Disclaimers: The characters in this novel are of my own creation. That’s right, this is an ‘uber’ story. Some may bear a resemblance to characters we know and love who are owned by PacRen and Universal Studios.

Violence and Naughty Language Disclaimer: Yup, both. And quite a lot of each, to be truthful. This takes place in a prison, and where there are criminals, there’s gonna be violence and naughty words.

Subtext Disclaimer: Yup, there’s that too. This piece deals, after a fashion, with the love and physical expression of that love, between two adult females. There are some graphic scenes located within this piece, but I have tried to make them as tasteful as possible so as to not avoid anyone’s sensibilities. Let me know if I’ve succeeded.

Serialization Disclaimer: When I first started writing and posting, I made a promise to myself, and to anyone who read me, that I would never post a work that wasn’t finished. I detest serialization, normally. But . . .this novel, which is one week from being finished, is becoming very long and I’ve had readers write to me stating that they won’t read novels because they just don’t have time to sit down and read such gargantuan works. So, I compromised. This piece is finished (very nearly) and will go up at regular intervals so that the folks who like to read in small chunks can do that and the ones who like to read the whole thing can do that too.

The end of that week found me, as always, in the library, my thoughts on one subject in particular calmer if not more ordered. I’d only seen Ice to nod to in the hallways. Her eyes, when they met mine, were guarded, but no longer cold. I guessed that meant she’d forgiven me for my faux pas.

I had just put the finishing touches on an open book exam for one of my college courses when Phyllis stepped into the room bearing a small package and a smile for all of us, particularly Corinne. Since our discussion the week before, I’d taken the time to study the interaction between the two and noticed small things that I’d never had cause to see before. Though fraternization between inmates and guards was strictly forbidden, it looked like there was more going on between them than met the eye.

The tall guard headed over to my area as I closed my composition book, perching a hip on the corner of the table and looking down at me with warm eyes. "How’s it going, Angel?"

"Not bad. Just finished up the last of my courses for the semester."

"How’d you do?"

"Well, since it was open book, I think I got an A."

She grinned. "Tough life."

Returning the smile, I pushed the tablet and pen away from me. "How’s Laura?"

The young woman had remained in the infirmary most of the week, suffering from a skull fracture and a mild concussion from Derby’s beating. She’d just been released the day before and had been taken directly to the segregation unit for her own protection. I couldn’t help but continue to feel guilty about that since, in her own way, she was as isolated as Derby was down in the hole.

"She’s doin’ alright. She kinda likes the seg unit. Makes her feel safer. I think we’ll keep her there for a little while longer. Derby and Mouse are out of the picture for awhile, but there’s others who’ll try and finish what they started."

Some of my guilt must have shown on my face because she placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it slightly. "Don’t feel bad for speaking out, Angel. Justice was served. That’s a good thing."

"It’s not such a good thing if it makes her even more of a target than before, Phyllis."

"Angel, I might not want it this way, but the sad fact of life, hon, is that kids like Laura are always going to be targets no matter what they do. She’s little more than a kid who made a stupid mistake. God knows this isn’t the place for her, but what can we do? We just do our jobs and protect her, and the rest of the inmates, the best we can."

"Forgive me for saying so, Phyllis, but from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’re doing a very good job at all. If Ice hadn’t walked in when she did, there quite probably could have been two of us beaten half to death instead of just Laura."

Shifting slightly, Phyllis curled her hand around the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening over the tan of her flesh. "It hurts to hear you say that, Angel, even though I know it’s true. The economy being what it is, people are paying more attention to gas prices than to prison expenses. The pay just isn’t high enough to entice anyone to come into this line of work. And the ones they do manage to entice usually don’t stay very long." She smiled. "The working conditions aren’t always exactly pleasant."

"I realize that, Phyllis, and I’m not blaming you, personally. It’s just that I think that most of the outside world sees us as a bunch of depraved monsters getting our just desserts. Not everyone in here is like that, though. And, underneath it all, we’re still human beings."

"I agree," the guard replied. "I just don’t know what we can do to change things. I’m not happy about young girls getting beaten bloody either."

"I know." Leaning back in my chair, I laced my fingers behind my head. "Maybe I’ll figure something out. After all," I glanced over to Corinne, "I’ve got a lotta time on my hands."

"I have faith in you, Angel," Phyllis replied, laughing. "Speaking of time, I need to get back to work." She held out the package she’d walked in with. "This came for you this morning. I rescued it before they could tear it to shreds."

Reaching out, I took the package, surprised to note that the wrapping was smooth and unbroken. As I’m sure you’re aware, the rule in prison is to thoroughly search all incoming and outgoing packages for contraband. That’s one of the reasons I never considered purchasing weapons for any of my customers, since I’d be the one sent to solitary and believe me, that’s a place you most definitely want to avoid at all costs.

I looked up at her, curious. She just smiled and patted my shoulder. "When I looked at the return address, I knew who it was for, " she said, as if that explained everything.

And perhaps, in a way, it did.

The package had come from the J & R Garden Supply Store and looked to be the bonsai rake I’d ordered the week before. My contact had come through for me once again. "Thanks," I said, for more than the package.

"No problem." Squeezing my shoulder once more, Phyllis levered herself off the table and turned to Corinne. "See you later?"

My friend dimpled. "Sounds good."

"Till then."

As the guard sauntered out, I turned to stare at Corinne, a smug grin on my own lips. "Corinne," I mock-chided, "are you going to get that poor guard in trouble with your lascivious nature?"

She turned her own smirk back at me. "I never kiss and tell, Angel."

"You should. Peter was a bit . . .dull. I could use a few pointers."

Her smile turned into a leer. "I’d be happy to show you."

I made a show of rolling my eyes. "We’re not going to start that again, are we? Besides, what would Phyllis think?"

"She’d think I was damned lucky," my friend growled.

"Enough of that." Pushing myself away from the table, I stood, idly twirling the long, thin package in my hands. Walking over to Corinne’s desk, I placed it in front of her. "Would you be sure Ice gets this?"

"I’m no postman. Give it to her yourself."

"No . . .I don’t think that would be a good idea. Really. Maybe I’ll get one of the Amazons to . . . ."

"Angel, you’re going to have to face her sometime, you know."

I sighed. "I know. But it’s only been a week. For all I know, she’ll take one look at me and send me flying out of her cell with one of those kicks of hers. I’ll be laid up for weeks! Who’ll help you with the library?"

My friend eyed me. "Don’t make up excuses to cover your cowardice, Angel. This deal is between the two of you. No one else. Just go up there and give her the package. It’s not like she’s gonna bite you." The leer returned. "Unless you want her to."

"Corinne . . . ."

She flapped her arm at me. "Just deliver your package and leave me be. I’ve got a date to prepare for."

Sighing, I retrieved the box. "This never gets any easier, does it."

