17. Of What Use

"Rid… it's me." Jack didn't say who me was, didn't need to, and years of habit kept her from leaving too much info unattended. She had the video turned off, too. The girlish quaver in her voice was both unintended and unnoticed. "Something happened."

Jack took a deep breath. Suddenly, the plan seemed incredibly stupid. Riddick probably would have just bought her a ticket off-world if she asked. Hell, Don would have.

But she hadn't asked anyone for anything in such a long time.

"Riddick," she rushed on, "I didn't mean it." She couldn't bring herself to explain what she'd done. "Tell Zem… tell her I'm sorry." Tears sprang into her eyes.

Fucking stupid!

Jack switched the phone off, and leaned her forehead against wall. She took deep breaths and commanded the threatening tears to go away. A familiar, old compulsion filled her.

Run… Run!… RUN!

She did.

---

It had taken a long time for that compulsion to build in her the first time. She had been frozen by fear when she needed it most, and so fell into the hands of the captivating Hypatia, and her soothing deception.

'I'll take care of you.'

Audrey had nodded, eyes wide with fear and hope. Dirty, cold, and hungry, Audrey had needed desperately to be taken care of. Her mother's training was not enough impetus to send the scared and lonely child into the world on her own. She needed a mother…

Hypatia was only the first that would tap into that childish need in order to manipulate the girl. 'Come, Hija… come with me, child…'

Audrey had moved swiftly towards the outstretched hand, to perceived safety… to the path that would change her into Jack, make her a killer. Sometimes, when Jack let herself think on it at all, she would wonder how different things would have been if she had stayed out of reach in her little hole.

She wondered if it would have been better if she had died there.

It would be months before the first inkling of the urge to run would hit her. At first there was only relief. She was safe; this woman would take care of her. She fell into the outstretched arms and only wondered a little why the skin she touched was so cold. It would be months before she learned to recognize the glint in the woman's eye was not happiness.

It was glee.

Audrey didn't know she was the bounty hunter's version of winning the Mega-Bucks. But Jack would never forget the lesson, or forgive the woman who taught it to her so well.

Hypatia whisked Audrey away from the cold and the dark.

The first place they went to was not much different from her mother's apartment, from any of the apartments and hotel rooms her mother had drug her into and out of in the middle of the night. It was small, and dirty, and hardly warmer than outside. The bed stank of smells Jack would later recognize but Audrey only pinched her nose at.

Hypatia moved fluidly through the darkness, humming tunelessly, fixing something mostly edible from the tiny fridge. She didn't speak further to Audrey except to command her to eat the suspect food and go to sleep. Starved, tired, feeling a false sense of hope and relief, Audrey did as she was told.

The gray light of morning did not improve the look of the dingy room. Audrey found herself alone again, and wondering if her savior had only been a dream. She stayed snuggled under the dank blankets until need drove her to the filthy bathroom. Curiosity drove her to look around after that.

There was no power, but at least the water ran clear after a few minutes. There was no more food that looked edible to Audrey. Her mother had always made sure she had fresh food, no matter how difficult their circumstances had been. There was no toothbrush, no towels, no toys… and no way out.

The windows had been barricaded, and peering out between the slats showed Audrey nothing of interest. More dilapidated buildings, boarded up and dark. No people. The door was covered with shiny new locks, none of which Audrey could unlatch from her side. The first shiver of alarm coursed through her. Why was she alone again? Why was she locked in with no food?

Anxiety drove Audrey back to the perceived shelter of the bed. In the dim light she clutched her only possession to her, reading the story she had been taught to read from, the last vestige of her mother's devotion to her. She knew all the words and their general meanings; she could pronounce most of the French names without much difficulty. It was her only education. She couldn't know the story had been abridged and updated from the original syntax.

"…Of what use is it to talk to a prisoner of Heaven?"

Was she now the prisoner? She'd loved the character of Aramis, his mystery and misery, his desire to right a wrong and save the noble boy from his injustice.

'And my mother?' The boy prisoner asked.

'She is dead for you.' Aramis replied.

'But, she lives for others?'

'Yes.'

'And I - and I," the young man looked sharply at Aramis. 'Am compelled to live in the obscurity of a prison?'

'Yes. I'm afraid so.'

'Because my presence in the world would lead to the revelation of a great secret?'

'Certainly, a very great secret.'

'My enemy must indeed be powerful, to be able to shut up in the Bastille, a child such as I was.'

'He is.'

Audrey fell sleep, crying silent tears and wondering about her mother's secret. She dreamed of a great man, brave enough to stand against the mystery of her young life and change its course for the better.

Hypatia did not return until darkness. Audrey heard the locks turn with a snick, and the jangle of keys as they were locked again from the inside.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" The melodious voice called out. But Audrey stayed huddle in the center of the bed, clutching her book in the darkness.

A lithe figure appeared in the doorway, the pale skin of her face seeming to hover like a ghost's. Large dark eyes mere sockets of further darkness, pointed in her direction. Audrey felt that sliver of dread she had experienced that morning when she discovered she was alone.

"There you are," the too-sweet voice floated out from the disembodied face. Audrey shivered.

"Come eat," the woman turned away without waiting to see what Audrey would do.

When she didn't return or prompt Audrey further, hunger drove the child to seek the ethereal woman out in the darkness.

"What's your name?" Audrey asked the shadow that sat still as stone at the dilapidated table.

"Hypatia."

"Hi-pay-she-uh? That's a funny name."

"It's unique. Like me."

"I'm unique too." Audrey's childish pride outweighed her fear.

