The shouting and banging became ever louder as I made my way to the prison's main square. If I haven't described it before, the Bog is made up of eight levels of cells which run around an open central square. Two sets of winding metal steps, one on either end of the square, wait patiently, their railings rubbed raw of paint from the press of hundreds of hands.

As I made my way down the long hallway that housed the library and stepped out into the square, my vision was filled with hundreds of orange-suited inmates yelling, jumping and chanting in unison, their faces bright with excitement and anticipation. They had split into two huge groups, leaving a narrow alley in the middle, looking much like a gauntlet of old. Even the stairs were crowded with inmates all looking toward the far entrance with expectant expressions.

My lack of height compromised my vision, and by this time, curiosity was killing me. Like the Red, or to be more accurate, Orange Sea, the inmates before me parted to admit a grinning Pony who gently herded me though the crowd and up onto the first riser of steps. Critter and Sonny were also in attendance, and both grinned at me and slapped me on the arms, gently, in congratulations for surviving the beating of the night before. I grinned back happily. "What's going on?" I shouted above the din.

Critter grinned. "You'll see!"

Settling back and crossing my arms over my chest, I resolved to wait it out. The sound of the chant finally came together in my ears and I realized that the women weren't yelling 'fight', but 'ice'. I turned back to Pony, confused. "Ice?"

My friend simply nodded and directed my attention back to the far end of the square and the barred door standing there. My attention managed to wander at the exact second the chanting stopped and the cheers began, swelling in intensity until I was sure my eardrums were going to burst with the force of the noise.

Returning my attention to the waiting door, my eyes caught a flash of bright orange surrounded by the dun brown of guard uniforms. One of the guards stepped forward and grabbed the keys hanging from his belt, using one to unlock the massive door and sliding it open.

An expectant hush settled over the prison as the guard stepped back, hand on the butt of his baton, which was hanging from a loop at his belt. With a nod to his companion, he started forward once again. As they stepped through the door, the prison exploded into a cacophony of sound. Plastering my hands over my ears, I watched the spectacle unfolding before me.

The two guards stepped through with almost military precision, obviously well prepared for trouble. Then, walking a perfect half step behind, arms and legs firmly manacled, came the center of everyone's attention.

I found myself riveted. The sounds around me seemed to fall away into silence, though my body continued to feel their vibrations. Standing at least half a head taller than the men surrounding her, a vision stepped into the prison proper, moving with a regal grace the likes of which I'd never seen. She seemed to command the room with the strength of her spirit, issuing a compelling summons I found myself unable to turn away from.

Her hair was black and shining, tumbling in violent waves down her back and brushing over shoulders so broad and perfect that they strained the orange jumpsuit that clung to her magnificent form like a lover. In that moment, I would have given anything to be that particular prison uniform.

Her face seemed carved of alabaster, a perfect rendering of some ancient goddess full of fire and fierceness, all slashing cheekbones and full red lips.

But her eyes. If I live to be a hundred, I'll never be able to describe the beauty of their perfection. Shining fierce and proud, they glowed the deepest blue of the hottest part of a candle's flame. Or, perhaps, the center of a perfect block of ice.

With that thought, I came to realize the meaning of her prison name, and it fit her like none other has before, or ever will.

Her stare burned hot and cold at the same time, taking in the whole room while dismissing us all.

Closer she came on long, muscled legs that carried her like a predatory beast. Her guards followed like a retinue of fawning advisors, keeping her adoring public at a safe distance, lest she lash out, chained limbs and all, killing with just a thought.

Her gaze was straight ahead until she mounted the first step. Then, ever so slowly, her head turned and I felt the heat of those cold eyes as they engulfed me, drowning me in a pool so deep and so pure that I couldn't help but go willingly to my death. Our gazes locked and I'm sure my face went white. An eternity passed in that brief second. Her soul called out and mine answered as visions spun out between us of past lives led and sacrifices made. All in the name of a perfect love that was never born and would never die.

The attention of the entire prison was upon us, but I had eyes only for her. She represented freedom in a way that even life outside the confines of this prison never could. I saw the blue of a perfect summer's day in her glance and the promise of safety, and a tattered soul, and a love so deep, offered up in one brief look, if only I could gather the courage to reach out and take it.

My body followed where my mind had already lead and, quite beyond my conscious will, my arm lifted, reaching out to confirm with solid, human contact that this was no mere dream but a living, breathing reality that stood before me.

A flash of brown entered the periphery of my vision and I felt my arm being gently shunted aside as a guard stepped back, shattering the moment. A smirk curved the soft, full lips of my enchantress. With the raise of an eyebrow and the barest ghost of a wink, she turned her attention from me and headed up the stairs to the segregation unit, leaving me more bereft than I can ever remember being.