"Nope. That’s what makes it so much fun. Now shoo."

With a last pleading glance, and seeing no help would be found, I spun on my heel and made my way out of my sanctuary.

The mind is an amazing creature, especially in its morbid tendency to spew out thoughts best locked away deep in the cavern of the subconscious. As I walked down the long, dim hallway leading from the library to the prison proper, I could almost see in front of me a black-garbed priest softly chanting the Lord’s Prayer as guards kept pace beside me.

The box in my hands became chains on my wrists and my heart sped up as my mouth became dry as dust. I imagined a cold gust of winter air that swept across my body and my skin responded as the hair lifted from my arms in stiff spikes. Just as I was beginning to wonder why my imaginary companions had morphed into the garb of Roman centurions, the hallway opened out into the prison’s main square, leaving me slack jawed and blinking with its sudden brightness.

"Angel," I whispered to myself, "you’ve got to start getting out more. I think that library’s starting to have a bad influence on you."

A few strange looks were cast my way by passing inmates and I firmly pushed the spectral visions from my mind, resolutely stalking toward the near stairwell as if I hadn’t a care in the world.

Ice’s cell was on the eighth floor and as I mounted the steps, quickly climbing, I wondered how she and the other inmates could stand to climb so much just to get to their rooms. My time with the Amazons had put me into pretty good shape by then, though, so the trek wasn’t as bad as it might have been months earlier.

Still, a ball of cold lead seemed to have taken up residence in my stomach, growing larger and heavier each step I climbed so that by the time I had reached the top, I wasn’t sure if I could take another step.

As I stood on the final landing, trying to regain both my strength and my will, I looked around and was thankful that most of the block seemed to be free of human habitation. Calming my breathing and centering my thoughts, I gave myself one of my patented pep-talks. "Alright, Angel, let’s get moving. Nothing to it, right? Just go in there, give her the package and leave. It’s not as if she’s gonna ask you in for tea, right? She’ll probably just grunt at you and send you on your way. No big deal, right?"

Right.

So why was my heart trip-hammering in my chest? Why was my skull pounding fit to burst and my guts twisting inside me like a roll of barbed wire? "Oh God. I think I’m gonna be sick."

A passing inmate, one of the few up and around on level eight, paused next to me, looking at me with concern. "Are you alright?"

I managed a weak smile. "Oh yeah. Never better." As she continued to look at me strangely, I frantically searched for something to say. "I’m . . .um . . .lost, I think. Can you tell me which cell is Ice’s?"

The inmate’s puzzled look turned into a smile. "Yeah, sure." Half turning her body, she pointed down the catwalk bordering the cells. "Last one to the left down there, in the corner. H-324."

"Thanks!"

"Hey, no problem! See ya around." I didn’t miss the speculative glance I got from my new acquaintance, and for whatever reason, it made my heart lighter. Ha! Take that, Ice! I don’t need to be scared of you. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.

Ok, so it was a bad analogy.

Heading down the catwalk with a lighter step, I glanced curiously into the cells I was passing. The eighth floor, for the most part, housed the most dangerous criminals in the Bog. Because of this, the prison authorities thought it best to give them single rooms. These rooms were the same size as the regular cells, but instead of a second bunk, a long stainless steel table ran along one wall.

Unlike the rest of the prison population, the warden’s edict banning items of a personal nature didn’t appear to extend to the worst of the worst. I wasn’t sure why this was exactly, but figured that a happy murderer was a safe murderer and so left my thoughts at that, lest I start becoming perturbed at the unfair irony of the worst getting the best.

At long last, I was standing outside of Ice’s cell, my body pressed up against the cool, pebbled cement of the wall. Maybe she’s not in! my mind shouted. Yeah, right. You’re not that lucky.

It’s absolutely amazing how your body can ignore a firm directive from your mind. Of course, at the time, my mind was shouting conflicting orders at it, but still, it was more stubborn than a mule, confused or not.

Suddenly a deep, sensuous voice broke into my thoughts. "Ya might as well come in, Angel. I can hear you breathing out there."

Flushing with embarrassment and not a little shock, I pushed myself away from the wall and walked toward the open door of Ice’s cell, pausing just outside and staring in.

Ice was lounging on her bunk, her back pressed up against the far wall as the rest of her long, strong body lay in peaceful repose, one leg cocked at the knee, the other fully extended. A thick paperback lay face down against her lower abdomen, its spine creased from many readings. The glare of the overhead flourescents made catching the title all but impossible, not that I didn’t try.

After a moment, I held up my encumbered hand. "I . . .um . . .your package came in today. Corinne suggested I come up here and drop it off."

Smiling slightly, showing no more than the barest quirk of her full lips, Ice shifted on the bed, then placed her feet on the floor, standing with the fluid grace that haunted my dreams. I was mesmerized. Again.

Watching as she came toward me, I licked my lips, still holding out my arm and willing my hand not to tremble as the heat of her body wrapped itself around mine, caressing my skin. Reaching out a long arm, she took the box from my hand, looking down at the untouched wrapping, then back up at me, one eyebrow raised to her hairline.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just surprised it isn’t opened."

"Oh. Well, I trust you."

The eyebrow went higher.

I smiled weakly. "Besides, I’ve seen you fight."

Her little half smile came out again and I resisted shaking my head against the feelings that simple expression engendered in me. Her fierce eyes softened as they regarded me and, from deep within my heart, I felt the tug of whatever connection we seemed to possess. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft, her hand hefting the package and tossing it lightly.

"No problem."

How long we stood there, looking at one another in perfect silence, I’ll never know. As with our first meeting, whole centuries seemed to fall away with the weight of each breath. It was like looking at an old and cherished photo album that you forgot even existed and getting warm and happy from the memories. At the same time, it was much more, this connection. And much less. It had about it a simplicity so fundamental and a complexity so profound that my mind just decided to give up the ghost and simply ‘be’.

Though I didn’t want to break the moment, some part of me eventually came to the decision that this wasn’t the best of ideas, and so I broke the lock of our gazes, my eyes touring the room, looking for some safe space to land my gaze.

As if by providence, my eyes landed on the metal table that ran the length of one wall of Ice’s cell. It’s chill, shining finish was covered with a beautiful silk cloth, done up in purples, yellows, blues and reds of varying hues and emblazoned with what looked to be Chinese characters. Or they could have been Japanese. My Asian isn’t all that great, truth be known.

On the cloth, side by side, sat four bonsai trees looking like visions of a world far from here. The love and care that had gone into their shaping was obvious and, quite beyond my conscious will, my body was drawn to what my eyes were seeing. I barely felt the shifting presence as Ice stepped back to allow me into the cell.