"Yes, I know. Now, come eat, or you will be as common as any other dead body." The voice wasn't angry or threatening, but the words chilled Audrey. She moved to obey. She sat delicately on the edge of a broken chair and reached for the plastic-wrapped sandwich waiting for her.

In the dim lights cast from outside, the woman seemed too still, dark and flat, like a cut out of a person, rather than a real one: Like a sinister paper doll.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Audrey asked shyly.

"It's not time for me to eat yet," the woman said simply.

Audrey didn't understand this odd answer. She hadn't said that she wasn't hungry, just that it wasn't time yet. The young girl had a sudden fearful thought that perhaps SHE was to be the meal, in time.

The tinkle that was this bizarre woman's laugh chilled Audrey, rather than set her at ease. "Don't worry, kid, I'm not fattening you up like Hansel and Grettel." The sweet, high voice was filled with amusement, and something else… something creepy.

Audrey swallowed dryly.

"Hurry up," the voice menaced impatiently. "There are Bad People looking for you, we have to get way the fuck gone before They get any closer."

Audrey nodded woodenly and obeyed.

What use to talk of Heaven when the Devil had you in her clutches?

---

One level down, Jack found her new hidey-hole. The archetypal red light drew her eye to the establishment over the heads of the day's commuters. Few were turning into it, and no one looked too closely at it, or its patrons. Jack changed her walk, the tilt of her head, the expression on her face, before she reached the door, and tried to stride past the man there without a glace.

"Hey!" He caught her arm. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

Jack looked the bouncer up and down coolly. "I'm the new girl." She stared pointed at his hand on her arm. "Unless things have changed in the last five seconds, I don't owe you shit till after my shift."

The man released her immediately, but his scowl didn't changed. "Red didn't say there was a newbie comin'."

"Shit man," Jack's eyes looked seductively at his muscles, as her fingers traced them lightly. "I ain't no newbie. I just play one for the John Q's." She pouted her lips and promised to prove it with a wink.

The man snorted disinterestedly as his eyes glazed over with boredom. "'Bout time Red found us another Schoolgirl Slut." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door dismissively. "In the back. Get your ass in there or you'll be docked for missing Happy Hour."

Jack turned away from the street and it's proliferation of 'mundanes' herding through their mundane life. They wouldn't think to look for Jack here. She could make some connections, get her shit fenced, make a little fast cash… and maybe sleep in the arms of something smooth and cuddly tonight. Jack headed unerringly towards the ever-present back room office. She wondered only briefly if 'Red' was a man or woman, and how long her 'audition' might take on the ubiquitous casting couch.

None of it mattered. None of it ever mattered.

She let the pounding bass beat of the music blank her mind.

Of what use… to talk of Heaven?

---

Riddick was just finishing the supervision of the new cargo into the open hold space cleared by this morning's sale. They'd made the profit he'd hoped for, plus some, above the price of kickbacks. His bid on the new freight had won, and his flight plan approved for their next stop. The next port would have nothing to suspect about their forged papers now, with the legitimacy of this shipment.

D.B. Cooper had shrugged off a few amused comments about his likeness to the infamous Riddick, with the casual indifference of a man used to the same joke. His eyes were his best disguise now; with his lenses dropped he simply could not be the popular anti-hero and renowned killer. Everyone knew the clean-shaven Riddick had his eyes surgically altered, and he was forced to wear goggles outside the darkness of slam. Besides, Riddick would never be found bartering salvage and attending shipping auctions, right?

Riddick scratched at his new beard, cut stylishly short, and rubbed his hand through his flat top hair. Zemma had been pleased with the novel sensation it afforded. Jack had doubled over with laughter at the sight of his new look.

"Hair? The great and powerful Riddick has given up shaving with axle grease and a shiv? What will the boys back home think?"

Riddick had run his hand roughly over Jack's own longer locks, knocking her head roughly from side to side. "Careful there, Jack, someone might mistake you for a girl."

She'd punched him hard in the kidneys to remind him she was more than a mere girl. He'd smiled at that; for such a little thing, she had good clout. It was a pleasant moment, and Riddick felt a strong sense of companionship.

Zemma's right, she's just a kit with sharp teeth.

He wanted to help her become something more, somehow. She'd been living her life on the edge of control, ruled by fear and anger, for so long. A tiny kernel of regret for leaving her alone all those years ago invaded his personal sense of the Now. Maybe something else could have been done. Maybe he could have taught her to control herself.

Maybe, if he could get to her, he still could.

Don stood expressionlessly against one wall of the huge docking bay, his whole body emanating tension. Riddick made a beeline for the man he might one day consider a friend, and wondered what the hell Jack had done this time…

"Well?" They needed no preamble.

"Zemma's been arrested, for shoplifting, I think." Don kept his voice cool and distant.

Riddick kept his whole body cool, his emotions distant. "And Jack?"

"She bolted."

Riddick's only reaction was the tightening in his jaw. "Find out where they took Zemma."

"And Jack?"

Riddick turned away; he didn't have a response to that. What was the use?

"There's one more thing," Don stayed professionally detached; though about this he was truly curious. "Zemma told the cops her name was 'Min.'"

Riddick turned back to Don, one eyebrow raised as if to say, 'Did I just hear you right?'

Don's mouth quirked slightly as he nodded once.

"Call me at the room when you find her." Before Riddick turned away he thought he saw Don's shoulder twitch in an aborted salute, but he nodded instead, and left without further comment. Good enough.

Christ. Had she slipped on the old mask, or had It slipped back onto her?