48. What Should Never Be

A cool shadow stretched across the dirt tarmac. Riddick could clearly see the footprints of his intended victim extending out into the desert, but the ship was his first mission. The bitch would not get away from him by jumping off this rock. Don was dead. Zemma was gone. Only Jack crouched quietly in the dark. Riddick could bring her back to the light.

The little sloop gleamed. It beckoned. He wouldn't kill it, he might need it, but he would make damn sure the bitch wouldn't escape him in it. There was always something you could pull of an engine that would render it useless. Perhaps he would find something useful there as well.

He didn't start with the door. Hatchways were meant to be opened from the outside for maintenance, and were typically easier to break into. Once resealed from the inside the interior hatches seldom gave him any problem either. You just couldn't open them both at once. Without much effort, Riddick was in the bowels of the ship. He spent a little time disabling it, in several places, everything he could fix quickly if he needed to but should frustrate the hell out of anyone else.

He took a little time to look around after that. Never knew what you might find that could be handy. Don was dead. Zemma was gone. Jack stayed silent in her dark place. There was time. Every room got a glance. Some got more than that. None offered anything helpful.

Oddly, the pilot's deck was locked. It wasn't an easy break in. Riddick had to resort to strength over finesse. Finally, he won out and entered the small cabin. It was brightly lit from the rising sun and Riddick had to drop his lenses, hardly realizing that it was becoming second nature. A more practiced instinct drew him instantly to attention. The cabin wasn't empty, someone occupied it. Riddick froze, ready for any assault.

No one leaped out. There was no place to hide but the pilot's chair. He listened to raspy, labored breathing for a moment, trying to determine if the inhabitant was asleep or merely waiting to attack. He didn't think anyone could have missed his noisy entrance. No movement solved the question. Riddick breathed in slowly, letting the dusty tang tell him what he was about to face. The image the scent produced had to be wrong.

One silent footfall followed another as he eased his way into the room. The blade that had appeared in his hand like magic rested lightly, ready to parry or cut any direction. He turned his head only fractionally to the right or the left, more to listen than to see. He had already determined there was no place to hide in this room. He made his way to the high backed pilot's seat. Someone was there, someone who couldn't be. His senses had to be lying to him. Grief was playing havoc with his mind and memories.

The first glimpse of straw blond hair made him pause, mentally as well as his forward motion. Eyes and nose agreed; he knew this person. His mind still rebelled against the logic. Despite all the strange things in the world he had seen and been privy to, this was not possible. His whole body tensed. He was sure it had to be a trick, a distraction, and that Hypatia must really be waiting to step from the nowhere from whence she disappeared to confront him now.

A long moment passed. Still there was no movement, no sound but the hoarse breathing. It sounded as you would expect a corpse to sound if it should suddenly try to defy its nature. He pushed the image violently from his mind. It simply could not be. It had to be a trick, or he was losing it. Don was dead. Zemma was gone. And Carolyn was very, very dead.

She could not have lived. Hypatia could not have found her. She must be a construct, meant to torment him or Jack.

He stepped forward again, and to the side, to confront whatever monstrous puppet the android had left for him. He almost expected a comic bookish sign saying 'gotcha'.

What he saw was much, much worse.

A skeletal frame, pale and ashy, the skin tight and patchy as if it could not contain enough moisture, sat strapped in, hands loosely grasping the controls. A ragged hole filled with plastic tubing connected the torso to the console. Viscous silvery-white fluid flowed slowly from the ship to the body and back again. Short, harsh breaths, almost snoring, caused the chest to rise and fall in imitation of life. The face, tipped downward as if the body was only taking a nap, was obscured by dry, straw blonde hair that looked as if it had been cut hastily with a dull knife.

And still he could not believe it was Carolyn. It could not be. It should never be.

A choking gasp interrupted the rhythm of sleep. Slowly the head raised up, as if unseeing eyes were following the contours of his booted feet and leather clad thighs up, up all the way to his face. Blue eyes swam large in the elfin face, and seemed bigger for the gauntness of the features. A thin smile cracked chapped lips.

"Riddick," a raspy but much too familiar voice whispered. "You've come back to me."

Carolyn's head tilted back against the seat, eyes closing softly, the smile never waning. "I haven't dreamed of you in so long."

Riddick's guts twisted harshly. His vision swam for just a moment. In the shadows, Jack cried soundlessly. He knelt down beside the decimated figure of the only person who ever surprised him… until Zemma.

(Don's dead. Zemma's gone.)

He lifted one hand to the wan and wasted face, laid it gently on one cheek. "Carolyn?" His voice cracked softly. She turned her face into his palm.