Striding over to the table as if gliding on currents of warm summer air, I stopped at the boundary and simply stared, completely taken in by the vision before me. The four small trees bore the distinct stamp of proud individuality, yet when seen as a unit, they seemed to tell a story, the meaning of which darted teasingly around in my brain, tossing out hints which I failed to catch.

Looking at them was like seeing into someone else’s soul, all violent beauty, gentle caring and turbulent emotions fighting for space within the fragile shell of a living being. The deep profundity of hidden meanings niggled at me, stirring my curiosity, but rather than give into them, I chose to look upon the stark simplicity of the works before me. I imagined feeling warm sunlight on my face as it shone, dappled, through the leaves of a forested glen. The feeling of ultimate freedom and tender peace filtered down to me with the light, cocooning me in its gossamer web. It was like looking through a window and seeing an unending vista filled with warmth, peace and love. "Beautiful," I breathed.

Looking at art affected me that way and, in all honesty, still does. I hope to never lose that part of myself that sees joy and wonder in the most simple of things.

The soft sound of a throat being cleared broke me from my rapture and I turned to see Ice, looking faintly embarrassed and staring down at the box in her hands. "Thanks," she mumbled.

The look on her face made her fully human for the first time to me and I couldn’t help the feeling of surprised giddiness that went flowing through my heart and body. Laughter threatened to bubble up, but I remembered who I was with and tamped down on it, reining in control over my sometimes flighty emotions. "They really are beautiful," I replied softly. "Spiritual, almost. But primal too. A wonderful paradox."

When her eyes met mine, I saw the embarrassment had brought with it a bit of defensiveness. "Angel, they’re trees."

"Lying won’t help your case any," I replied, figuring that gentle teasing might do the trick. "They’re more than just trees and the work you’ve put into them proves my point quite nicely, don’t you think?"

She scowled at me, but didn’t refute my words. Inside, I pumped a triumphant fist.

"Come on, Ice. People must tell you that a hundred times a day! These are magnificent."

"Actually, no," she countered, getting a little of her confidence back. "Aside from the guards, you’re the first person I’ve ever allowed into my cell."

Ohhhhh shit. I reached my hand up to scratch at the back of my neck, something I did often when I needed to think quickly and the answers just weren’t coming. "I’m . . . sorry. I . . .didn’t mean . . . . It’s just that . . . they were so beautiful and I . . . ."

She smiled, slightly, one that reached her eyes and made them soft and warm. "It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any harm."

My relief was palpable. "Thank you."

"No problem."

For lack of anything better to do, I let my gaze wander again. On the wall above the bonsai was a large map that looked to be from National Geographic. It sported the title "Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire". With little icons of battle plans and weaponry, it seemed incongruous, sitting as it was above a scene of such absolute tranquility. As I looked around further, I noticed smaller maps scattered about on the green-painted walls, each showing the territory of a once powerful empire which was, eventually, crushed to dust beneath the boot-heels of a stronger army.

"Interesting hobby," I remarked, more to hear myself speak than anything else. "Is there a message behind these?"

"World domination."

I whirled back to face her, catching the slightly sarcastic grin that made its way across her beautiful face. "Very funny."

Her eyebrow went up again. "What makes you think I’m joking?"

I stared at her for a moment, then shook my head. Something told me there was more truth to those words than I wanted to hear.

The small space around us, and the energy with which we were filling it, became too intense suddenly. I’m afraid I took the coward’s way out. "Well, I guess I should go now. I hope you enjoy your rake."

"I’m sure I will. And thank you."

I couldn’t help it. I had to smile. "You’re very welcome. Anytime. If you ever need anything else, just remember who can get it for you."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Well, I guess I’ll see you around?" Intense as the situation was, part of me, a big part, was absolutely loathe to leave.

At her nod, I grinned again and walked to the barred door of the cell. Just at the threshhold, I paused and turned back. "Ice?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. About what happened last week. My words put you in a bad position and I want you to know that I never meant to do that."

"It’s already forgotten."

"Thanks!" I paused, desperately trying to think of something to say, but my words, it seemed, had been all used up. "Well, goodbye, Ice."

"Goodbye, Angel."

As I stepped from the cell, not looking back, I had a distinct sense of loss. But the knowledge that she had both forgiven me for my indiscretion and allowed me into a place where no one else had ever gone warmed me like a blanket on a cold winter morning. I carried that feeling within me and savored it at odd moments.

It was a good day.

The next several weeks traveled on in their usual interminable fashion. As before, I spent most of my time in the library, cataloguing, writing, teaching and chatting with Corinne and the others who also made this place their home. I continued my daily workouts with the Amazons and sometimes, if I was lucky, Ice would join us for a bit.

When that happened, invariably what seemed like half of the prison would gather around, watching her athletic form go through its paces while badgering and begging her for the finer points of some of her varied fighting techniques. Some questions she just ignored, while others she would answer with a demonstration, using one or another of the Amazons as a sparring partner.

Like the others, I watched her every move and when I wasn’t drooling over the perfection of her body, I was taking furious mental notes, learning everything I could from a woman who was, in my estimation, one of the greatest fighters ever. Not that I'd ever had cause to see many up close and personal, mind you. But, as you can no doubt tell by reading this far into my tale, when it comes to Ice, I can be quite biased.

One such morning found me out in the yard, my bare foot red and stinging from repeated kicks to the canvas heavy bag that continued to mock me with its smug complacency. My lesson today was round kicks and Pony, as always, was a patient teacher. She’d started off easy, marking a spot on the dirty canvas with a piece of cinder and asking me to kick at it repeatedly with my right leg, demanding that I hit the exact same spot with each blow. After I had managed to hit the mark flawlessly for what felt like three or four thousand repetitions, she moved the mark higher, then higher again until my body was completely laid out and I was forced to stand up on my toes just to launch the kick. The tendons in my groin bellowed out their protests quite stridently.

After missing the mark for the tenth time in a row, I stopped, panting lightly and putting my hands on my hips. "I can’t do it, Pony. I’m just not tall enough."

Suddenly, the radiating heat of another body slid itself against my back as hands moved to displace my own from my hips. Long, tanned fingers took their place, splaying slightly against my abdomen. "Sure ya are," came the low, sultry voice in my ear, its tenor, combined with the supple strength of the body behind me, sending entirely different signals to the tendons, as well as other areas, in my groin.

The voice came at me again, caressing my senses as the warmth of strong flesh leeched itself through the resilient fabric of my jumpsuit. "You’re just not in the right position."

As you might have already guessed, at that point in time, I could think of no other position in the world that could have possibly been more right than the one I was in.

Strong hips thrust lightly against my backside, angling my pelvis so that my right side was slightly closer to the hanging bag. "It’s all in the positioning, Angel. Feel my body as I make the kick."

Melding us seamlessly together, Ice launched a light round kick to the topmost part of the heavy-bag. Even with a teasing shot, the chain rattled out its protest as the bag swayed as if blown by a violent wind. The feeling of Ice’s body uncoiling against me as she released the blow was indescribable.

