She could withstand it no longer. The vibrations of the ship and seemingly-warm glow of red coming from the center console just provided the perfect environment for her senses to relax. She could sleep. For once, in almost a day and a half, she could rest. Her eyelids made their slow descent, and the darkness behind them carried her away.

The sound of bones crunching brought her quickly out of her slumber. She sat up screaming, sweat pouring down the back of her bald head and down into the neck of her t-shirt. Gasping between each scream, she flailed her arms about, only to connect with something solid everywhere she turned. After a moment her head cleared and she opened her eyes. At once she brought her hands back, hugging her knees tightly to herself.

Riddick smirked down at her. He was one of the solid things she had been punching at. The other had been the wall. Jack gulped air until her heart slowed.

That sound, she thought, terrified, that horrible sound. It's going to follow me everywhere isn't it?

She was suddenly filled with the terrible certainty that every time she closed her eyes, she would hear it. The death that those terrible creatures had caused. She would even hear the deaths that she hadn't been there for. Zeke's death. Fry's. All of them. Those beasts would make sure she knew. They'd make sure she heard it all...

Riddick's voice broke her thoughts off there. "Jack," he said. She whipped her head around and stared at him, looking directly into his eyes for a moment, and then averting hers. She didn't feel good enough to look into the eyes of the man who had saved her, whether he was a murderer or not. She mumbled something in response to her name.

She thought he would walk away, leave her there in her humiliation. But he only knelt down. She cringed away from him in guilt, sure that he would yell at her for being such an ungrateful little bitch. After all, he had saved her life, and what was she doing on this ship, sleeping? She could have been helping him navigate, or clean, or bandage his leg.

Instead he spoke. "Jack, look at me." For some reason, she felt tears prickle the corners of her eyes. No, dammit, she couldn't cry now. Not in front of him.

"It will follow you everywhere," he whispered, sending shivers of fear up and down her spine. "Learn to live with it, or it will kill you." With that, he stood and walked back to the front of the compartment, where Imam sat in the passenger's chair, watching her.

She exhaled loudly and lay back down on the metal bench. How had he known what she had been thinking? Maybe her thoughts had been so loud they had escaped her lips without her realizing it. Hooking an arm over her face, she inhaled the dusty smell of her own clothes and began to cry silently.

Once again she was overcome by a sense of guilt. She realized that crying wasn't going to bring Fry or Shazza, or any of the victims for that matter, back from the dead. She had to be strong. Repeating this over and over in her head, her tears slowed and then finally stopped, leaving only trails on her dusty cheeks. Wiping the remaining liquid from her face, she glanced at the console and the other survivors sitting there.

Riddick was just sitting down, a strange look upon his face. It was almost as if he knew he had spoken to her too harshly, and felt sorry about it. Instead of confusing Jack more, she understood his facial expression. He said that the old Riddick was dead. The killer was gone. But old habits were hard to break. Being strong was the only way he knew how to be, and Jack felt no anger towards him. She realized that he was already on the road to changing himself.