Title: I Want You To Need Me
Author: Mary (SlayerKnight2@aol.com)
I Want You To Need Me 4
Johns awoke the next morning, alone. He was lying on his stomach with a soft, dark green blanket covering him. He grinned as he wondered how Riddick had managed disengaging himself without waking him. The drugs probably helped, Johns thought wryly. Wherever he had gone, Johns knew he would probably be back. The serial killer would never tell him where he was going. The mistrust seemed mutual, but then again what did he expect.
There was a knock at the door. Johns got up from the couch. Speaking of the devil, he thought. Johns undid the locks and opened the door saying, "What's wrong? Forget your key?"
"Hey, Will. You never came home last night. I was worried." Max's voice didn't sound the least bit sincere.
Johns paused, a moment of panic sweeping through him. The complete surprise of his former lover's visit stunned him. His formally quick-witted brain was caught off-guard at the sudden presence of violence when he had been expecting safety.
Max walked into the apartment, pushing Johns inside with him. The dark-haired man closed the door as his eyes swept over the dwelling. "Nice place," he said, sarcastically. "You know, it wasn't easy finding you, Will. I had to pull a lot of strings and I owe a lot of favors now. You want to know who?" Johns remained silent, his eyes warily following Max's every move. The other man shrugged. "I didn't think so."
Max started walking into the kitchen. The walls were a faded wood in color and texture, dust gathered near the ceiling and the corners. A refrigerator was snug in the far corner, beside that a small counter and a sink. There were a couple of cabinets above and below the counter.
Johns stood by the door as Max continued his exploration of the apartment. There was a horrible tension in the room, now. One of anticipation, anger, and fear. Johns was unsure of what to say or do to diffuse the atmosphere but he knew the wrong move would set Max off. Experience had taught him that much.
Max gazed back at him through the kitchen threshold. "You know I was waiting for you to come back up last night but you didn't." The older man walked over to a cabinet and withdrew a wodden-handled, eight-inch, butcher's knife from it. Max admired it, twirling the knife in his hands. Reflections of the sunlight outside bounced off the object, flickering over Johns' face.
The older man didn't look up from the weapon he held in his calloused hands. "You always came back to me, Will." He waved the knife at Will, casually. "But you didn't." He looked back down at the knife, again. "I looked out the window and saw you with him. Just sitting there, on the stoop. I watched you leave with him. I didn't stop you. I didn't have to."
Confusion mingled with his fear and anticipation as Johns listened to the other man speak, wondering where the hell Riddick was. Did the serial killer sell him out? Was it all just a sick ploy to see whether he could get to Johns? He swallowed, realizing that if that was true, his would-be savior could be in the next quadrant by now. And Johns would have to think of way to get out of here.
"I followed you, watched you get on the subway. I saw the hooker. I called in some favors and had a few guys pick her up and bring her to a... quieter place."
Johns' interest was piqued. Few people had ever been kind to him in his lifetime, so it was easy to remember the ones that had.
Max never looked up from the knife. "She was fun, for a while. Not my breed, but good. Everyone took a turn. She screamed at first. But she soon realized that it was futile, so she just... whimpered after that. We tied her up and beat her. She was a stubborn bitch." He looked at Johns. "Kinda reminded me of you, come to think of it. Finally, she told us the place you got off at and we slit her throat while she screamed for God and mercy." He imitated the stroke with the knife a few centimeters away from his own neck.
The bounty hunter's heart filled with dread. He had never even thought that she might be in trouble, but he should have. It may seem like a cliche but everyone around him seemed to suffer or die. His mother. His father. The aunt who had taken care of him after their deaths had become bipolar after his tenth birthday. His fiancee, Rachel, had been killed in a car crash. His baby sister, Tessa, had died of SIDS. Everyone. Guess Riddick got out while he could, he thought, morbidly.