"Feel that?"

"Oh yes."

"Ready to give it a try?"

"Uhhh . . .maybe once more?" Yes, I could play stupid with the best of them, alright.

Her hands tightened around my hips as, into my vision a long leg slashed, rocketing into the bag and, it seemed, managing to sway the entire building with its strength. The metal links holding the bag to the eaves groaned again as if they seriously considered snapping in a shower of rust just to protest the abuse they were receiving. "Better?"

"Oh yes, much better, thanks. I’m almost sure I’ve got it down now."

"Almost?" From the tone of the voice in my ear, I knew my game had been discovered and I tensed slightly, waiting for the inevitable.

After a second or two with nothing happening, I relaxed. "Yes, almost. Once more should do the trick."

"Are you sure." Ice’s tone was rich with suppressed mirth.

"Positive. Just one more time. That’s all I need."

"Alright. Once more and then you’re on your own."

"Check."

Once again, her hands tightened against me and I leaned back into the strength of her body as the muscles clenched, then loosened, their motion caressing my back with sensual abandon. Her long, thick, soft hair fanned across my shoulder and slid against my cheek, filling my nostrils with its wonderful fragrance. My eyes slipped closed and I imagine I had the goofiest grin of pure bliss stamped across my face.

Unfortunately, in my pleasure-filled haze, I had forgotten about the difference in our heights. When my eyes opened again, I caught the twinkle of perfect sapphires as they gazed back at me in amusement. "Ya can’t learn much with your eyes closed, Angel."

"Were they closed?"

A faint smirk was all the answer I needed.

"Oh. Well . . .I was . . .feeling the kick. With my body. Like you told me. Right?"

"Feeling the kick."

"Right. With my body. Just like you said."

"And what did it feel like?"

Involuntarily, my eyes closed again. "Heavenly."

A burst of laughter told me that my comment had been uttered aloud. I felt the blush begin at my toes and spread at a record pace throughout the rest of my body. I made a weak try to escape the situation but Ice merely tightened her arms, pinning me to her body. "Don’t worry about Pony. She’s just taken one too many hits to the head."

"Hey!" my friend shouted in mock outrage, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"Just ignore her," Ice said as she released her grip on my hips and stepped back away from me. It took all my effort not to step back with her, but one long look at Pony’s still red face convinced me to stay where I was.

"Alright, Angel," Ice said from her place behind me, "try it now. Remember, it’s all in the positioning of your body. Visualize the kick and then go for it."

Taking a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, I ran through the kick once more in my mind, visualized my foot hitting that high black mark, then let loose, twisting on my foot and shooting my leg out and up.

I grinned as I heard the satisfying smack of flesh against canvas and felt the bag give with the force of my kick. Pony, who was holding the bag to steady it for me, flew away, almost colliding with a weight bench.

"Yes!" I crowed.

Pony turned wide eyes to me. "Where in the world did that come from??"

With a triumphant smirk of my own, I narrowed my eyes at my astounded friend. "Let’s just say I needed the right motivation."

A soft snort sounded behind me and I whirled in time to see Ice quickly cover her mouth with her fingers as her eyes shot skyward in an expression of devilish innocence. When her fingers came away again, her usual no nonsense expression was settled firmly over her features. "Alright, you did it once. Good. Now keep practicing until you can hit that same spot repeatedly without missing."

I groaned.

She narrowed her eyes at me, then her expression cleared. "Angel, look. This stuff isn’t easy, but if you want the tools needed to defend yourself against some of these idiots, you’ve got to practice." She smiled slightly. "Besides, you’re a natural. You’ve got a good, strong, compact body with a low center of gravity."

"You mean I’m short."

"No. I mean you’ve got a good, strong, compact body with a low center of gravity. Makes you hard to hit. Plus, you’re quick. If you try one of those high kicks at an opponent, say Derby’s size, you’ll surprise the hell outta her."

I nodded. "Surprise is good. Surprise is great, as a matter of fact. I just wish . . . ."

"What?"

I sighed, feeling my shoulders slump slightly. "I just wish I didn’t have to learn all this. Don’t get me wrong, I know I have to learn to defend myself. I just wish I could learn without having to hurt anyone else, that’s all."

Ice stepped close once again, reaching out and laying both hands on my shoulders. Her gaze was deep and direct and utterly serious. "Angel, in a place like this, sometimes you don’t have a choice."

As she stood looking at me, the silence drawing out between us, I could tell she could feel the strength of my convictions because her eyes changed color with her thoughts. After a moment, she stepped away and turned toward Pony. "Come at me."

Pony blinked. Then a slow, pleased grin spread across her face. "Alright." She rolled her neck in slow circles, loosening the tendons, then jerked her head sharply left, then right. The resulting sounds of vertebrae realigning themselves made me faintly nauseous.

Then, with a shout, she threw herself at Ice, her hands, feet, arms and legs a wild blur of motion. It reminded me of nothing so much as one of those horridly dubbed Japanese ‘kung fu’ films that my father used to watch in lieu of going to church on Sunday mornings. I can remember being too sick to go to church a few times and snuggling on the couch with my father, trying hard not to laugh at the seemingly outlandish fight sequences lest my absorbed parent chase me from the room and back into my boring old bed.

Watching some of those same moves in person, however, gave me an entirely new respect for the techniques I’d only laughed about in the past. Wild though they seemed, each strike was furiously controlled, aimed at one specific part of the body, and determined to do as much damage with as little effort as possible.

Pony was truly a sight to behold with her slashing limbs and wild, almost feral smile.

Ice was a different beast altogether. Her eyes half lidded and almost bored, she blocked each and every blow with seemingly lazy ease, turning Pony’s blows away and bleeding their strength while doing nothing to counterattack. The muscles of her body were loose and relaxed, her breathing even and steady.

I watched with absorbed fascination as I noticed that none of the slashing blows came anywhere near hitting her, though it was obvious that Pony was doing her level best to connect. Rather than become frustrated, however, Pony simply changed combinations and angles, coming in high, then low, then low again, trying to confuse her opponent.

Ice wasn’t buying into the rapidly shifting tactics, content to maintain her ‘lion lazing in the sun’ pose as she used her long arms and legs to continue to shunt the blows coming at her from all directions.

The mock battle began to draw spectators from all corners of the yard, but I was adamant on maintaining my position at the head of the crowd, using my ‘good, strong, compact body’ and my ‘low center of gravity’ effectively. Ice watched me from the corner of her eye, grinning slightly as she saw me stubbornly battling the crushing press of the crowd at my back and sides.

Pulling out another weapon in her arsenal, Pony twisted her body, then launched a truly spectacular spinning back kick at Ice’s midsection. Her reaction faster than a striking cobra, Ice neatly caught Pony’s outstretched foot, turning the ankle outward just to the point of snapping.