The sound rushed back, as if from a vacuum, and my head spun from the intensity of the moment. Pony caught me as I sagged back against the railing, the strength suddenly gone from my legs. As the prisoner was led into her new cell, the crowd started to break up and Pony and Critter each took one of my arms, leading me back down the stairs and toward the library, Sonny keeping close behind.

I remember very little about that short trip. The best metaphor I can come up with now is to liken it to the touching of an electrified fence unawares, being galvanized by the current, and, if lucky, living to feel the after-images as they tingle through your seared nerve endings.

So wrapped up in these strange new feelings was I that I didn't even notice when we finally entered the warm dimness of the library. My new friends escorted me to my chair and parked me there, then grinned down at my dazed expression before talking quietly with Corinne and leaving me to my thoughts once again.

The next thing I can truly remember is Corinne approaching me with a mug of her famous tea. She handed it to me and I gulped almost the entire thing down, unmindful of the intense heat burning at my tongue and palate.

The pain hit a split second later, and I slammed the mug down, fanning my face as my eyes watered. My friend had the good grace not to laugh at my foolishness, but I felt like a child nonetheless. I know I blushed from more than the heat of the tea, and the scarred table top suddenly became an interesting work of art, one requiring my full attention and study.

Corinne patiently waited me out and, finally gathering up the tattered remnants of my courage, I chanced to look up, internally wincing against the look of gentle mocking I was sure was in her eyes.

Instead, her gaze was calm and compassionate and I sunk into it with a feeling of relief. "Are you alright?" she asked in a gentle, quiet voice.

"I . . .I'm not sure. I think so." Looking at her, I struggled to put my feelings into words. "What happened?"

Corinne smiled. "Ice happened."

PART 2.

"WHO IS SHE?" That one question suddenly encompassed all of me. It was something I needed to know as badly as I needed air to breathe and food to eat.

In answer, my friend rose from her chair and went back to her desk. Opening one of the drawers, she withdrew a scrapbook and came back to the table, sliding it in front of me. "That should give you some of your answers."

Opening the book, I looked down at the first newspaper headline and some of my feelings of recognition clicked into place.

Even if you're not from this area, if you are old enough to have been able to read during the late nineteen sixties, you may remember the name Morgan Steele. At the time, she held the dubious honor of being the youngest female mass murderer in American history. By now, I'm sure someone has surpassed her record, but it was headline news for the time period.

Morgan was fifteen, and a child of the streets, when her best friend was murdered in a drug buy gone wrong. It's said that Morgan was out of town on other business at that time, but when she came back and found out what happened, she went berserk. Stealing a gun from a pawn shop, the teen stalked the people who had murdered her friend and, almost a month later, trapped them all in a warehouse. There were sixteen members of a street gang in that warehouse that night. Morgan killed them all. When her gun ran out of ammunition, she went after the survivors with a tire iron. And when that broke, the finished the last teen off with her feet and fists.

Responding to a 'disturbing the peace' call, police entered the warehouse just in time to see Morgan snap the neck of her final victim. Then, her rage not yet spent, she went after the two policemen who tried to apprehend her.

She was shot five times and spent almost two months in the hospital before recovering enough to stand trial.

The verdict was a foregone conclusion and only the sentence sparked interest. Because she was a juvenile, the death penalty, though perhaps warranted, was not an option. Most thought she would spend her time in a juvenile hall until she reached twenty one and was released with a clean record. In a landmark decision, the judge passed a life sentence without possibility of parole, to be served in an adult penitentiary.

There was some public outcry over the decision, but for the most part, people seemed satisfied that justice had been properly served and Morgan was taken off to the Rainwater Women's Correctional Facility to serve out the rest of her natural life behind bars.

However, there were things going on behind the scenes and Morgan's case wasn't left to lie in some newspaper morgue collecting dust. High powered attorneys stepped forward and, during the next five years, managed to take the case all the way to the United States Supreme Court. On March 16, 1972, the Supreme Court declared that Morgan's sentence was unconstitutional. Four months later, on her twenty first birthday, Morgan Steele was released from prison, a free woman.

After my eyes scanned the last article, I closed the scrapbook and slid it back across the table to Corinne. "She was just a child when she came here. What happened to turn her into the person who would receive a welcome like the one I just saw?"

Corinne smiled sadly. "I think something happened to her while she was in the hospital recovering from her wounds. The person I met wasn't the same one who murdered all those teens in cold blood. She was quiet, respectful. She just wanted to do her time as smoothly as possible. She didn't want trouble." My friend caressed the leather cover of the scrapbook idly as her eyes took on a far away look. "Trouble managed to find her, though. In the late sixties, the gangs ruled this prison, even moreso than they do today. Racism was a big issue and there were racial riots almost every week. Beatings. Stabbings. Fires. You name it. The guards were quitting faster than they could hire new ones. The governor even threatened to send in the National Guard to restore order."

