I'm grateful for the two women who have encouraged and guided me in the telling of this story. Lilith and Ficfangirl - you are both awesome. All errors are mine. I need to quit adding and changing things around.

A special thank you to csuter for embracing this story and spreading the word. Amazing. Thank you for all who have clicked the button to favor or follow and everyone who is reading. For those who review, your words make me smile and I can't express how much I appreciate them.

Happy Labor Day Weekend!

Warning: This chapter was difficult to write. Conditions for convict leasing were horrendous and I didn't even use a tenth of what the inmates had to endure. Life was harsh as you will soon discover. Abuse was the norm.

~ J *+* D ~

~ Before Judgment Day, I spoke only truths - After Judgment Day, I know perjury. ~

~ Preacher Man ~

Chapter 21

Preacher Man

It's been twenty one days since we arrived on this plantation and every day has proven worse than the previous one.

I think back to when Ace and I first returned to our cells after his incident with McCarty in the dining hall. He quickly and quietly informed me of the true purpose behind the scene and once again, I was confused. I'd been doing all I could to stay clear of Crowley. In fact, McCarty had continued to be our crew boss, overseeing Ace's and my work detail even after the cage overturned. When Ace explained I was being sent here as some form of punishment, we both theorized it had something to do with my case. But what? No matter how hard I tried to think of a reason, I came up blank. It simply didn't make sense.

When I realized he'd asked to be put on the same detail, I actually shed a few tears. I've never had a true friend before. Of course, I had classmates and we were brothers at the seminary and the church, but we never socialized. We only spoke of verses, passages and stories from the Bible, or of our future hopes and dreams. All of us with paths devoted to the same ultimate goal of baptizing, converting and guiding our own congregations on a path of righteousness and glory in the name of the Holy Spirit.

I shake my head. This is different. This is a man who has only known me for a short period of time and he is knowingly risking his neck to try to ensure my safety - my survival. I don't know how to react. This life and death struggle is such a foreign concept. Emotions assail me. This is what a true friend is. Someone who cares whether I live or die. Someone to form a united front with. A deep gratitude settles in my soul and I silently vow, some way, somehow, I will return the favor. I tried to speak, but my words were choked as I whispered the simple, yet heartfelt words, "Thank you."

~ J *+* D ~

I couldn't even survive the first day here unscathed. The Boss purposely stood behind me so I would step into him. Either way I was in a malicious dilemma. If I had noticed him and didn't move away from McCarty, I would have still felt the blow. The impact of his club reverberated up my spine, to my neck and made my teeth click, twice. I couldn't ignore McCarty's comment of, "And so it begins." I did everything I was required to do. Each time I thought I succeeded, I was slammed head first into a brick wall by some guard finding fault with my performance.

My third day here, I was punished when my bag weighed half a pound less than the other three. I was struck with a club three times on my back and dinner was taken off the table. Chained to three other men, while a guard hovered over us to ensure they didn't share their meal. McCarty snuck me a chunk of bread with a piece of meat wedged inside when we were loaded into the cage. I waited until most were asleep to wolf it down.

The next day, I was punished when Ace guaranteed I had the heaviest bag, because I should have been doing it all along. I felt the club five times. This time one hit the back of my neck and base of my skull. Again, I received no dinner. McCarty wasn't able to sneak me anything. My head throbbed so viciously, I couldn't have eaten if my life depended on it.

Four days later, I was punished when a guard on horseback saw my bloodied hands had stained a cotton boll. I felt the lash of his whip four times with lunch and dinner withheld. It was all I could do to try to accomplish my fair share of the work for the next few days, under the blazing sun and insects feasting on my flesh.

Ace and McCarty were beside themselves with worry. I could see the stress both held in their eyes when they looked at me. I knew my strength was wavering, but I shrugged off their concerns as best I could. The only relief I felt from my wounds was the bucket of water we were allowed to wash up in for that day only.

Trying to sleep was becoming impossible. The heat was stifling, the insects thick and the chains around my ankles and wrists heavy. Every muscle and bone in my body ached and my back was on fire. The chains made sleeping on my stomach extremely uncomfortable. Sleeping on my back was out of the question. Trying to sleep only on my side without a pillow added to the discomfort of a stiff neck. I was mentally and physically exhausted.

