| CHAPTER 4 “Don’t forget...” The sound of a drinking glass hitting the floor resounded throughout the room. It was made of one of those unbreakable plastic polymer’s. It didn’t shatter as regular glass would, but it made up for it with an ear drum bursting noise whenever it hit something. The wince on Zar’s face was quickly replaced by a look of deep concern. She evidently had startled Richard when she’d come into the room in talking mode. A behavior that was normal for her. Something he should’ve been way used to by now. She didn’t know what was more disturbing. The fact that she had surprised him or that he’d dropped the glass. He was the most unflappable, most graceful man she’d ever known. He just didn’t startle and drop things. Richard hadn’t turned around. Just bent down to pick up the glass and then proceeded to fill it with water. She’d expected him to turn around and give her Hell for making him drop the glass. Anyone else would’ve. Instead he’d acted as is nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He’d been moody and quite ever since the dreams’ return of a week ago. After the first night, he seemed to be getting back to normal. The gift of the ‘wedding’ ring and its poignancy had touched her deeply. Then the dream had returned. He’d had it two more times. Exactly the same in every aspect except for who did the killing. The second time had Johns slitting her throat. The third...well, he wouldn’t tell her who’d done the deed that time. But as bad as he was disturbed, she feared she knew. She had a sickening hunch that he’d been the doer in the third dream. It was the only scenario she could think of to merit the level of unease and personality change he was showing. The night of the third dream, he’d come awake violently. Covered in sweat, shaking as if with the chills. Even worse, he’d awoken screaming in fright. Something she’d never heard from him before. To be ripped from a deep sleep and hear that deep voice raised in such obvious terror had her heart beating triple time. Instinctively she’d reached out to comfort him. But he’d reacted as if her touch burned. Trying to get away from her so quickly that he had literally fallen out of bed. Landing on all fours. Making a stumbling recovery to his feet, he had run to the bathroom. The sounds of retching heartbreaking in the quite of the early morning. She’d been so stunned that all she could do was lie there. Minutes later he’d emerged from the bathroom and crawled back into bed. As he climbed in behind her she felt the coolness of his skin. Leftover from his clean-up she’d prayed. Not from his fear. She’d tried to turnover to question him. Her belief in talking about the dreams to lessen their impact decisive and unfailing. But he’d forestalled her by wrapping her in his arms tightly and whispering against the back of her head to “...just let me hold you. Please, Zar. Just let it go.” He’d sounded so shaky that she’d acquiesced without a second thought. Instead she just twined her fingers through his, tucking his arm up under her breast. Willing him to feel the steady beat of her heart as she felt his at her back. If he wouldn’t let her reassure him with words, she could at least try it with her touch. Eventually she fell asleep. She didn’t think he ever did though. His behavior started to change the day after. He started to come to the concession area for his lunch breaks. Ostensibly to spend time with her since they didn’t get to see each other a lot. But she got the feeling it was more to protect her than enjoy her company. He sure as Hell didn’t talk much, just scoped the area out while he sat and ate whatever she had put in front of him. She figured she could’ve put rotten meat on his plate and he wouldn’t have noticed, his mind focused on the on some threat only he felt. There were other instances too. She’d wake at night sometimes to find him watching her sleep. He’d lie down quickly, but not before she caught the expression on his face, one of fear mixed with a desperate determination. She’d tried to question him at least twice about his behavior. But he’d distracted her both times with mind blowing sex. So intense and yet so tender she didn’t know whether to check for bruises or cry tears of joy. All she could do was hope he’d work his way out of it. To see that as time went on, with no assassin showing up, that it had been just a dream. That she wasn’t leaving his side. Even for death. She didn’t give one worry over her suspicions concerning the third dreams killer. It just wasn’t capable of happening as far as she was concerned. The silence had lengthened uncomfortably. After filling the glass, he’d drunk long and slow of the water. Giving his heart a chance to regain it’s normal rhythm. Once done, he felt back in control. Turning towards her with his natural elegance, she couldn’t tell that he’d just had a scare. That was one thing about Richard Riddick, he recovered from his mistakes quickly. Leaning against the counter top he crossed his arms over his chest. Putting one foot over the other. The boot tip resting on the floor. His silvered eyes clear of all emotion. All in all, a very Riddick pose. Cool, calm, collected with a slight twist of nonchalance thrown in for good measure. It would fool everyone but her. “Don’t forget what?” She knew what he was doing. Playing the everything’s-alright game. The opposite was true, but when he was in that kind of mood, there was nothing she could do. He would only explain, if he explained at all, when he was damn well and ready. She could only play along. It didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. Lowering eyes, hoping he didn’t see the anger and impatience in them, she started walking past him as she responded. “That I’m going to the cantina with Molly tonight.” She hadn’t seen him move, (did she ever?) but suddenly her wrist was grabbed. He used it to pull her to him. Keeping it trapped between their two chests while his other hand wrapped around her neck. “No.” Still breathless from being manhandled so efficiently, she took a few seconds to get her bearings. He’d said the one word quietly, but with a succinctness that left little room for argument. His eyes held a resolve to enforce his will that would’ve enraged her if she didn’t know how much he loved her. But she’d be damned if he started dictating every little thing about her life. Seeming to have grown taller, bigger and stronger, his body was doing its best to bolster the statement of his eyes. Trying to cower her into submission with his overpowering physical presence. It pissed her off royally. He hadn’t tried that shit for years. Not since they’d become lovers. But arguing would only make him more intractable. Raising an eyebrow, she pointedly stared at the hand holding her wrist. Richard let her go, but it