Max seemed unaware of his lover's distressed state. "Then we found a junkie outside on the street and after some persuading, he informed us of your current residence in this flea-bag motel. The other boys left, their job was done. There was a young girl that was playing on the stairs, inside the building. Her mother was propositioning a customer outside her apartment. I grabbed the young girl, Arianna I believe her name was, by the throat and asked the mother if she had seen a blonde-haired man, medium height, in his mid-twenties." He grinned, evilly. "She was pathetically informative."
Johns shook his head, speaking for the first time since Max had showed up. "You're a monster," he whispered.
Max strode up to where Johns was standing, but the blonde-haired man refused to back down. In a fit of anger, Max threw him back against the wall. "Always were a stubborn one." Max pressed his body against Johns in a way that made him nauseous. Now, the man's very touch made him sick. He could smell the hooker's blood and cheap perfume on him, but no alcohol. No, intoxication wasn't needed for Max. The sick bastard *enjoyed* it.
Johns struggled but Max slammed the knife into the wall, just inches from the younger man's temple. He froze. He could feel the anger simmering off Max in waves. He looked around the apartment. The place that had once felt so safe to him, now felt like his prison. No one could hear him in this tomb.
Max roughly nuzzled the left side of Johns' face and neck, smelling him the way a wolf does prey. So different from last night with another man. After last night, Max's touch felt alien and noxious. A coldness settled in his stomach as he stood there, knowing that if he struggled, Max would end it.
The older man didn't need his participants willing, Johns doubted he needed them alive, either. The thought sickened him, even as he realized he still didn't possess the willpower to fight back against the man who made him feel helpless.
Still, the other man must have felt Johns' muscles stiffen. His tongue traveled down the length of his neck, the smell of saliva making Johns gag. He whispered into the other man's ear as his hands traveled under Johns' shirt. "You know how it works. You fight me, it'll make it worse."
Johns didn't move, knowing that he'd wait until the right moment to escape. He may not be able to fight Max but he wasn't just going to stand there and take it. Not anymore.
Suddenly, Max stiffened and started gasping for air. Johns' blue eyes stared at him, questioningly. Someone stood up behind Max. Riddick. The serial killer jerked the knife along Max's spine and then pushed the body away from Johns. Max landed a few feet away from the blonde-haired man, gasping for breathe. Riddick took a few steps back, now able to watch both Johns and the would-be rapist.
Boneless, Johns slid to the ground to sit against the wall, his knees up in front of him. A wheezing sound filled the air, hinting that the knife had hit the fallen man's lungs. Dark and pain-filled eyes looked at Johns but ice-blue ones met them with indifference. He just didn't care anymore, the numbness circling his heart like a dark, cold cloud.
Riddick watched him with growing concern. Whatever progress they had made last night to help Johns seemed to have vanished. He waited for Johns to speak first, knowing that if enough time passed the young man would. He didn't have to wait long.
"You're late," Johns said, blandly.
Riddick snorted. "Not that late, from the looks of it."
Johns stared at Max, who was still wheezing. "How did you know?"
"I caught word of the hooker's death. I knew he'd come after you." He didn't touch him, not yet. He wasn't sure of the other man's mental stability after so much emotional trauma.
The young man nodded. After a pause, he asked. "Where'd you go?"
Riddick took a cautious step towards him. "Where I'm going to take you now."
Johns laughed humorlessly. "You're too late. I've already been to hell."
The serial killer knelt down next to him, so that they were eye-level but the young man kept staring straight ahead. "You trusted me once. Do you still trust me?"
Riddick nodded, accepting that for now. "I didn't tell him where you were."
The blonde-haired man looked down. "I know."
Johns looked up and finally met Riddick's gaze, evenly. "Because *I* don't understand why. Why are you here? You have every reason in the world to want me dead but you save me. Why do you care?"
Riddick glanced at the dying body lying a few feet away and then at the dying soul next to him. He didn't want Max to pull Johns down with him. "Come with me and I'll tell you."
Johns nodded and followed Riddick out the door, not looking back but still haunted.
Go back to Part 3
Go on to Part 5