Three days later, I was punished when I mumbled too loudly about the stiffness in my back as I tried to stretch my sore muscles while still in the cage. The Boss ordered me out and I was told to grab onto the bars, so all those within could witness my humiliation, pain and misery. Lesson learned. Complaining would only ensure more agony. I was flogged seven times. I refused to give the Boss the satisfaction of hearing my anguish by gritting my teeth. Since I kept my mouth shut during the whipping and the rest of the day, I was allowed all the day's meals. Ace tried to switch bowls with me when mine was empty, but I refused. I would not take the chance of risking him harm or our future meals.

Five days later, the nightmare continued when I didn't immediately answer a question. The guard was looking in the opposite direction. I didn't realize the question was directed at me and I was pistol whipped across my face. The ache from a broken nose brought tears to my eyes. When we returned to the camp and McCarty saw my battered face and bent nose, he quickly reached up and reset it. The agony was just as severe. I swayed on my feet and thought I would surely pass out.

I was saved from appearing weak when he grabbed me by the neck and dunked my head in a fresh bucket of warm water several times. He yelled at me, so the other guards would hear how he wasn't going to put up with blood all over the food. They saw it as another form of punishment, when in reality he was cleaning my wounds and the dried blood from attracting more insects to my swollen face and eyes.

Four days later, I was punished when I didn't hide a biscuit fast enough from the eagle eyed guard who previously had fun reshaping my face. The cook had been ordered to halve my rations. For the past week, I've been relegated to smaller portions in addition to all the other various forms of abuse I've had to endure. McCarty tried to help whenever he could by slipping me food at various time. Unfortunately this morning I was caught.

Eagle eyes accused me of stealing. Ace spoke up to take the blame, "It was mine. He didn't steal it."

I pushed him hard against his chest and then got right up in his face, yelling like a lunatic, "You're a damn liar! You saw me take it and now you want it for yourself! If I don't get to eat it, then neither do you." Furiously, I threw the biscuit to the ground. One of the scrawny dogs greedily scooped it up and wolfed it down.

I've never lied nor shown anger like this before, but I do it now, gladly. He's given me his quiet strength and has encouraged me to stay strong. He didn't have to be here and I refused to honor his selflessness by allowing any pain or suffering to be sent his way. This is about someone's vengeance on me and I swear, if I ever have the opportunity to find out who is behind it, he will pay!

The punishment for stealing is standing with my wrists chained behind my back, pulled up high, attached to a thick, wooden post, under the unrelenting blazing sun. I can't change my position without dislocating my arms from my shoulders. After eight hours, sweat drips down my face and body. My legs are beginning to tremble from trying to keep them still. The biting insect buzzing around or landing on my face and neck are just another form of punishment to be suffered. The manacles have cut into the skin of my wrists and dig into the bones. But it serves as a harsh reminder to not bend so far forward.

McCarty offered to stay behind and stand watch over me, but he was told he was needed in the fields to watch over my crew that was now shorthanded and to ensure they completed their task. Eagle eyes torments me by sitting, standing or stretching his arms and flicking his whip around me. He taunts me by calling me rude and condescending names and telling me how worthless I am, trying to get a rise out of me. I remain mute, partially in fear of feeling the lash on my chest, but mostly because there's nothing I can say that will set me free.

I'm a silent reminder to all the inmates of the varied forms of punishment they can receive. Agony is etched on my face. My body is shaking from the strain of being bent over and the promise of more anguish to follow if my legs give way, while they eat their meals. I never look at them. I don't want their pity nor do I want them to see I'm at my breaking point.

Time and again, I try to clear my head by focusing on the dirt and rocks scattered on the ground. How many hours has it been? Eight? Ten? Finally, time has caught up with me and I've lost the ability to remain strong. The shear torture from the strain of bending; the shaking of my legs; the weakness in my arms and the pain in my wrists is too much to bear. Closing my eyes against what is sure to be more agony, I prepare to give up and give in.

Out of nowhere, rising to the surface from the recesses of my memories, I hear her words, "Be safe." I match the face to the one who whispered them to me and instantly she appears; her lovely, brown eyes, full of concern and compassion.

I remember the gentle touch of her arms embracing me and her soft lips as they pressed against my cheek. I can almost feel her soft skin tingling on my lips and a calm sweeps over me. My body may be damaged, but my mind finds healing in her caring words and tender touch. Silently, I chant her name over and over again like a litany to keep her image alive in my mind's eye. Angela. Remembering her warm hands as she held mine and my body's unfamiliar reaction. My mind recreates the day of her visit in glorious detail. The vision of her smile as she waited for me to approach her. Her melodic voice seeking answers during our conversation and her interest in me as a man. Her kiss, and mine, repeatedly plays in my head.