Corinne sighed. "It got to the point where you either had to choose sides or risk being murdered even by your own 'people'. It was hell."

When my friend looked up, there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Ice was never known as a person who did things conventionally. Rather than join a gang, she started her own. The Amazons."

"Amazons? Who are they? Aside from being a group of mythical women warriors, I mean."

"You should know, Angel. Three of the top members are your close friends."

"Who?"

"Pony. Critter. Sonny."

I was shocked. In all my association with them, I had had no idea that my friends were gang members. "You're kidding me."

"Nope. They're members of the Amazons. A gang Ice started when she was here last."

Intrigued, I leaned closer to Corinne. "And what do these Amazons stand for?"

Corinne shrugged. "Whatever they want to stand for. They are the gang in this prison."

"But . . .but that doesn't make any sense! They all seem so nice!"

"They are nice, Angel. They can also be totally ruthless. It all depends on where you're standing." She caressed the book again. "Let me try and explain it to you. Like I've already said, the gangs were destroying this prison. No one knew what to do to stop it. Ice, who by this time had developed a reputation as the penitentiary's best fighter, approached some other women who were also known for their fighting ability, intelligence and loyalty. These women banded together to form the Amazons, a new gang. The best of the best, and dedicated to bringing the prison back under control. It took them several months, but when it was all over, the gangs had been pushed back. The Amazons became a sort of inmate peace keeping force. They help people who need it and punish those who need that too. They make sure no one gang is overtly stronger than the others, and they help to protect the truly oppressed."

"And she did all this when she was fifteen?"

Corinne's grin turned smug. "Yup."

"Wow." Looking at the fond smile on my friend's face, I was moved to question further. "If you don't mind my asking, Corinne, what's your interest in all this?"

"Oh, that's simple enough. Even though I was an old lady without value as a fighter, I still had some influence in this prison. The whites wanted that influence and the blacks wanted to destroy it. It was the one thing they banded together in. One night, members of both gangs came with molotov cocktails, threatening to burn me and my library down if I didn't choose." Her eyes took on that peculiar hard shine that I had noticed from time to time before. "Ice came out of nowhere and took them all on by herself. The gangs lost eight people that night. One person's still in the hospital. In a coma."

I gasped out, horrified. "And the rest?"

"Oh, they all recovered. Eventually." Corinne sneered. "I was never bothered again. I think part of me fell in love with her that night; my dark avenger. What she did, it was . . . beautiful." She turned back to look at me, her eyes full of love for the woman known as Ice. "She's kept an eye out for me ever since. Even when she wasn't in prison, she made sure I was safe. The library has been allowed to exist, and grow, in peace and I've been allowed to do the same. Thanks to her."

"That's amazing."

"Yes, she is."

"So, do you know why she's back in?"

"It's not very clear. From what I've been able to gather, when she got out last time, she was approached by some very important people."

"Who?"

"Difficult to say, but I've heard that they're the type who wear dark suits and sport very Italian sounding surnames."

"The Mob?!?"

"So I've heard. Somehow, they managed to get her to join up with them. I have to admit that I was pretty shocked. I felt sure she would go straight after her time here. But she didn't."

"So what happened?"

"My contacts tell me she was able to go quite far in the organization, despite the fact that she has absolutely no Italian blood in her whatsoever. Apparently she was some sort of gun for hire, on contract with these fellows. Quite good at her job too, as if you couldn't guess that already."

I listened to Corinne, shaking my head at her story. The mystery of why this young woman, who was given a miraculous second chance, would choose to go back to crime was one I really wanted to solve.

"From what I've heard, she was sent to take out a witness who was testifying at an upcoming extortion trial. The strange thing is, the witness was apparently testifying for the defense. That doesn't make much sense. Unless, of course, there's someone high up in one of the Families who wants this Boss behind bars for some reason. Something happened and she got caught. Word is that she was set up, big time."

"Do you think she did it?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It's just not her style. The Ice I know doesn't take out witnesses, no matter which side they're testifying for."

"Well, it seems like the Ice you knew changed a lot once she left prison."

"True. But still, something just doesn't add up. I really became suspicious when I heard that she was stuck with a court appointed defense attorney. The Mob usually helps its own in these situations. Even when you screw up, they're usually behind you all the way."

I felt my own smile spread across my face. "Well, then. It looks like we've got our own mystery to solve. Colombo, watch out. Angel's on the case."

My mirth was halted by a hard hand on my wrist. "Angel," Corinne said seriously, "tread lightly. Ice is a very private woman and if you pry without her consent, you're going to end up on the receiving end of a whole barrel full of trouble, no matter who your friends are. Though I sense that there's going to be a very important connection between the two of you, she is a very, very dangerous woman. Above all else, you need to remember that."

