Pace bit the right side of her lower lip, kneeling on the guest bed in front of her open suitcase. On top of the bag's mess of wadded clothing--both hers and Ticey's--sat a small box, no bigger than her open hand from fingertip to heel. Such a small box. So many possibilities.

You could end this entire thing in five minutes.

Maybe she could. Wouldn't it be worth it, to save Dallas--even if it cost her...

No. She couldn't trust her own judgment in this. Too many times that box had called to her, begging her to open it. Maybe it would solve everything--maybe her inner addict just wanted her to believe it would.

Besides, if Dom saw her with it, he'd freak. He thought they didn't exist anymore. That was the only reason he hadn't searched her belongings and taken it away. He hated it--even more intensely than he hated when other men hit on her. He'd once pulled a gun on a teenage boy vying for her attention, but that rage couldn't measure up to the fury the tiny device in that box inspired in him. Sure Dom said he didn't care anymore, but Pace doubted his laissez faire extended to this.

Even more than that, Pace feared any slip in her mental facilities. Whether she liked it or not, Dom was the only hope for her son. What if Conte lost focus? What if he lost control here, now, and she didn't catch it? It didn't take much to push her husband into madness.

Yes, but couldn't Jack handle him? Just this once, couldn't she let down her guard--let Dom become someone else's burden?

Pace hugged herself with both arms, squeezing tight. Trying so hard to keep her hands in check. Her eyes fell closed. She couldn't make this decision herself. Some who knew her and her past needed to give her permission. Dom--or his sister, Lasia. Dom played loose and selfish. He didn't care about saving anyone who didn't belong to him. Lasia understood the good of the many came first.

"Mom! We're leaving," Tice called from the bottom of the steps. The others were ready to go. They'd booked passes on several moon-shuttles for the Riddicks, Pace and Ticey. While Dom and Cody investigated the warehouse where the kidnappers might be keeping their missing children, the rest of them would hide on public transport.

How she loathed staying behind. In the Resistance, no mission began without her presence in some form. Two seconds. Two seconds, and the blindness and deafness would evaporate. The whole world would be at her mercy.

Her breath quickened and her heart raced as she reached out toward the suitcase. Then, with shaking hands, she pulled the bag closed and fastened it.

Some of the faux euphoria faded immediately, but her pulse still pounded in her ears.

The sun had long since faded against the skyline of New Mecca's capital city. Armed with overnight bags, the five of them--three adults and two children--packed their things in Jack's car.

Subdued, Kyle and Ticey sat next to each other in the back seat. Jack worked on getting Kyle fastened into his booster seat.

"Momma, did you bring my games?" the boy asked. He had a hand-held video game device that was pre-programmed with learning games. Cam had long ago overwritten it with age inappropriate games from his own collection. Neither of the boys suspected their parents were aware of this.

"It's in your backpack," Jack reassured the boy.

"Can I have it?"

"What do you say?"

"May I please have it, Mom?"

Jack finished tightening the seat belt on the booster seat, and pulled her head out of the car. That's when she saw Dom and his partner pull up to the driveway in a truck. Dom sat behind the wheel, waiting.

Time to face the music.

"What the fuck do they want," Riddick breathed to her, moving past her with their bags.

Jack's small hand found his thick forearm, stopping him with a gentle squeeze. Her eyes fell shut, but remained dry. When she opened them, she forced herself to look up at him. His brown eyes held a question, and he waited patiently for her answer.

Oh how she'd loved his silver eyes. She used to study them with her peripheral vision when she thought he wouldn't notice. They were liquid metal and perfect. So perfect. She'd married a pair of deep brown eyes, and even though she saw flashes of silver in her imagination, those brown eyes belonged to a different man. She'd known that all along, and selfishly kept it to herself. She never told Rick he used to be different. He vaguely remembered, but in the Seka haze he'd lost himself. The remains of the drug always turned his mind away when it tried to return to normal. It conditioned him to be civilized.

"I asked them to come. I want you to go with them," she said softly, but with undeniable iron in her voice. "Go with them and save my children, Riddick."

She spoke to a man who hadn't truly lived in decades. Rick's face twisted minutely, his forearm almost pulled from her grasp, but she held on tight. Now she knew for sure he could hear her.

"Go and save them. If anyone gets in the way..." How long had their eyes been locked? A second? A year? His pupils jumped to the side, always returned to her. "I want you to kill them. Kill them all."

Another twist in his features, the only sign of the massive inner battle taking place. Jack had some memory of what it felt like to buck the Seka programming. She'd experienced the effects of the drug for a few weeks. Riddick had endured it for years--and even after he was free, he never completely regained himself.

Today, that would change. There were two parts to Seka mind washing--the drug, and the voice of influence. Jack didn't know how exactly the mind washing part worked, other than it required direct statements indicating desired behavior. Shella had ordered him to become Rick Costello all those years ago, and now Jack would order him to be Richard B. Riddick. Would it work without the drug working to mold his thinking?

"If you find the people who did this, I want their blood and guts on the floor. I need the Riddick I met on T2. I need him to go with those men, and be worse than the monsters in the darkness."

Riddick blinked hard, and Jack almost expected silver to replace the brown when he opened them again. Even though the color remained the same, a hardness she'd nearly forgotten came into his eyes.

Jack took the bags from Riddick's hands, and he turned around, taking nothing with him. It was really something to watch him take a hesitant step, and then suddenly break into the half-cocked swagger she remembered from T2. She's forgotten how intimidating he could be in everything he did, even walking away. That broad back invited more fear than opportunity to stick in a knife.

"Come on, we're missin' the party," he'd said to her, when she was a fourteen year old girl who'd shaved her head imitating him. Then he'd walked off just like that, sure as death and with a chip on his shoulder. Back then it was Johns who needed killing. Now, the enemy had no face--but that wouldn't save them.

Through their entire relationship, she'd always feared watching his broad back disappear into the distance. Feared she'd never see him again. Bags forgotten in her hands, Jack watched Riddick jump into the back seat of the truck, directly behind Dom, and the three men drove off without sharing a word.

When she lost sight of the truck, Jack turned around and Pace caught her eye over the top of the car. The younger woman gave a slight nod of approval. Yes, Jack had done the right thing. It didn't stop her from gazing at her beautiful house front and wishing their fairy-tale life would return.

One way or another, after today, there would be no fairy-tale ending for Jack B. Badd. She felt that in the pit of her soul.

Carefully placing the bags in the trunk, Jack forced down the lump in her throat. There was nothing she could do to protect her husband and her older two children, but she still had Kyle. Nothing would happen to that boy.

Jack B. Badd sat on a wall...
Jack B. Badd had a great fall...

Nothing.