I'm startled out of my reverie and back into the reality of this living nightmare by McCarty standing in front of me. Stiffening up, the cuffs dig into my wrists, pulling on my shoulders. Glancing around, I realize evening has descended and the inmates are all secure in the cages. I briefly wonder how long I was lost in my thoughts until I see the frustration on McCarty face. He must have been speaking to me for some time. Exhaling softly, he offers me a few sips of water as he quickly whispers and warns, "I'm going to get you released, but you're not going to like how it's done. Tighten up your stomach muscles as best you can. This is going to hurt."

He turns, lowering the ladle back into the bucket on the ground. Instantly he stiffens as he turns back to me while shouting, "The hell you say!" Momentarily confused, as he punches me several times in the stomach, I groan aloud and then remember his words to tighten up my muscles. I know it's not as hard as it could be and he's making it look worse than it is. However, in my weakened condition, I still gasp out in pain from the assault as he continues pummeling me. One knee buckles and the air leaves my lungs as searing pain flashes from my dislocated shoulder and radiates down my arm. I cry out in anguish, gasping for breath.

"You had enough?" He yells, heaving for breath from his exertion.

I can barely wheeze out, "Yes."

The guards who watched the performance actually cheer for a job well done. "This is to teach you to quit making me look bad," McCarty barks at me, as he stands me up and releases my chains from the post. He unlocks the manacles from around the wrist of my injured shoulder and uses the other to lead me like an animal to the side of the cage. The other guards having enjoyed the show, call it a night and leave the area heading for their bunks.

McCarty sits me down on the top step to the cage and hisses, "Hold still." I feel hands reach out from inside the cage and clasp onto the tops of my shoulders tightly. McCarty looks at me and then the person holding me, who must be Ace, and quietly asks, "Ready?" Trying to focus against the agony, I barely nod and grit my teeth knowing more pain is to follow.

He grabs my arm almost gently in his large hands, but then suddenly grips it tightly and twists up. At first, I cry out sharply as darkness blurs my vision, sure I would black out from the explosion of pain. However, within seconds the relief is instantaneous and I'm left with a dull ache. "Move your arm up and down slowly. Tell me if you think it's in the right position," McCarty murmurs. I do and I have to admit, I still have a good range of motion. Exhausted, I lean against the bars of the cage and feel the hands pat my shoulders and move away.

"Come on." McCarty pulls on my chain and weakly I follow him behind the cage where the inmates can't see me. He scans the area before handing me a bowl filled to the brim of lukewarm stew. Suddenly, my other senses kick in and I'm ravenous. Starving, I practically inhale the food, the cuts and swelling of my wrists are almost completely forgotten, but not the aching in my shoulder or stomach muscles.

McCarty is pacing in front of me as I greedily consume the stew. His eyes cut to mine before looking down. "I had to do it, Preacher Man. They were going to use you as a whipping post and I couldn't let that happen. I had to make it look good or they would have seen it for the act it was," he stresses his reasoning. "This was all my fault. I'm so sorry," he quietly apologizes, his eyes asking for forgiveness.

I know he wouldn't have harmed me without reason. Swallowing down a mouthful I try to ease his mind. "Thank you, Mr. McCarty. I appreciate everything you've done for me," I whisper before shoveling more food into my mouth. He looks at me like I've grown two heads and maybe I have, as fast as I'm eating.

"At least you won't be working for a few days. Hopefully, you'll have a chance to heal some," he sighs. After a minute or two, he quietly asks, "Can I ask you something?" I nod, yes, too busy to answer. "What were you thinking about before I gave you the water?" I raise my brow, not understanding his question. "For a long while, you had this look on your face," he paused, searching for the right words. Finding them, he continued, "It was as if you were at peace. It's what got the guards wanting to whip it off."

Choking on the stew and lowering my eyes, I quietly confess, "Sister Angela. I was remembering her visit. She told me to 'be safe.' She kissed my cheek. It was the first time I can remember a woman doing that aside from my mother." Embarrassed, I slowly lift my gaze and wait for him to laugh. What surprises me is he doesn't. He smiles instead. He takes a moment to formulate a response. Finishing the last spoonful of stew, McCarty hands me a roll and I scrape the bowl, wiping it clean before stuffing it in my mouth.