was with obvious reluctance. He’d gotten the message. It was the same hand he’d shattered when she’d come between him and Miriam Gonzalez once before. Twenty-twenty hindsight told her she should’ve let him kill the crazy bitch. But her conscience had got the better of her. And all of them had paid the price. The memories wiped away most of the anger at his heavy handedness. Leaving her sad and uneasy. She worried his reaction to the nightmares was some sort of delayed backlash to the horrifying torture Miriam had visited upon his body. He’d lost an eye, a lot of blood, and his dignity to that woman before Zar had found him. Physically he’d recovered, mentally, she was beginning to have serious doubts. She often wondered if he’d lost his edge. That part of him that made him so dangerous, so willing to do whatever was needed to survive. It just stood to reason that any man who once had been as determined to survive as Richard, then had practically let Miriam capture and torture him, all in the name of shame and guilt and hopelessness, would lose something vital to his psyche. Maybe that’s what the dreams were all about. Manifestations of his loss of the killer instinct. Some part of him not happy with the softer, kinder more human Richard. And maybe that part of him blamed her for the softening. Which, in complete truth, was her responsibility. Would it be any wonder if he was in a major mental and emotional conflict? All the worrying about him and his strange behavior was making her tired and bitchy. She needed a night out. Sometime away from him and his obsessive attention to the dreams. When nothing happened, and she was positive it wouldn’t, hopefully he would relax some. Rubbing her face with the palms of both hands she blew out a frustrated breath. For once letting him see not just her worry, but also her impatience. But she did love him, oh so much. And loving someone meant putting up with the bad as well as the good. So she reached up and cupped his face with her small hands before she spoke. “Leave it go, love. I need to get out of here for a few hours. Laugh a little, talk with Molly a little, you know...enjoy myself. I know you don’t mean to, but you’re driving me crazy! They were just dreams. Ugly nightmares, that’s all! We can’t live our lives based on bad dreams. It’s just not...” His eyes blared with desperation as he grabbed the hands cupping his face. Pushing her back against the wall a short distance behind her. He growled back at her, “They are NOT just dreams! They’re...prophecies.” Zar stood momentarily speechless at his words. Prophecies?! Since when did a man like Richard B. Riddick believe in mumbo jumbo?! But it was obvious that he did. In his behavior, his face, his voice. His fear. Richard watched the disbelief cross Zar’s face. He didn’t blame her for her reluctance. Hell, if the situation had been reversed his reaction would’ve been downright disrespectful. But that wasn’t Zar’s way. Whatever her thoughts, he knew, with a soul deep certainty, that the dreams were more than just dreams. The first dream had Miriam as Zar’s killer, the second was Johns. The third...that fucking horror of a phantasm...starred himself as the killer. Having the unique view as both watcher and doer. He could still feel the bile that had risen from his stomach upon waking from the dream. Could still feel her body stretched tight against his, the warmth of blood as it sprayed, the smells her body released in it’s death. Curiously he wasn’t worried about him killing her. He knew nothing, even his own life, could compel him to kill her. He’d also realized that the changing killer’s meant that not one person was coming for her. No, it was a more general danger. That’s why he’d been watching her. Why he didn’t want her to go anywhere near the cantina. He didn’t know where or when or who would try to kill her. The visions could be warnings or they could be taunts. Maybe they were from God, from Hell or just a skull-fuck courtesy of his own twisted mind. ‘Ha ha buddy, look what’s going to happen to your precious Zar and there’s not a thing you can do about it.’ They made him feel weak. He loathed feeling weak. He sometimes felt they were also slowly making him into the crazy all the psych heads had labeled him. It felt like the world was spinning out of control. With him along for the ride. Zar wasn’t helping matters any. She obstinately refused to believe that the dreams were something other than dreams. She was a moderately spiritual woman. Believed in God, but had been the victim of His seemingly capricious whims one too many times to trust Him. In some ways, Richard had a deeper, if more hostile, belief in the Deity that seemed to take some sort of laughing delight in torturing him. Her lack of open-mindedness made it harder to protect her. The situation was adding frustration to the already volatile mix of dread and destiny that was tearing him apart. Still gripping her wrists, he shook her lightly as he spoke with a deep edgy whisper, “For just one minute, one fucking minute, entertain the idea that these are more than just dreams! It’s been the same EXACT scene every time! The only difference being who slices your throat. Think back about Leffner and you in that service tunnel! I know I haven’t exactly been talkative about it, but the doesn’t change the fact that you and I have a deep connection. Something deeper than sex or just living together. You’re the person I’ve been closest too in my whole fucked-up life! And I KNOW something is going to happen! Here I am trying to protect your silly ass and all you want to do is treat me like I’m some little piss ant with a severe case of post traumatic stress syndrome! I got news for you, lady! What Miriam did to me wasn’t shit compared to what’s been done before and what I’ve done to others.” Richard could feel the anger growing. It actually felt good. It burned some of the fear and frustration away. He knew it wasn’t fair taking it out on her, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He wanted to hit something, yell at something, make something as afraid of him as he was of the dreams. The log jam had broken, and it was all coming out, whether he wanted it to or not. “You know what?! Fuck it! I can’t protect you if you keep blocking me. I need your trust for that and evidently it’s just too much for you to do right now.” He didn’t stay around to watch her stumble slightly as he threw her hands away from him. He was across the room and out the door before she could come out the tirade induced stupor. Zar, eyes still wide in disbelief, released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. Murmuring to the empty room, still charged with their angry energy, “Oh, Richard. What are we going to do?!” |
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