Forgotten Past: Chapter Seven-Remembering
His leg burned. The smell of blood flooded his nostrils, leading those things
that hunted him to his location in the rain. He turned his head and ducked as
one swooped over him, the rush of wind and the sound of sonar clicks sweeping
past him. He lashed out with his shiv, slashing violently, fierce determination
the only thing keeping him alive.
“Riddick!”
Riddick turned. Carolyn. Golden and stubborn, the blue glow of the larva
outlining her face. She slid through the mud to him, holding the monsters at bay
with the bottle of light. Light. He’d never been so glad to see light. His
weakness was his savior. Irony at its worst, he told himself.
Her arms clasped tightly around his waist, beneath his arm. Forcing him through
the night, away from the dark, to the skiff. To safety.
Turn, dodge, the clicks and screeches of the creatures surrounding them. Turn.
His eyes locked on Carolyn’s. Then she froze, lurching forward with a jerk,
shocked surprise on her face.
No, he thought. Not her, not for me. His fingers tightened convulsively,
struggling to hold on to her. Then she was being pulled from him, torn from his
arms. Skyward she disappeared into the night, arms and legs flailing, trying to
reach him once more.
“No! Not for me! NOT FOR ME!” he cried to the sky. “NO!”
“Riddick!” Riddick snapped awake, Jack’s worried face and glowing eyes
hovering over him. “Jesus Christ, Riddick. You scared the crap out of me!”
Riddick ran a hand over his head and closed his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled
finally, then stood and stalked to the tiny bathroom.
Jack sat in the chair across from Riddick’s and leaned her head between her
knees. The sound of water running in the sink reached her ears and she sighed,
running a hand through her hair. This was the fourth night Riddick had woken up
screaming. Usually the word “no” came from his lips, but sometimes he’d
scream “not for me” and Jack would wake with a start, seeing his face
twisted in anguish.
It hurt her to see him like that. He was all she had left, and if he couldn’t
fight the nightmares for himself, who would fight them for her?
The door opened and Jack lifted her head to look at Riddick. He stood framed in
the doorway, leaning wearily against the doorjamb. Jack knew he wouldn’t talk
about it, and if she tried to he’d change the subject. She didn’t care, she
had to say something.
“Fry?” she questioned, watching his face cautiously. The only reaction she
got was the slight clench of his jaw. Except for that, his face stayed
impassive. “I miss her, too, Riddick,” was all she said when he didn’t
answer. Then she stood and stepped across to her bed, flopping down on it
noisily.
Riddick watched Jack retreat back into herself, closing her eyes and turning her
face to the wall. He shoved away from the door and lowered himself back into his
chair, throwing his arm across his eyes. He didn’t sleep the rest of the
night. Instead, he watched the window until light peaked through the tiny holes
and around the cracks of the black blanket nailed in front of the glass.
He was getting soft, he told himself. Sleep was a luxury, maybe he should cut it
off for a while.
“Carolyn. Not for me,” he whispered to the sun, so quietly his words were
lost in the darkness of the room.
~~~
Creed sat on her bed. The building she was staying in was a halfway house of
some sort. She had to get a job soon, she’d been told. By next week at the
latest. That meant she went job hunting today. As far as she knew her only
skills were pirating.
She’d been at the house a week, and her one room apartment was sparsely
furnished but comfortable. A double bed, a dresser, small kitchen. The kitchen
consisted of a tiny metal sink, a stove top, and a tiny ice box. She hadn’t
used any of it yet.
Meals were served in a big room every day if you couldn’t get food for
yourself, so that’s what she did.
With a groan, Creed pushed to her feet and grabbed the brush she’d bought a
few days earlier and some cloth covered rubberbands, and headed to the bathroom.
It was nine o’clock at night, so the bathroom was close to empty. She hunted
for night jobs so that’s when she woke up.
A quick shower and a clean change of clothes later had her standing in front of
a mirror in the bathroom’s second room, that held sinks and toilets, and
braiding her hair. When the braid hung down to her butt, she folded it double
and fixed it into place with another rubberband.
“Ready?” she asked her reflection. Her face was almost completely healed
now. The cut on her cheek was scabbed over and the bruises had faded to a sickly
yellow. The rest of her body was looking and feeling better as well. Sliding her
shades over her eyes, she left the building in search of a job.
The night scene was crowded. Loud parties, shooting, laughing and screaming were
all common place sounds and activities in New Orleans’ night life.
Two hours later, Creed had a job. Physical labor was therapeutic so that’s
what she found herself doing. Construction of some big building was going on and
she signed on as part of the construction crew. There were a good number of
other women there for the job, too, so Creed knew she wouldn’t stand out too
badly.
Construction had already started so she started working the next day.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a night job and she had to find something to wear
over her eyes that wouldn’t come off as easily as her shades.
On her way back to the halfway house, she spotted a pair of round welding
goggles next to a blow torch. No one was around so she snatched them up and
shoved them into her pocket.
Sly was waiting for her when she got back. “What are you doing here so
late?” she questioned. It was almost midnight.
“Came to see how you were. Did you get a job?” he asked, falling into step
beside her as she headed through the ground floor to the stairs.
Creed nodded. “Yeah. I’m workin’ on that new building going up on fifth.
I’ll be working cranes and big machines like that.”
“That’s good,” he commented. He studied her as she went to unlock her
door. She didn’t come off as the murderous type and he wondered what her story
was.
Creed turned to Sly and he smiled at her. “Yeah. Still no memories, though.
Sometimes I think something is coming back, then it disappears.” She shrugged.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never remember. Never know my name.”
“But you know your name,” he stated.
“I don’t think so. Creed Xander is familiar, and I’m sure that’s who I
am. But there’s more. It’s not my real name. There’s something else in
there. I just have to figure out what it is.” She smiled at him then and
disappeared into her room. Tomorrow would be a long day.
***