"She is a remarkable person. I'm glad she gave you some comfort," he thoughtfully replies.

I stop cleaning the bowl and momentarily forget about my aches and pains. I want nothing more than to ask him question after question about her. "You know her then. Who she really is."

"Not now, Preacher Man. You need to pretend you're getting your ass beaten again. Are you done eating?" He tilts his head at the empty bowl and dashes my hopes to glean anything more about her.

In its stead, dread assaults me. The fear of more pain is so strong, I worry I will lose what vital nourishment I just ate. He takes away the bowl, hiding it under a shirt. Suddenly, his shoulders stiffen and he cocks his head to the side. In the next second, he is in front of me and hisses, "Let me hear you groan and gasp. Now!" And he proceeds to pretend to throw me up against the back side of the cage, using his hands on either side of my body to rock it a few times. Then, he lightly pounds into my stomach. My lying or acting abilities are improving by leaps and bounds, because I give him all he asks for and more. I beg him to stop, groaning and gasping out for all the times I've taken my punishments in silence. With McCarty's grunts and heavy breathing and my pleadings, there shouldn't be anyone who would think I would survive the night. In fact, two guards left their bunks to watch the encore and egged him on. When my head turns from a light punch against my cheek, I notice the Boss standing to the side, intently watching us.

I collapse onto the ground when McCarty barely clips me on the chin with a stunning upper cut and I whimper and beg for no more. He pulls me up by the front of my shirt and pushes me against the cage again. He yells, "You made me bleed," as he wipes his bloody knuckles from hitting the cage on the shirt I've worn since I got here. He drags me to the cage door, opens it and shoves me inside.

Staggering towards my bunk, no one says a word. No one dares to even look me in the eye, except Ace. Ace is the only one to stare with a look of dread and concern visible even in the muted light of the moon. I sit down on my bunk and subtly nod. He's relieved, as a heavy breath leaves his mouth. Continuing the charade, he murmurs, "Try to get some sleep, Preacher Man."

I grunt my reply as I lie on the bunk. I ache from head to toe and my shoulder feels like it's starting to swell, but I'm thankful to McCarty because it could have been so much worse. Trying to get comfortable, I let my mind wander to the woman who unknowingly gave me solace in my hour of need. Exhausted, I close my eyes and I see hers smiling into mine. I can only hope I will see her in the flesh someday soon.

~ J *+* D ~

"Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned."

~ Buddha ~

Emmett

I had to get Preacher Man off that post and out of commission. I overheard two guards talking about the look of contentment he'd somehow managed to achieve. They figured the punishment wasn't harsh enough and wanted to wipe it from his face. Their plan was to whip the tar out of him and leave him there overnight. Who knows what animals or insects would have feasted on him? There was no way he would have survived. I had to act quickly. It wasn't until one of the guards said something about giving him water to lull him into a false sense of ease that inspiration dawned.

I knew I was intentionally being kept away from the inmates from the prison. It was the head boss who delivered the first blow, on the first day, to Preacher Man. He knew right away who he was and I wasn't given any papers to hand over to him. I could only assume the Warden had sent the information ahead of us. I was so angry, but I had to act like I couldn't care less.

I had to prove I was good at my job and I did. I complained bitterly, as most guards do, about the Warden wanting me out of the way, all because of some broad I didn't even desire. I explained how he didn't know I already had a woman of my own and it wasn't any of his damned business. Now, I was the one suffering and having to spend my time away from her. This earned me sympathy, because many of the guards who were stationed here weren't happy with the Boss. I buddied up to a few of the guards and we bonded during target practice with both firearms and whips.

When I was in charge of my crews, I cracked the whip in the air, but never hit a man. I refused to treat the inmates like animals. Since the work got done, I was further welcomed into the guards' fold. I did have words with one inmate who started a fight with a weaker man on his crew and he felt the strength of my fist. I punched him once in the gut and down on the ground he went. I growled as I dared him to take a free swing at me, goading him to try to bring me down. He didn't rise to the challenge. What it did do, was earn me respect from the Boss.

But helplessly watching Preacher Man get beaten and whipped without flinching, barely making a sound or pretending not to let it get to him, was the most gut wrenching thing I had to ignore. I snuck him food several times without being caught. One time too many it seems. Ace tried to take the blame and sacrifice himself to protect both Preacher Man and me. I never thought I would see the day when Preacher Man would show anger, but he did, in stunning proportions. I can only assume it was to shield Ace from what he's suffered and again, me.

