as baby of the family like he did with Rachel. Keep in mind you enjoyed that. All of a sudden she got treated to the same brand of parenting you'd experienced since she was born."
Cam attempted to grin, but it quickly faded with the flare of pain it caused him. "That was pretty good. You guys spoiled her, ya know, before Kyle came along."
Riddick grinned, letting some of his weight lean against the table on an elbow. "Yeah. We spoiled you too. Just not for so long. If you want a shower, you'd better take one tonight before everyone goes to bed."
"Yeah, okay. Just keep that freak away from me. I think if I see him again tonight I'll knock him on his ass."
Riddick slowly got to his feet, patting Cam hard on the shoulder. "If you had any idea who Dallas resembles, you'd think twice about that statement. He reminds me a lot of a guy I knew when I wasn't so respectable," he said, on his way out of the kitchen.
Cam snorted. "Ha! You, not respectable? That'll be the day, Pops."
Riddick jerked his head to one side, cracking his neck once, and then again to the other side before mounting the stairs.
Just goes to show how well Cam really knows his parents. He thinks we were always like this. He really doesn't have a clue about the people we used to be. Starting to wonder if I have a clue about who we used to be.
He looked in on Jack reading Kyle a bedtime story, and stopped to watch from the doorway. She sat in bed with the boy, stroking his soft hair as he slowly faded into dreamland. The grip he had on his stuffed monster slowly relaxed, and soon his breathing became deep and regular.
What if he'd had a mother like that? Would he have turned out like Cam? A smart, well-adjusted athlete with an unbelievable social schedule?
If you hadn't spent so much time in slam, hadn't gotten on the HG in all your mean, nasty convict glory, Jack would've died on that planet.
Worth the trade?
All he had to do was think about Jack's body beneath his--clothed or not, didn't matter. Her beautiful eyes, her fingers stroking the stubble at the base of his skull, her scent.
Definitely worth it. The rug rats weren't half bad either.
She put the book down and kissed their son, spending an extra moment straightening out his dark-blond hair. Riddick could only imagine what she thought about in that moment, but he had a pretty good idea. With their newly acquired foster son leaving the next day, and Cam soon moving out of the house, Jack was becoming nostalgic in advance.
Silently, he approached where she sat, letting his weight settle next to hers on the edge of their son's bed.
"Do you think he looks like an angel when he sleeps?" Jack whispered.
Riddick grinned maliciously. "No. He's a demon—never fooled me for a second."
His wife only rolled her eyes, playfully smacking him on the arm. "Well it's not like there's any question who fathered him. Any day now I expect he'll get sent home for threatening to get 'shiv happy' on another kid's ass," she snickered, leaning over to muffle the sound against his broad shoulder.
Riddick half shrugged. "I'm more concerned he'll take a butter knife and get shiv happy on an electrical socket. Kid's got plenty of guts, but no common sense. The other day he stood on a chair and tried to pin himself to the wall with a nail gun. Still can't figure out how he got the tool chest to open up for him. I've changed the password twice. Whenever I conclude he must be brain damaged, he does something ingenious just to prove me wrong."
Jack smiled blithely at that comment. "Maybe it's just a phase he's going through, like the terrible twos."
He nodded gravely. "Yeah, you're probably right. I mean, for the first six hours or so, things were great. Ever since then, he's just been going through a phase."
Jack let her shoulders slump in mock defeat. "Well, I guess there's nothing more we can do besides throw him to the wolves. Do you want to do it, or should I?"
Riddick leaned over to kiss her neck. "Let's wait 'til morning. He's sleeping now. Besides, we should probably spend the night thinking about it before we do anything—rash," he whispered, his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her closer.
After a long moment, Jack drew away from him, reluctantly getting to her feet. Riddick leaned over to briefly kiss their youngest good-night, pulling up the covers around him—knowing such signs of affection would earn him bonus points with Jack that night. He got up, following his wife out into the hallway. He left the door open a crack, just in case Kyle had a nightmare and needed to find them in the dark.
Riddick rose early to leave for work. Even Jack slept on—her alarm not set to go off for another hour.
He expected a quiet house, with no one else up. It surprised him to find Rachel sitting at the kitchen table, looking forlorn.
"Hey, dad," she said, glancing up briefly. She had something in a bowl before her, but she only picked at it.
"Hey," he said, studying her out of the corner of one eye. "You're up early."
She shrugged, staring blankly at the tabletop. So maudlin.
He sighed, slowly closing the distance between them.
Richard B. Riddick wasn't meant to have a daughter. He was too tough, too harsh. Girls needed constant encouragement, and sometimes he could find nothing to praise, especially when Rachel acted like a spoiled brat, unaware of the high quality of life she led.
It took him a long time to figure out adolescent girls were purposely self-destructive when they experienced failure. Rachel wasn't unaware of how good she had it. She became critical of everything around her because she felt guilty for performing poorly in spite of all she had going for her.
His hands weren't as callused as they'd once been, but when he ran his fingers through her hair as a comforting gesture, strands of it still caught on his rough skin.
She didn't look at him, not even when he took a seat beside her.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, and then waited for her to respond.
