I pulled what we all referred to as "an Ice" and hid out in my cell after finally dragging my exhausted butt from the visitors' room. For some reason, the tears, of frustration, of anger, of grief, just didn't seem to want to stop falling.

Critter came up to talk, but I remained sullen and uncommunicative, and she finally gave up in frustration, leaving me to my enforced solitude.

I must have fallen into a doze of mental exhaustion, because the next thing I knew, my eyes opened to see Ice standing just inside my cell, concern seemingly emanating from her every pore. "You okay?"

I managed a weak smile. "I've been better."

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked from her position by the door.

And suddenly, I did.

Seeing my expression, she closed the distance in a quick stride and lowered herself onto the bed, gathering me into a hug that went a long way toward taking a great deal of my pain away. I pressed my head against her chest and let the tears fall again. Only this time, they seemed to be tears of healing rather than pain.

Ice rocked me gently within her embrace, seeming to know what kind of tears these were. Normally, the sight of my crying distressed her greatly. Now, however, she silently waited out the minor storm, content only to be there for me. It was a quiet strength I relied on more than words could ever articulate.

After several moments, I finally pulled away, wiping my messy face with the back of my sleeve. Then, after a few, deep, hitching breaths, I blurted out the whole tale, leaving nothing out.

Ice's expression became thundery, but I didn't fear it, knowing her anger was directed against those who had harmed me and not at me, myself. She growled in frustration, her fists clenched uselessly against an enemy she knew I would have to handle myself.

"Of course, the good side to all this," I began, gently taking one of her fisted hands and relaxing it into my own, "is that this goes a long way toward assuring me a new trial. This kind of evidence is something that you can't just ignore."

She grunted in agreement.

As I sat there, contemplating my words, the one thought I'd heretofore successfully kept at the very back of my mind demanded to make its presence known. I willed the tears away, but when I turned to look up at Ice, my words were stilled by a finger to my lips.

"Don't," she said, her voice low.

"Don't what?" I murmured around her finger.

"Don't say it. Don't even think it."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Because I can tell by the expression on your face. You're wondering if you should fight for this opportunity, because if you're successful, and you will be, that means that you'll leave here. And you don't know if you want to do that because of what we have." Her eyes bit into mine, her eyebrow arched, daring me to contradict her.

I couldn't. I blinked, then looked away, flushing guiltily. "You're right," I whispered.

"I know I am. I know you and how you think. And I also know that I'm not going to let you give up this chance for me."

"Not even for us?"

Smiling, she cupped my chin. "Angel, there will always be 'us'. In here, out there, it doesn't matter. You're a part of me, and you always will be, no matter where you are."

I sighed, knowing she was right but still wanting to fight the issue. Trouble was, I didn't have any good ammunition to argue with.

"Angel, you've spent the last four years here trying to get me to see inside myself. You've tried to get me to see that guilt shouldn't rule my actions. That's a hard lesson to learn, and it won't be made any easier if you decide to give up your fight for freedom."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you? If you give up this fight for what's right, this fight for freedom, because of me . . . ."

She didn't need to finish her sentence. The meaning was all too clear. Though it would be my own decision whether to stay or fight, if I decided to do the former, she would always feel the guilt of that action.

"So . . .I guess that means you want me to go for it, huh?"

"Damn right I want you to go for it, Angel. This is your ticket out of this shit-hole. Run with it and don't look back."

After a moment, I gave her a watery smile and thudded my head against her collar-bone. "Alright, coach."

We settled into a comfortable silence that the growling of my abused stomach chose to interrupt. I blushed again as Ice patted it. "Let's go down and feed this monster before the cafeteria closes and you keep all the inmates up tonight with those weird growling noises."

Lazily back handing her on the arm, I allowed her to pull me to my feet. In step, our hips brushing casually against one another, we walked down to the cafeteria to attempt to consume God only knew what.

PART 14.

THE NEXT FEW weeks went by in a blur that was full of disappointing news. Donita called twice to tell me, each time, that the judge she was scheduled to speak with had other cases that had priority over mine. It was difficult, this 'hurry up and wait' roller coaster ride of emotions I was going through. One minute I was up, ready to take on the world. The next, I was swimming in a sea of depression, shunning everyone. Everyone, even Ice, started to treat me with kid gloves.

As if feeding off my swirling emotions, the prison natives also began to get restless. There was a feeling of increasing tension within the Bog; a tension so thick that even I, who was deep in a morass of my very own, could feel it. It was almost like the time before the riots, when the stress was so thick, you could snip at it with dull scissors if you had a mind to.

Ice was putting in inordinately long hours at the auto shop, going down each day after morning head count and not returning to her cell until shortly before lights out. Apparently, Morrison had struck paydirt in his stolen car racket and was using Ice's special skills to the limit. What little spare time she had, she seemed to want to spend alone, or, almost grudgingly, it seemed, with me from time to time over those long weeks. There was something deeper going on with her. But, my mind tied up with my own troubles, I didn't take the time to dig deep enough.

Given the events that transpired only a short time later, everything in me wishes that I could just turn back the clock and do it all again, the right way.