Pony yelped, then slapped her thigh with her open hand, calling ‘mercy’ with the action.

After another second, Ice released Pony’s foot and grinned as the other woman hopped backwards, cursing and rubbing her ankle. "You know that move never works on me, Pony. Why do ya keep on trying it?"

Planting her aching foot on the ground, Pony put her hands on her hips and scowled. "Because it works on everyone else, and one day, Ice . . . ."

Ice snorted. "Dream on." Then she turned to me, eyebrow raised in silent question.

I nodded. "That was good."

"Alright, Pony. Get Montana and Critter to work with her. Half an hour of Aikido, half an hour of blocks. Hour and a half of each on Saturdays."

Pony nodded her dark head, her hair wet with the sweat of exertion. "You got it."

The warning bell sounded, ending the exercise period and I turned to Ice, smiling. "Thank you."

Nodding at me in acknowledgement, she turned and slapped Pony on the shoulder before stalking off toward the building, her boots kicking up tiny puffs of dust as she walked.

Pony came up to me, with her cocky grin and sweating form, and flung a casual arm around my shoulders, bulling us both through the dispersing crowd and back toward the prison that was our home.

"That was fantastic, Pony. How long did it take you to learn all those moves?"

She shrugged. "I’ve always been into karate and other forms of martial arts. Got my black belt when I was fifteen or so. When Ice was here before, she really helped me out a lot. Still can’t beat her though."

"Do you think you ever will?"

"Nah. She’s way beyond anything that’s out there." She grinned again, that wild, free grin that sparkled her dark eyes. "Sure is fun to try though." Releasing me as we stepped into the building, she turned. "Heading back to the library?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Down to grab a shower. Tell Corinne I said hello, alright?"

"Will do. Thanks again, Pony."

With a rakish grin and an imaginary tip of a hat, she turned from me and was gone, her orange-clad form swallowed up by the long, dank halls of the prison.

I too continued down the hall a few more yards, then made a left into the library, catching a flash of orange as another inmate entered ahead of me. And found myself almost plowing right into the broad back of Ice as she stood just within the entrance to the room. Excusing myself hastily, I stepped away, watching as a huge smile crossed Corinne’s face. "As I live and breathe. The great Morgan Steele has actually graced my library with her presence!" Standing, my friend grasped beneath her left breast in mock pain. "Take me now, Lord! I’ve finally lived to see it all!"

Smiling slightly, Ice shook her head and walked over to the desk, meeting Corinne half way and enveloping her in a massive hug.

I could feel my face go tight in shocked reaction as I watched the scene play out before me. In the time I’d known her, though not long, to be sure, I’d never ever seen Ice be so physically affectionate with anyone. In a way, it was akin to watching a statue come to life and grab an unsuspecting passer-by. I was stunned.

Stepping away from the hug, Corinne held Ice at arm’s length, looking her up and down. "My God. I thought growth spurts were supposed to stop at eighteen! You’re even taller than when I saw you last!"

Ice rolled her eyes. "Corinne, I saw you last week."

"Yes, I do seem to remember someone grunting at me as I passed by in the hallway. Was that you? And here I thought we’d obtained a penitentiary pig."

"Corinne . . . ."

Slapping Ice lightly on the arm, Corinne backed away, grinning unrepentantly. "So, what brings you into my evil web? Come to talk to an old, and I’m not getting any younger by the way, friend? Or was it something else?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if that book I’d ordered had come in yet."

Corinne tapped her chin, her eyes twinkling. "Book. Book. Ah yes. The Gulag Archipelago, wasn’t it?"

"You read Solzhenitsyn?" I blurted out before I could ram my foot down my throat.

Ice did a slow turn, facing me with narrowed eyes. "Something wrong with that?"

"No! No, not at all! I was just . . .um . . .he’s one of my favorite writers."

As she continued to stare at me, I turned my eyes pleadingly to Corinne.

"Don’t mind Angel. She’s just a literary snob. Doesn’t think the rest of us common folk could tell the difference between Dostoevski and Doonesbury."

"Corinne!"

Smirking, Ice turned back to Corinne, hands on her hips. "So, is it in yet?"

"Something I’ve asked my husbands many a time, my dear, though the answer in this case would be no."

"Alright, then. Would you please send someone to tell me when it does come in?"

"Ah, ah, ah, dear Ice. Not so fast. You’re in my domain now, where I rule as Sovereign. Now sit down at that table over there, relax, and drink some tea or else!"

"Or else what?"

"Never you mind ‘or else what’, Ice. The tea’s ready and waiting to be drunk. Get that cute little butt of yours over to that table and sit down."

There are times when I could cheerfully yank my tongue from my throat, and this was definitely such a time. A laugh erupted before I could stop it, earning me another icy-eyed glare from my intimidating companion. I winced, expecting some form of retribution, only to relax when none was immediately forthcoming.

Ice turned back to Corinne and the air became thick and heated with the intensity of their stare-down. After a long moment of utter silence, Ice threw up her hands and turned on her heel. "Fine." Stalking over to the table, she pulled out a chair, turned it, and sat down, straddling the back.

Corinne grinned triumphantly, though her eyes still held that teasing sparkle. "Good Lord, Ice, you were doing ‘petulant’ when you were fifteen! I would have thought that would have been one of the things you’d have grown out of by now."

"Just pour the damn tea, Corinne, or I’ll show you some other things I haven’t grown out of."

Tipping me a wink, Corinne turned and busied herself at the teapot, humming gleefully. A few moments later, she returned, bearing two steaming mugs, one of which she set before Ice, and the other slid home in the space beside the tall woman. "Such a bully," she murmured, patting Ice affectionately on the shoulder. Then she turned to me, hands on hips. "Well, what are you waiting for? The Second Coming? Get on over here, Angel, and stop acting like you’re watching two dogs going at it in the front yard."

Blushing and properly chastised, I slowly walked over to the other side of the table. Slouching gingerly into my seat to avoid any more scathing commentary, I meekly took the offered mug and sipped down the hot tea, my eyes studiously avoiding the other two women.

"She takes to teasing almost as bad as you do," she stage-whispered to Ice.

"I wonder why," Ice remarked drolly. "You should have that tongue of yours declared a lethal weapon and confiscated as contraband."

Corinne smirked. "Then what would all my lady-friends think?"

A fine spray of hot tea spewed forth from my lips at Corinne’s remark, managing to douse part of the table and part of, to my utter mortification, Ice. As Ice jumped from her chair, batting at the hot droplets clinging to her skin, Corinne collapsed against the table, howling with laughter.

I rose from my chair quickly, trying to help clean her arm, when Ice batted my hands away. "Please," I begged, "let me help you."

"No. No, you’ve done enough. Just sit back down."