Swallowing hard, I remembered the icy eyes that had met my own only an hour ago, and nodded. "I understand."

Smiling again, Corinne gently squeezed my hand. "Ice can be the best friend you'd ever hope to have, Angel. She can also be your worst enemy. Like I said, tread lightly around her. Give her a chance to feel you out, to get to know you. She doesn't trust anyone, not completely. But if she thinks you're worth it, and I know you are, things will come. Good things, I think."

After another moment, I nodded again. Knowing my next statement was going to sound totally stupid, I steeled myself against the probable laughter. "Corinne, when she looked at me just now, I . . . .well . . .I felt something. It was the strangest thing I'd ever felt in my life. Almost like I knew her. And not just that. I . . .loved . . .her." I shook my head, damning my tongue for not being able to come up with a better way to express the myriad of sensations that went through me when our eyes had locked for that one brief, perfect second. "I can't explain it. I mean, I've never met the woman in my life before just now, but . . . ." My voice trailed off as I heaved a heartfelt sigh. "I know I must sound like an idiot to you," I mumbled miserably.

My hand was squeezed again. "Not at all, sweet Angel." Tilting my chin again, Corinne met my eyes. "When I was younger, before all that stuff with Arsenic and Old Husbands. . . ."

I groaned.

" . . . .I used to have a sort of talent for seeing things. Things that weren't really there." My friend's seamed face creased further in a grin. "Now, I suppose in most parts of the world, that would be called insanity. The good part was that those things often turned out to be true."

"You could see the future?"

"Some. Or the past. I wasn't always sure. It got confusing, sometimes." She laughed lightly. "Good thing was, I was born in Louisiana, were that sort of thing is pretty much accepted as a gift, rather than a curse. In the right circles, of course. It faded as I got older, but I still get flashes now and then. And I got a most definite flash the morning you ran into my library, covered with breakfast. It was something I saw in Ice that first day as well."

I looked up at her, sure my disbelief was showing clearly on my face. "Corinne, forgive me for saying so, but I find it hard to believe that Ice stumbled in here after being pursued by a bunch of crazed inmates. Especially wearing her breakfast on her shirt."

My friend laughed again, a light, musical sound that filled the library pleasingly. "No. I'm talking about what I saw in her eyes. Ice is an old soul. Ancient, in fact. I couldn't even begin to guess how far back she goes. Even when she first got here as a young girl, her eyes were ancient, as if they'd seen more of the world than any mortal had a right to. It was . . . disconcerting at first. I got used to it after awhile." She turned her gaze to me, appraising. "I see the same thing in your eyes, Angel. A wisdom that belies your innocence." Her grin deepened, and I swore for the second time that I could see the faintest glimpse of fangs in her mouth. "That, of course, only makes you all the more appealing."

A frightening tingle went down my spine and my skin humped up in gooseflesh. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable in Corinne's presence, seeing her for the first time as the woman she really was, an unrepentant murderer. The walls started to close in on me and I'll freely admit to the start of pure panic.

Seeing my state, Corinne broke the lock of our gazes, reaching down and smoothing the flesh of my arms. "Don't be afraid, Angel. I'm not here to hurt you." Her laugh, when it came, was almost bitter. "I'm nothing but an old woman, after all. Who's seen much too much of life."

Suddenly I felt very much ashamed of my reaction. Turning my hands, I gripped Corinne's arms tightly. "You're much more than an old woman to me, Corinne. You're my friend." I'm sure I was blushing by this time. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. It's just. . . all this talk about seeing things that aren't there and ancient souls . . . . I'm just a small-town Methodist, after all. We're not supposed to believe in those things."

Corinne's expression gentled, changing her back into the lovable old grandmother I'd come to know. "It's alright, Angel. I've been here so long that I sometimes forget just how frightening this place can be." She shrugged. "It's home to me now, but I need to realize that most don't feel that way." Releasing herself from my grasp, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood. "Anyway, just remember what I said. Keep your eyes and ears open, stay gentle and unassuming around Ice and you'll do just fine."

"Thanks, Corinne."

"No problem, child. No problem at all."

The next couple of weeks went by quickly. There'd been a breakthrough with my Mexican students and teaching them had turned from a chore to a pleasure. They took everything I gave them and practically begged me for more.

Money and used books started coming into the library in regular shipments and Corinne and I kept ourselves very busy cataloguing them and sending out thank you letters to our contributors. More and more people were coming to visit the library, for a variety of reasons, making Corinne a very happy woman. She continually bustled about, preparing her famous tea and sharing stories with the other inmates. There was almost always a class going on in one corner as well, making the library, for the first time, a crowded, friendly place to be.