"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.