Corinne laughed harder, slapping her hand down on the table, which caused the mugs to jitter violently, tea splashing over their sides and adding to the mess already there.

Ice walked over to the hidden hotplate and grabbed one of Corinne’s neatly pressed linen handkerchiefs, dabbing the scalding liquid from her skin and uniform. All of our heads turned sharply toward the door as a badly out of breath Critter came to a sliding halt, just inside the library. "Ice," she panted, grasping her heaving chest, "you gotta come quick. Psycho broke out and she’s got a shiv at some guard’s neck. She’s asking for you."

"Shit." Throwing the rag down on the table next to the teapot, Ice bolted from the room, Critter hard on her heels.

Corinne and I exchanged a look before I too jumped to my feet and ran out the door, trying hard to keep Critter’s bobbing curls in sight.

*******

As I look over these notes I’ve written, it occurs to me that you, the reader, are probably wondering exactly who Psycho is and why she needed to speak to Ice. As your faithful chronicler, it is my sworn duty to keep you informed, and shall do so right now.

The first thing you should know is that, although her prison nickname was ‘Psycho’, no one ever, ever called her that to her face. Her birth name was Cassandra Smythson, and that was the name she went by in the Bog.

The second thing you should know is that Cassandra was dangerously insane. A battery of psychiatrists performed a battery of tests to prove it. She was floridly psychotic but had many moments of perfect lucidity. She was also Obsessive/Compulsive and one of her obsessions was Ice.

Cassandra had been in the Bog since she was eighteen, making her a resident for six years as of the time of the events I shall soon be recounting. When she was eighteen, and a senior in high school, Cassandra had come home after a night of drinking and drugging, to find her mother waiting for her. Words were exchanged and Cassandra went into the kitchen, pulled out a butcher knife, and proceeded to stab her mother thirty seven times, killing her. The coroner stated that, based on the level of blood loss, fully ninety percent of the wounds were inflicted post mortem. Then she went through the house and killed her two younger brothers as well as her sister, who was three at the time.

After spending the night in the house with the dead bodies of her entire family, she went into school and killed three fellow classmates. She was working on her teacher when the captain of the football team rushed in and managed to subdue her, though not until he had suffered numerous cuts of his own in addition to a concussion and the loss of his previously capped front teeth.

It’s no lie to say that it was obvious to everyone that Cassandra Smythson was totally crazy. The police knew it, the judge knew it, the psychiatrists proved it, and the public knew it. The best thing anyone could have possibly done for all concerned was to put her into a nice, safe, secure mental institution and throw away the key.

That, of course, wasn’t to be. Juries being what they are sometimes, Cassandra was found competent to stand trial, and did so. Her guilt was a foregone conclusion, though a lot of credit should go to her team of lawyers. They did the best they could and put on a very strong case that pointed almost every finger imaginable toward her insanity.

The jury didn’t buy into it and found her guilty of seven counts of first degree murder. The judge should have taken the tiger by the tail and sentenced her to life in a facility for the criminally insane. Instead, in a show of infinite ‘wisdom’, he decided to take the jury’s recommendation, and so Cassandra Smythson joined the ‘lifer’s club’ at the Bog.

After a full month in the segregation unit, Cassandra was released into the general population. Two days later, she murdered an inmate, luring her into the laundry room (here’s a hint from yours truly: if you ever find yourself in prison, stay away from the laundry room. Lots of bad things happen there) and stuffing her into an industrial strength drier, setting the temperature on ‘high’ and leaning against the door for close to an hour, laughing and singing to cover the sound of the inmate’s ever weakening screams.

After this little fiasco, the Division of Prisons demanded that she be placed in an insane asylum. The judge would hear nothing of the plea, issuing a counter demand, backed by a judicial order, to keep her locked up in the Bog.

The Warden decided to place Cassandra in the only secure place in the prison, the segregation unit, where she was to be locked into her cell twenty three hours a day, to be let out only for a shower and a brief walk around the yard, fully manacled and under strict supervision.

While this arrangement was infinitely better for the safety of the other inmates, it did nothing for their sense of peace. When deep into her psychosis, Cassandra would throw herself into the bars of her cell, screaming at the top of her lungs for hours without rest.

For obvious reasons, the time new inmates spent in segregation was cut from one to two weeks to two to five days. And still, most of the new ones would come out of their time in the unit white faced and shaking, needing nothing so much as a nice, long, quiet rest in their new cells.

After six months, or so I’m told, Cassandra began to calm down and her screaming outbursts didn’t occur so frequently. Many of the guards felt that she was finally becoming accustomed to her new home. They soon found out the truth.

Many penitentiaries have stories of inmates who are well known for keeping, taming and loving pets of the animal variety. Alcatraz had its Birdman. The Bog had Cassandra.

It seems that an industrious gray rat found its way into both Cassandra’s cell and her heart. Now rats are very intelligent creatures who are easily trained and respond to the sound of their names being called by their owners. This particular rat, whom Cassandra named ‘Heracles’, was a fine representative of his species. In seemingly no time at all, the insane inmate had him doing little tricks for her, which in turn kept her subdued and quiet.

Cassandra’s favorite trick, pointing directly to her psychosis, was to wait until a new inmate had settled in for the night and was sound asleep in an adjacent cell. Then she would release Heracles, who would scamper through the bars and into the new one’s cell, climb up the stiffly starched and threadbare sheets, and nose around until his twitching whiskers found bare flesh. Then he would stand there, doing his best impersonation of an innocent rat, while the inmate would scramble away, screaming as if all the demons of hell were at her heels.

Cassandra would throw her platinum blonde head back and laugh, an insane cackle that seemed to cut through your soul like the butcher knife she’d wielded with such devastating results.

Obviously, this behavior resulted in regular trips by the guards into Cassandra’s cell, trying to take her prized pet from her. And, of course, the insane woman would go into a fit of fury until the guards just threw up their hands in capitulation and let her keep Heracles, with the admonition that she never do it again. It never worked.

No one knows exactly why Cassandra’s other obsession was Ice. The two never talked, but when Cassandra would be led around the exercise yard like a dog on a leash, her deep brown eyes would remain pinned to Ice’s long form for the duration, her face totally expressionless.

So concludes my exposition on the woman known as Psycho. Now, back to the story.

*******

I finally caught up to Critter just as she reached the second floor landing where the segregation unit was housed. All I could see before me was a press of brown-clad bodies standing stiffly, their night-sticks at the ready. Ice had just parted the crowd, stepping to Sandra Pierce’s side, as I ran forward and the guards closed ranks behind her, blocking my view once again.

Grabbing my hand, Critter led me around to the side of the crowd and from there, I could peek over the head of one of the shorter guards by standing on my toes and lifting my head as high as it would go. A stiff neck and aching calves were but a small price to pay to assuage my curiosity.