Being the cause of his latest punishment was too much. I took the only action I felt I could get away with. I gave him the water, yelled and hit him. A few times were harder than I intended, but I had to make it look good and hated myself for it. When I heard his arm pop out and his gasp of agony, I was actually relieved. To make it look good, I had to take my time unchaining him from the post and led him away like a dog on a leash.

With Ace's help, I was able to reset his shoulder before pulling him behind the cage to give him the bowl of food I'd saved with the hope I would be able to see him fed. When he told me he was thinking of Bella, I couldn't have been happier. She's a wonderful person, and the fact that she gave him comfort and strength to survive, only intensified my desire to give him another chance to see her.

Preacher Man was given three days off, as I expected. What I didn't see coming was that Ace would pick up the slack of the brutal attacks. The next morning, Ace was hit with the club, taking the heat for his now shorthanded crew lagging behind. After the noon meal, he received a second series of blows. Everyone on his crew worked twice as hard and completed the job with the fear of finding themselves the next victims.

When Preacher Man figured out what was happening, the next morning he was back in line to work. What could I say? 'No, Preacher Man. You need to rest. Go back to your bunk and relax. Thanks for offering though.' That would go over like a lead balloon.

Ace shook his head in contempt and ordered him to, "Get the hell out of here and go back to your bunk." Preacher Man pointedly ignored him and waited patiently for me to chain them.

Strangely enough, most of the guards seemed to respect Preacher Man for his willingness to get back to work and not leave his crew one man down. It was only the Boss who still leveled his club on his back on a daily basis for the balance of our time here. Not for any infractions, mind you. Preacher Man was the epitome of a perfect inmate. The Boss was trying break him. Twice I was standing only feet away from the Boss with no one around. Twice I wanted to pull my gun and shoot him or at the very least punch his lights out. Both times I reined in my anger and was able to look him in the eye continuing on my way, with him none the wiser.

Unfortunately, Preacher Man was getting weaker by the day. He was not allowed dinner on four different occasions and I didn't dare try to sneak him food. The morning we loaded up to return to the prison, you could hear the sighs of relief from all the men when I removed their wrist cuffs and additional chains. In all honesty, I don't think we would have needed the armed guards on horseback protecting me. These men were so physically drained they could barely raise their arms, let alone attempt to make a run for it.

Preacher Man and Ace both sat in the front of the overcrowded cage, now two men down. Ten days earlier, late in the afternoon, two men, for some unknown reason, got the bright idea of trying to run from the guards with two unwilling inmates attached to them. The two men dragged the others by their arms and hid behind a shed. They didn't realize the shed was actually the Boss' office. He was inside and heard the ruckus.

The two who tried to escape were shot right then and there, while still chained to the ones who didn't. In the suffocating heat, the survivors were forced to drag the two bodies, along with their semi full sacks of cotton, back to camp. Only after the cotton was weighted were they released from the dead weight. The deceased inmates are wrapped up in tarps, stinking to high heaven, being returned to the prison on top of the cage towards the back. The Boss said with a laugh, "You need to take out your own trash."

During the trip out here, I tried to lighten the moods of the inmates with inane chatter. Now I have nothing to say. The inmates' moods have lightened considerably on their own, knowing they are returning to less reprehensible treatment. Preacher Man survived. Though I don't think the Warden will see this as a boon. I want to go into his office and beat the crap out of him. I want to quit and walk away from the atrocities I've witnessed. I want to forget ever thinking I could handle the life of a prison guard. But I can't. Not yet. Because if I do, I know Preacher Man will be a dead man and I think Ace will go down with him.

~ J *+* D ~

"I believe . . . that if our country ever comes into trial again, young men will spring up equal to the occasion, and if one fails, there will be another to take his place."

~ Ulysses S. Grant ~

Ace

It's been my life experience that men crack under pressure. Granted, it was learned while I was playing cards and I knew when I would be on the winning end. Preacher Man, however, is an anomaly. When I first met him, he was a meek, lost individual, who promised he would do his best to hold up his end and not become a burden. I honestly believed him, setting myself up as his guide to help him navigate through this treacherous existence. I never expected this place would actually strengthen his character; but it has.

He's suffered greatly under the abuse specifically aimed at him and his body has weakened considerably, but not his spirit. The man has thanked me numerous times when I've tried to bolster his flagging strength, comfort his soul and ease his burden by giving aid in any form.