One evening, after shutting down the library, I walked down the silent, dim hallway toward the main square, my thoughts awhirl with turbulent emotions. More than anything, though, I wanted to see Ice and resolved to head up to her cell before I did anything else.

As if by magic, an arm captured me and pulled me into yet another of the doorways that stood silently in the long hallway. My hormones surged and a smile split my lips before the chilling feel of metal pressed up against my neck froze my blood in its veins.

"Hello, little whore," a sing-song voice sounded very close to my ear, "didja miss me?"

Psycho!!, my mind screamed as I tried desperately to control my breathing. Keep calm, Angel. You can figure a way out of this. Just keep calm and don't react to anything she says until you can use it to your advantage. The words of Montana and Critter and Ice played through my mind in a soothing mantra, calming my heart-rate slightly. "What do you want, Cassandra."

A tinkling laugh sounded behind me. "And here I thought you had all the brains in the relationship, tramp. Isn't it obvious what I want?"

"Can you just . . .explain it to me? So I know for sure?" I tried to sound as vacant and pitiful as I could, knowing that sometimes that worked on people like Cassandra.

I could feel my plan working when her sigh brushed against the short hair framing my ear. Her grip twisted on the knife just the slightest bit and I readied myself for action. "Oh, alright," she said in a tone reserved for teaching the profoundly mentally disabled. "It's simple, really. You cuckolded Ice away from me, and so you must die. Is that easy enough for you to understand?"

"Yes, I think I've got it now."

"Do you? Good." I could feel her smile against the skin of my cheek as she brought her head down next to mine. "Any last requests?"

"Just one."

"Yes?"

Stamping down on her foot as hard as I could, I brought my hands up hard, fingers stiffened to thrust between her arm and my neck. Prying her away, I brought her arm down with all my strength. "Get your damn knife the hell away from my neck!!"

I could tell she was surprised, because the maneuver, never practiced against a real opponent intent on severing my head from my shoulders, worked perfectly. After a split-second, though, I could feel her start to respond, stabilizing her grip on the knife and turning its lethal edge inward.

There was the muted sound of cloth parting and then I felt a warm trickle run down my left thigh. Though I couldn't feel anything, I knew I'd been cut. Looking down, I saw the orange of my jumpsuit quickly darken to a rust as my blood seeped from the slice in my flesh.

Determined not to give her another chance, I brought my other hand down on her wrist, twisting for all I was worth. We both grunted. The knife came free, spinning through the small room where I had been taken.

Her reflexes cat-quick, Cassandra dove for the knife right as it skittered across the cement floor. I was just a half step behind her. As she grabbed the knife, my foot came down once again, this time trapping both weapon and flesh beneath my shoe.

During the rush for the knife, the door slammed close behind us, and so Cassandra's scream of frustration, and I hoped, pain, was unheard by the prison in general. Psycho struggled like a fish on a line, trying to pull both the knife and her hand free, but I was having none of it. "Let me go, you bitch!"

"Let go of the knife and I'll raise my foot, Cassandra."

"Like hell I will!" Turning her head, she opened her mouth wide and the next thing I felt was my wounded thigh, the same leg that was trapping Cassandra, being bitten into. Hard.

I opened my mouth wide, but panted through the pain, slapping her head as hard as I could to get her to disengage. She shook her head like a terrier, growling as her jaws spasmed shut. The pain was so intense, I almost fainted.

My leg weakened, then jittered. Shouting in triumph, Cassandra pulled the knife free. Her shout freed her teeth from my thigh and, gritting my own teeth so hard I nearly bit off my own tongue, I jammed my foot back down as hard as I could, the abused muscles literally screaming out their own agony. I could hear the sickening crunch of small bones breaking and my stomach did a lazy flip-flop, making me thank God that I'd been too busy to eat dinner. "Let it go, Cassandra!"

She literally howled this time, her voice raising in pitch so high that I was forced to slap my hands over my ears and wonder if any glass that happened to be in this little room would shatter from her voice alone.

"Let . . . it . . .go!" God help me, I actually twisted my foot, grinding her hand further beneath the hard sole of my prison shoe.

She turned to bite me once again and I knew I couldn't stand another one. So, putting all my weight on my injured leg, the one that had Cassandra's hand trapped against the rough cement floor, I brought up my free leg and kneed her in the head as hard as I could. My leg screamed out in agony at the same time Cassandra screamed in reality, slumping onto her back, trapped only by my foot still on her hand.

Quickly, I lifted my leg, then bent down and retrieved the knife, holding it almost as one would hold a gun, in a two-handed grip, the tip pointed at her head. "Alright now," I said, trying to keep the waver from my hands as well as my voice. "You're going to listen to me Cassandra."

Inhaling deeply, she pursed her lips and spat at me. Though I tried to dodge, it landed right on my midsection, causing my stomach to do another slow roll. "That's what I think of your talking, whore." She wiped her heavily bleeding nose with the back of her hand, her dark eyes glittering with hatred.

"Think whatever you want, Cassandra. But I'm the one with the knife here."