Cassandra was standing just outside the barred steel door that led into the segregation unit. She had one of the newer guards, a thin, sour-faced woman named Carla, in a headlock and had a steel shiv placed on the woman’s pronounced jugular. When Ice stepped through the crowd, Cassandra’s face split with a coy grin. "Well hello there, my dear Ice. So glad you could join my little party." Her sing-song voice was high pitched like that of a young girl and her brown eyes were dark with insane glee.

"What do you want, Cassandra," Ice stated bluntly.

The other woman’s head cocked to the side as her grin widened. "Isn’t that so like you, Ice. No time for chit chat. Always busy." She tightened her grip on the guard’s neck, who gasped wheezingly. "What do I want. What do I want? Well, let’s see. I’d like world peace. A cure for cancer." Her grin turned malicious. "And to stick my little tool deep into this little piggy’s neck and feel my hands turn hot with her blood." She winked. "Does that answer your question, pretty?"

"Cassandra . . . ."

"Oh please, Ice. Must you be so formal? Just call me Psycho. All my friends do." Her leer returned as she ran her eyes brazenly over Ice’s orange-clad form. "And I consider you one of my . . .closest . . .friends."

Ice turned to Sandra. "What happened?"

Cassandra cut in before the guard had a chance to speak. "Oh yes, Sandra, do tell our dear Ice what happened. And don’t leave out any of the details. While she listens to the whole sad story, I’ll just play pincushion with my sweet little piggy here. You’d like that, wouldn’t you piggy? Can you squeal for me? Squeal nicely for your Auntie Psycho?"

The captive guard uttered a sound best classified as a cross between a scream and a squeal, aided as she was by the sharp jab of Cassandra’s shiv into the tender flesh of her neck.

"Oh, very good, little piggy. I just might have to keep you around to play with for a while. Would you like that?"

"Cassandra, please."

The blonde woman sighed. "Oh alright, Ice. You know, you really should learn to be less serious about things. You’re so much more beautiful when you smile." She released her tense grip on the guard just slightly, laughing as her shiv came away with a droplet of blood. Sticking the pointed end of it into her mouth, her eyes rolled back in her head as she licked the blood from the weapon, making the action an erotic display.

Sandra turned her gaze to Ice. "The Warden got another complaint from one of the newbies. He sent Carla in to get rid of Heracles."

Ice’s eyes narrowed in anger. "Damn it, Sandra. That was just stupid."

The guard lifted her hands in a placating gesture. "I know, Ice. I know. And Carla broke the rules by not asking me first." She shot a glare to the captive guard who returned it with frightened eyes.

"Where’s Heracles now?"

Sandra gestured. "Still in her cell. She grabbed the guard before Carla could make it inside. We’ve been standing here ever since."

"And what a wonderful stand-off it is too, wouldn’t you agree, Ice? All these big bad guards against li’l ol’ me. Whatever shall I do?" Grinning evilly once again, Cassandra pricked Carla’s neck once again, laughing as blood welled up in the tiny puncture. The guard screamed again.

"Alright, Cassandra, that’s enough!" Ice demanded. "You’ve made your point. Now let her go."

Cassandra moued her lips. "No can do, I’m afraid. No, this little pig needs to be taught a lesson. The only reason I asked you here, Ice, is that I know, of all the other little rodents in this festering boil they call a jail, you’re the one who would most enjoy the sight of a good kill."

"Cassandra, please. You’ve already scared whatever little sense she might have had right out of her. Killing her will accomplish nothing."

"Perhaps not," Cassandra agreed. Then she grinned once again. "But it’ll make me feel good. And I do so enjoy feeling good." The insane woman turned her gaze to the side a moment, then looked back at Ice, her eyes blazing with new purpose. "Tell you what. I’ll give up this little pig of mine if you agree to take her place, Ice. Does that sound good? Think about it. You . . .me . . .together. Doesn’t the thought of it make your blood run hot?"

Sandra stepped forward. "Forget it, Cassandra."

The inmate brought up her shiv again. "Stay out of this, head sow, or there’ll be one less pig in the pen."

Grabbing Sandra back by the sleeve of her uniform, Ice stared down at the head guard. "Let me do this, Sandra. It’s the only way this is gonna end."

"Listen to her, Sandra!" Cassandra crowed. "Ice has a fine mind trapped within that beautiful skull of hers."

"Ice, I can’t let you do this. It’s totally against procedure."

"Fuck procedure! Your procedure went right out the window the minute your guard went into Cassandra’s cell alone."

"Ice . . . ."

"Sandra, listen. This is the only way to resolve things. I’ll be alright."

"Oh, she’ll be very alright," Cassandra supplied.

"Ice, I can’t."

"Then I’m not giving you a choice. You’ll have to stop me, and I don’t think you wanna do that." Ice’s eyes grew cold and flinty. Sandra looked down after a moment. "Alright, Cassandra, we’ll do it your way. Send the guard over here and I’ll come to you."

"Sorry, Ice. I run the show here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m the one with all the cards, after all. No, you come to me first. Then I release the little piggy."

"Alright, fine." Before anyone could think to stop her, Ice strode toward Cassandra, who tightened her hold around Carla’s neck. Holding up her empty hands, Ice allowed the other woman to grab her by the arm while releasing her tight grip on Carla. Bringing her leg up, Cassandra kicked the guard back to the others, then twisted Ice’s arm up behind her, putting the shiv to the taller woman’s elegant neck. "Oh, Ice," she said in a throaty voice, "this is so much better. To think of all the nights I’ve dreamed of this. You in my arms, my knife at your beautiful throat. I’m getting chills just thinking about it. And now I have you."

Ice stayed as calm and collected as her nick, her demeanor giving nothing away. "Alright, Cassandra, ya got me. What now?"

The blonde’s eyes became unfocused with thought. "Now? Well ya know? I hadn’t really thought about that. I suppose I could kill you like the sweet little sacrificial lamb you are, but then I’d never see you again and that would be a pity." She rested her chin on Ice’s broad shoulder, apparently deep in thought with what few working brain cells she still managed to possess. Then a smile lit up her beautiful face and she straightened behind my friend. "Got it. I’ll let you go, my beauty, if you, in return, will fulfill two . . .small . . .conditions for me."

Ice’s raven brow hiked upward to hide behind her bangs. "And those would be?"

"First you must promise to speak to that disgusting little warden on my behalf. Convince him that my sweet little Heracles is here to stay if he wants peace in his jail. Would you do that for me, Ice?"

"No promises, Cassandra, but I can try."

"That’s all I ask. I know how . . .persuasive . . .you can be . . .when you set your mind to it."

"And the other condition?"

"Kiss me."

The other brow joined the first. "What?"

"Kiss me. Right here. Right now. Declare your passion for me in front of God and guards." Her grin became hard at Ice’s surprised hesitation. "Answer me quickly, Ice, or you’ll be trying to breathe through the hole I’m going to put in your neck."