Now, unbelievable as it is, it's me who thanks him. I've barely a mark on me which can be attributed to my time here in the fields. All because of Preacher Man. To say I was shocked when he accused me of lying to get his food is an understatement. I knew full well the consequences of my action. I would be whipped at the very least, and I accepted it. Instead, I had to watch him be led away to be chained to the post; a brutal torture to endure.

Most of the inmates kept their heads down during meals, not wanting to see him suffer or let the guards think they were interested in the same form of punishment. Even though I knew of McCarty's acting abilities first hand, watching him pummeling away at Preacher Man had my stomach roiling. Watching Preacher Man slump to one knee, hearing the hideous popping sound and seeing his shoulder and arm at an abnormal angle, made me turn my eyes away, as did the other inmates.

When McCarty led him to the steps of the cage, I had to see if he was all right. I helped him stay still while his arm was reset, but really, he was so weak and in so much agony he barely moved a muscle. Then, we had to listen to the second beating. Two inmates did lose their dinner and the only thing keeping me sane was knowing it had to be for show. I had to believe it. Otherwise, I would've gone crazy during those gut wrenching minutes he pitifully begged for no more.

Watching him carefully as he staggered up the steps, his balance wavered from side to side as he came towards his bunk. But the relief I felt from his imperceptible nod, verifying it was an act, did me in. My body sagged onto the bunk, the stress left me both physically and mentally exhausted.

The next day, with Preacher Man out of commission, I was subjected to my first taste of what he'd experienced. My spine felt bruised and broken. My head thundered with a raging headache. I swore to myself I would take it over and over again to give him a chance to rest for a few days.

I was pissed the next morning when he stood in line to work with the rest of us. I ordered him to leave, but he remained stock still, ignoring me and my command, while he waited patiently to be chained. If it had been Peter or anyone else, I firmly believe they would have given in. Preacher Man was making a statement. He would not allow me to receive his punishments, keeping his promise from when he first arrived in prison.

Daily, the Boss laid into him and withheld meals. He was physically weak, but never once complained. The other inmates were confused. They never expected the guards to treat one of their own kind so viciously. They assumed we would get a free ride because of our color. They didn't know why Preacher Man was targeted, but were none the less grateful for it. I truly believe had he not been here, every single one of those men would have received all forms of brutality for no reason whatsoever.

One of the inmates, a man named Silver for the two streaks on his temples, had been witness to McCarty giving the biscuit to Preacher Man. At first, you could see he respected McCarty. Then he became confused by McCarty's actions. He didn't know it was a show and traded bunks with another inmate to get the hell as far away from Preacher Man, McCarty and me as possible. At the first opportunity, I let McCarty know he was spotted. I didn't know if Silver would ever mention it, but it's better for McCarty to know every bit of information where his job is concerned.

The three days it took to return to the prison was like a holiday. It took one day longer because one of the mules stepped into a gopher hole and broke its ankle. It had to be removed from the team and put down. McCarty had to slow down the pace for the remaining team. Not only did Preacher Man eat better than he had in weeks, but he was able to rest and heal some. I couldn't even complain about McCarty's driving. It was so much more relaxing without the weight of the chains and the constant hunched over, back breaking work with the blazing sun sapping our strength. I wouldn't even complain about the smell of the two bodies on top of the cage.

It was still early in the day when we finally return to the prison. We were allowed to wash off a month's worth of dirt, sweat and blood. It felt good to shave and wear clean clothes once again. I almost felt human. What was nicer was being able to sit in chairs like civilized men and eat our noon meal. There was a shuffle with the cells and we were reunited with Fly and Sinker. Sinker looked the worse for wear and he didn't speak much at all. He only murmured, "Welcome home. I'm glad you made it back alive."

Fly started in asking about our time in the fields, and I noticed Sinker roll his eyes as he hopped up onto his bunk and lay down. I wonder if his condition is because of Fly. Taking a cue from him, I climbed up on my bed and stretched out. Preacher Man followed suit as we all ignored Fly, who became increasingly irritated. I didn't care. It was Sunday and we already missed a chance for any visitors today. We only had the rest of this day to relax and I was going to take full advantage of it.

My thoughts turn to Alice as they have on a daily basis since we first met. I wonder if she was able to get in touch with Peter and Charlotte. I wonder if she's doing well. I wonder if she's thinking of me. I hope it's all three.

~ J *+* D ~