"Not for long," she muttered. "You don't even know how to hold it, let alone use it as a weapon."

"I didn't know how to use a baseball bat as a weapon either, but my husband's dead anyway. Check the obituaries. It's in there."

That silenced her for a short period as she thought about what I'd said. "So spit it out already," she finally said grudgingly.

"Fine." I knew I had to make this convincing. "I don't really care what you think happened between Ice and me. Fact is, I'm getting out soon, on appeal. After that, she's all yours again. So . . . .how about we make a little deal?"

"And what kind of deal would you make, little girl," she said, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Only this. You walk away like nothing ever happened and I don't rat you out to Ice. Because if she ever finds out what you did to me, you can pretty much rule out living long enough to ever make that dream of yours a reality."

She simply looked up at me from her place on the floor, her chocolate eyes wide. I could have sworn I saw just the tiniest shard of respect there. Still . . . . "You wouldn't rat."

"Wouldn't I? What's to stop me, hmm?"

"The prison code."

"The prison code," I repeated. "As in, the prison I'm leaving soon? That prison code?"

I could tell I had unbalanced her. I decided to move in for the figurative kill. "Besides," I said, smiling, "it's not as if I can hide this from Ice, you know. The cut I might be able to explain away, but the bite mark? That'd be a little difficult, don't you think? And since I've never lied to her before . . . ." My voice trailed off teasingly, letting her finish the thought herself.

Of course, I was lying, through my proverbial teeth. There wasn't a chance in hell that I would ever let Ice get close enough to my naked thigh to see what Cassandra had done to it. I would never make good on my threat, but Cassandra didn't need to know that. It was my one and only card to play, aside from, of course, the knife I held in my hands. If Ice ever found out what happened, Cassandra would be so much blood on the wall. Of that I was sure.

The tiny room was bathed in silence as Cassandra stared at me, calculating. "You're a tough little bitch, I'll give you that."

Some type of perverse pleasure filled me at her words, though I struggled not to let it show. I was already enjoying this little dominance/submission act way too much and that was scaring me more than the thought of what Ice would do if she ever found out about this little adventure. "Well?" I asked, prodding her into making some type of decision. "Do we have a deal?"

"And if I refuse to go along with this little delusion of grandeur you're having here?"

"I parade you though the jail at knife point. Right up to Ice's cell."

She looked at me, then at the knife. The very tip of her tongue darted out to smooth her lips. She smiled. "Do you really think you could do that? To me?"

I hardened my gaze. "Try me."

I could see the muscles of her throat move as she swallowed, the flickering of light and shadow over the ivory column of her neck. "Alright," she said softly. "I'll go along with your little deal." Her lips curved upward in a faux smile. "For now." She held up a hand. "But when your injuries heal and it's your word against mine," her smile broadened, "well . . .don't think this is over."

"Believe me, I don't."

"Good. As long as we understand one another." Her white teeth flashing, Cassandra hopped nimbly to her feet, making a half-hearted grab for the knife, an attempt which I easily avoided, as she did so. Throwing back her head, and cradling her broken hand against her chest, she laughed, long and loud. Then, grasping the doorknob with her good hand, she opened the portal and stepped back out into the hallway, turning her head and giving me a malicious, knowing wink before she disappeared from my sight.

As she left, I stood there, frozen, well aware, suddenly, of the mistake I'd just made. It was a sure bet that the guards had discovered her escape by now. They were, no doubt, combing the prison for her. And when they found her, all she had to do was turn the tables on me, stating that I'd accosted her and threatened her with a knife, and I'd be in the hole for God knew how long. My chances at a new trial would go up like so much smoke from a forest fire. And she'd get away with it, too. I was the one with the knife. My fingerprints were all over it. So what if I was the one bleeding? I already had more than enough experience with how being injured defending oneself could lead to all sorts of nasty accusations. After all, I was an inmate, wasn't I?

The knife hanging limply in one hand, I listened carefully through the door, which I'd closed after Cassandra left, my ear pressed up against the rough, splintered wood.

After a few moments of silence, I heard the sounds of running feet and shouting that told me that the guards had found Cassandra. I held my breath, my palms sweating, my leg throbbing like a rotted tooth in some ghoulishly grinning death's head mask. Plainly put, I was scared. My bladder was sending out an urgent summons which I crossed my legs against receiving.

Cassandra's high-pitched cackle filled the air and I almost screamed. The knife dropped from my clenched fist, clattering against the cold floor. The rich iron-copper taste of blood filled my mouth as I bit my lips against the noise forming in the back of my throat.

"I was just taking a walk, ladies. Can't a girl have a little freedom around here?" Psycho's laugh filled the air once again, getting dimmer to my hearing as she was, no doubt, led back to her cell.

I waited in absolute, terror-filled silence for the footsteps I was sure were coming for me. Minutes went by during which entire worlds were born, thrived, and reduced to their component atoms. My throat clicked as I swallowed. I counted to one thousand in my head several times, slowly, like I used to do when we would play touch football during recess at school. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," I breathed against the door.

Then I counted once more, for good measure.