"Best dream, ever, Riddick." She murmured. "Thank you for coming back."

"Oh, God," Riddick didn't mean for the words to escape his brain with such anger.

Carolyn Fry's dry blue eyes flew open. She searched his face, and seeing the agony there a crease folded between her brows. "Riddick?" Her voice was questioning, disbelieving, and a little stronger.

The blade disappeared and Riddick brought his other hand to her face, ran it through her hair. "I'm here," he told her, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. "I didn't know, Carolyn. I'm sorry."

"Here?" Her eyes never left his face. "You came back?"

Six years. Six years of this nightmare.

"I came back." He couldn't look away from her, for fear she'd think he was just another dream that would disappoint her again. "I won't leave you."

Tears filled but did not spill from her eyes. She rubbed her cheek against his palm. "I know," she told him. "I always knew. I believed."

He wanted to ask… how had any of this happened? He wasn't sure she would, or could, tell him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. The obvious was too horrible, the details might be more than she wanted to recount. They couldn't be more than he should hear.

"How?"

"Because you went back for them. You went back for Jack." Her voice trailed off, one nightmare recalled in the midst of another. Riddick wasn't sure if she had misunderstood his question or chose not to answer it. He didn't ask it again.

"I'll get you out of here, Carolyn."

She shook her head slowly, never losing contact with his hand on her face. She looked so sad… for him.

"You have to kill me, Riddick. Please." Her voice was pleading, but almost hopeful on the end.

As he started to shake his head her brow furrowed again. It went smooth as she turned away from him just enough to kiss his rough palm with her lips. "Yes. You can."

"Carolyn…" He took his hand away from her face to pull one of her hands from the controls. It resisted. She looked down.

"Let go," she almost choked on the command voice, so long disused.

Startled and curious, he did. Her hand slowly rose back to its position on the yoke.

"I can't control it, Riddick. I can't move at all except for how she's programmed it." Her voice was sad and desperate. "Please, help me. Please, kill me. I can't do it by myself."

She was looking back into his eyes, pleading with him.

Rage rose up in him. He pulled away from Carolyn and her hopeless, desperate request. The bitch would pay for this. He turned and pounded one fist into an instrument panel. It didn't give, pain flashed brilliantly. With it came a cool rush of adrenaline. It didn't ease the ache that lay deeper.

She'd once believed he was more than a killer. She'd once made him believe it too. That had surprised him. She'd come back for him, to save him, because she thought he was worth her own life, no matter what she said, her actions had spoken her beliefs. She hadn't done it because she needed him. She could have piloted the little shuttle herself. She'd done it because…

He'd struggled for years to understand why she'd done it at all. She'd wanted to go back for the little girl and the holy man because it was right. She felt responsible for them. They needed her.

He didn't need her. She didn't need him. But she'd come back for him anyway.

She'd died for him.

Now… she wanted him to kill her.

He turned slowly to face her again. She hadn't looked away. Thin tears, silvery like the fluids that forced her to live, tracked down her face. She couldn't even reach up to wipe them away.

Two steps brought him back to her. One hand wiped the tears away.

"Why did you come back for me?" His voice choked with confusion he seldom felt. People were predictable. People didn't surprise him.

(Dead. Gone.)

"You deserved it," Spoken softly, a tiny smile followed. He'd heard those words many times in his life but never like that.

She deserved so much more than all he had to give her.

He knelt down again, laid one hand against her face again. The other hand retrieved the blade. He turned her more to face him. He did not want to miss; he wanted it to be fast.

"Don't leave me here," she whispered, eyes closed.

"I won't." His voice, and his hand, were steady.

"Save Jack?" Her eyes flew open again.

"I will," he looked steadily into her face, seeing it as it was once. He wondered what might have been.

She gasped only a little, but then she smiled. All the pain left her face. One more ragged breath filled her. Her last words filled him.

"Welcome…back… to the human…race…"

He pulled all the wires and tubes from her before the machines could piece back together the rend in her heart, and revive her again. Limp and impossibly light in his arms, he carried her from the golden ship, using the airlocks so he wouldn't have to put her down. He looked at the frigate for just a moment…

(dead gone)

…thinking of the cryo cells there. But that's exactly what they were, cells: A prison. He walked into the desert instead, away from the path Hypatia had taken. He walked until he couldn't anymore and then he just sat down and hugged Carolyn Fry to his chest.

She'd saved him. He'd killed her.

He did something he'd never done. He cried. He cried until the body in his arms was cold, and the cold had soaked into his brain and soul.

Some time later, something feral stalked away from Carolyn's grave.

(dead

...gone)