"Alright," Ice drawled in a deadly soft voice, a totally feral smile putting its stamp across her features.

"Oh goody!" Cassandra chirped, pulling the shiv away as she turned Ice to face her. Turning her head to the side, she looked up into Ice’s stormy eyes, her expression one of well-feigned innocence. "Will you lead or shall I?"

Smirking, Ice lowered her dark head, by slow degrees, the raven fan of her hair all but eclipsing Cassandra’s fair features. I stared on, gape-jawed with shock and, if I’m to be totally truthful here, more than a bit envious, even with the current conditions.

The kiss was raw, hard, almost exactly how I pictured a kiss from Ice to be. As her mouth covered the soft, full lips of Cassandra, the blonde woman’s eyes rolled back in her head as her eyelids fluttered, then closed completely. A deep moan sounded forth from her throat, clearly audible to everyone looking on.

A tan, long fingered hand threaded itself through the fall of Cassandra’s hair, pulling them closer together as Ice deepened the kiss, seeming to devour the smaller woman’s mouth with her own. Several of the guards shifted position. I shifted position, suddenly aware how intensely hot it had gotten in the prison. A hand clapped my shoulder, and when I turned my head, Critter was grinning and shaking her head. "Whoo hoo," she mouthed.

I nodded back, fervently, while another part of me sat back in shock at my supposed enjoyment of such a deadly situation.

Ice moved her other arm slowly from its place behind her back, trailing sensual fingers up Cassandra’s thin, but beautiful, body. The moans increased in intensity, causing more shifting by the watching guards. Up those beautiful fingers went, playing over a firm, flat abdomen, trailing over full, firm breasts, across a jutting collarbone and down the nearest arm.

Even from where I was standing, I could see the gooseflesh that followed Ice’s touch. I’m afraid I shivered at the sight, my own skin prickling in empathetic reaction as I imagined those fingers trailing over my own skin.

Then, with a swiftness that brought me out of my erotic haze, Ice’s thumb jabbed at the nerves in Cassandra’s wrist, causing the smaller woman to drop her shiv. With smooth economy, Ice brought Cassandra’s arm behind her back, breaking the kiss and stepping behind the blonde woman as she did so.

Cassandra blinked in dazed confusion, her free hand coming up to finger suddenly chilled lips.

The troupe of guards rushed in then, bulling Cassandra down to the ground and quickly slipping handcuffs onto her slim wrists. One of the guards grabbed the shiv, tucking it away safely as Sandra pulled the blonde up by one arm. "Anyone call the State Hospital?" the lead guard called out.

"Yeah, Sandra. They’re on their way."

"Good. I hope they manage to keep her locked up for more than twenty four hours, like last time." She turned a relieved look to Ice. "Even though you nearly cost me my job, Ice, thanks. You saved at least one life here. I owe you one."

"No problem."

"You gonna talk to the Warden?"

Ice nodded, straightening her uniform. "Yeah. I made a promise. I’m gonna keep it."

Sandra returned the nod. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

The head guard grunted, tugging the bound inmate along. "C’mon, Cassandra. Let’s go see your nice, new padded cell, shall we?"

"Eat dirt, pig," Cassandra replied, pursing her lips and spitting at the guard’s face. "Goodbye for now, my dear Ice! Don’t forget to write! I’ll miss you!"

Shaking her head and dusting herself off again, Ice headed in the direction of Critter and myself, a totally disgusted look on her face.

"That was one for the books, Ice," Critter said, grinning.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Good luck with the warden," I supplied.

"For all the good it’ll do." Turning on her heel, she strode down the stairs and off toward the separate building that housed the warden’s quarters. Our eyes followed her as she went.

"I’m gonna have to add that particular ‘kiss ‘em senseless and then disarm ‘em’ move to my repertoire," my friend commented softly. "I’ll be the happiest fighter in the Bog."

"Yeah, if you don’t try and use it against Derby."

"Well that image just ruined my lunch! Thanks a lot, Angel." She elbowed me in the side. "And here I thought you were my friend."

Laughing and clapping Critter on the back, I turned and left the scene, the images of the kiss playing in a continuous loop through my head, despite my best efforts to stop them.

An hour later, Ice came back into the main prison, her expression stony, her eyes cold and furious. The inmates she passed on her trek, myself among them, ducked quickly out of her way, lest that piercing glance be cast our way. As she stalked up the stairs on her way to her cell, I couldn’t help but wonder just what went on inside the warden’s office.

Though I wasn’t to find out what happened between Ice and the warden until some time later, something good did come of the meeting. Heracles got to stay.

There was a celebration in the Bog that evening.

*******

Nights are very long and very dark when you’re an inmate. Time passes in eons instead of seconds. Your cell is freezing in the winter, when the storms come down from Canada, entrenching the old stone prison in a block of unblemished ice. In the summer, it becomes a sauna. If you listen hard enough, you can almost hear the heat as it insidiously radiates its way through the permeable concrete blocks, bathing you in its sticky essence.

As you lay in your narrow bunk at night, counting the lumps in your mattress and hoping you aren’t sharing your sleeping space with creatures of the animal or insect variety, you can’t help but hear the mournful sound of the wind as it whistles through the gables or the ghostly knocking noises that sound as the plumbing settles in for the night. Sounds of snoring, shouts and solitary pleasures filter through the bars of your cell on silent currents.

Your mind becomes your enemy during long prison nights when the lights have been shut off, turning your world into a darkness full of wanton killers. If you close your eyes to the darkness, you might imagine yourself in some faraway fantasy land with freedom as your most cherished possession. But, in darkness or light, the living reality of your condition exists in the form of a cold barred door not five feet away, standing silent sentinel over your dreams.

The memory of the kiss was with me that hot summer night. As I tossed and turned against my sweat-damp sheets, fruitlessly trying to get it out of my mind, darkness and silence conspired to taunt me, giving my thoughts no other direction in which to turn.

Over and over I saw Ice’s sleek, dark head lower, her full lips encompassing those of a waiting Cassandra. I could almost see their tongues sliding against one another as they dueled in a sensual battle for supremacy.

I wondered again what it felt like to be Cassandra Smytheson in that minute. How did it feel to be turned from predator to prey by the power of a kiss? How did it feel to be pressed up against the heat of that strong, perfect body? What was it like to feel those long, tapering fingers draw their way up your body, leaving trails of sensation in their wake?

When my hands started to roam in the direction of my thoughts, my mind made a firm decision to cease and desist. Taking matters into my own hands was something I hadn’t done since I entered the Bog and if I was very lucky, that record would remain unblemished.

Blowing out a sigh of frustration, I turned over on my side, punched my pancake-flat pillow a few times and tried to get past the visions in my head.

Sleep, when it finally came, was anything but restful.