Asking the kids to confide in him didn't come naturally. Jack had prompted it early on, and kept harping until it became habit. The technique worked far better on Rachel than it did on Cam. It astounded him how much easier it could be to deal with a girl just by throwing out a few words of encouragement when compared to dealing with a moody, secretive teenaged son who didn't want to talk about anything.
Rachel propped her jaw on one fist, still not looking at him. "Why do you and mom always get on my case about school?" she asked. "Why can't I be worse at something than Cam? Do you guys think I like not being as smart as he is?"
This argument again? How many times would they have to go through this before the girl grew up and realized how easy school was compared to a harsh life out on her own?
"I think we all know you're smart enough to do just as well as anyone, Rach. You just don't try because you're either pissed at us for pressuring you, or pissed at Cam for setting our expectations so high," he said nonchalantly.
Her eyes narrowed, and she glared at him while sharply stabbing the contents of the bowl in front of her with her spoon. "You know, it wouldn't be the end of the world if I didn't go to college right out of high school. You just think it would, because you and mom wouldn't be able to stand the humiliation of having a kid who didn't go on to become a lawyer, or a doctor, or something!"
She had a point. It wouldn't be the end of the world—far from it, in fact. But Jack would kill him if he admitted it. They wanted better lives for their children and grandchildren than they'd had as teenagers.
Or so he'd been told.
Riddick shot his daughter a dull stare. "What do you want me to say? Rachel, you have my permission to go do whatever the hell you want, so long as I don't see you whoring yourself out on a street corner?" She shot him a disgusted look, and he raised a questioning eyebrow in response. "You think I don't notice you hanging on Dallas? Or how about those dumbass jocks from school? Don't tell me you put yourself out there because you just want to be friends."
She threw her spoon down, and it clattered across the table. "I can't believe you'd say that about me!" she shouted, her cheeks reddening from humiliation at the suggestion. Her eyes became overly bright and she stood, stomping toward the stairs and up them. "I hate you!" she shouted, loud enough for the whole house to hear, right before the door to her bedroom slammed shut.
Cam couldn't believe he'd gotten suckered into going to the mall with his sister.
Mom said you have to take me to the mall and watch out for me, Rachel had informed him the second he'd stumbled down the stairs, still half asleep.
Yeah, like Prize couldn't take care of her. Even though Dallas was blind, he'd sure cleaned Cam's clock.
He dragged his feet all afternoon, making it clear he wouldn't enjoy himself. Rachel refused to notice, leading Dallas along by the arm and showing him off to any of her friends they ran into doing 'back to school shopping.'
Cam hated shopping; he told Dallas so while the two sat on a bench, waiting for Rachel to go to the bathroom.
"You know," Cam started, "there can't be many things in the universe that would waste my time more than babysitting you and my sister, jerk-off. The sooner I get rid of you, the happier I'll be."
Dallas' features immediately dropped the cool, amused look he'd kept up all afternoon, and became like stone. "Who the fuck do you think you're shitting, dude?" the kid shot back. "I haven't touched a car engine for a week-and-a-half, and if I don't get my sight back soon, I'm gonna kill somebody. I like Rachel and all, but I'm fucking tired of getting paraded around. If I lose either of you in this crowd, I'm up shit creek. Now quit bitching, follow my lead, and just maybe we'll get out of here in the next half century."
The two of them sat there silently, and, to Cam's amazement, the color slowly drained out of the younger boy's face. By the time Rachel returned, Dallas had turned white as a sheet.
"Back," she announced, taking a seat between them. "So, you guys ready for more shopping? I really need a new pair of shoes."
Dallas put on a forced smile. "Yeah, sure. That sounds good."
"Great!" she said, preparing to jump to her feet.
"Um, Rach," Cam said, stopping her. "I don't think Dallas looks too good. His concussion might not be completely healed, so you'd better not make him overdo it."
She took a good look at Prize and seemed to realize how pale he appeared. "You do look kind of sick, Dally. Are you sure you're up to more shopping? Cam could drive us home."
Again Dallas attempted to smile. "Na, I'm fine," he said, his words short and raspy. He attempted to get up, his whole body shaking from the effort.
Rachel placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back to a sitting position before he got a chance to fully straighten up. "No, you're not fine. Just take a minute to catch your breath, and we'll go home. Do you think you're well enough to make it to the parking lot, or should Cam go get the car?"
Dallas waved her off with one hand. "I'll be fine, just give me a couple minutes and we'll walk out."
Rachel spent a couple more minutes coddling her patient before deeming him fit for the walk outside. By then some of his color had returned. Cam couldn't believe it; the guy was a professional con artist. He could act for a freaking living!
They'd almost reached the car before Cam noticed anything wrong. A man had followed them from the doors of the mall, staying just at their flank, never turning off and going his own way. A truck pulled up beside them.
Cameron grabbed Rachel and threw her behind a car when the door facing them flew open and men dressed in black piled out. He lashed out at them, sensing Dallas doing the same next to him. Against untrained men they might've had a chance, but these guys had training--and lots of it. Cam attempted a destruction on one of them, attempting to break his arm only to have the move completely backfire, and in a second his opponent used the same technique on him.
Cameron heard his forearm break before he felt it. After that it only took two of them to subdue him and put him in the truck. Surprisingly, it took four men to do the same with Dallas. For a brief moment he hoped against hope that Rachel got away. That hope was crushed when she got thrown in next to them a moment later.