CHAPTER IV: HELL
Reminder: Rating alert! R for language, violence, sexual situations.
The basketball game ended an hour ago, when they were supposed to go to dinner, but there was yet another security delay. Now it looks like the security problem's been taken care of and it's almost time to go. Almost time to walk past those stairs again and hope that this time the guards are closer. And Rey's mind and body are tiring of the constant adrenaline overload.
The 'fight or flight' response was meant to help our ancestors fight saber-tooth tigers or flee from rampaging mammoths, a quick flood of adrenaline to heighten the senses and give the muscles and nerves extra juice for an immediate emergency. It wasn't meant for days of fearing for your life and sanity. Nowhere to take the 'flight' impulse, forcing down the 'fight' impulse, awaiting the whim of a sadistic animal bent on causing physical and emotional devastation. Almost no break from the razor-sharp nerves.
Although the basketball game felt pretty good. It was a nice tension breaker. And after the game, the shirts had a post-game victory ritual that felt almost normal, slapping each other on the back, commenting on each other's good and bad plays, passing around water bottles. Even Rey and Snapple were included in the good-natured guy talk, both of them praised for their skill, being pretty much the best players. They didn't join the other guys when most of them went to the showers, but other than that they were part of the team. It all felt very normal as long as Rey didn't think too hard about the fact that his team mates were murderers and drug dealers and other kinds of violent felons, that a few years ago he would have been doing his best to put them away, and that outside of the basketball game most of them would be quite happy to see him die, or worse, at the hands of Rico Gonzalez.
The basketball game felt good, at the time, but he knows it's just made things worse. The fact that the shirts won is not a good thing. He cost Rico pride. You just don't make a violent inmate lose face in Sing Sing, not unless you have a death wish.
He's in his cell now, has to be there for count-up, only there's some kind of delay yet again and the guard's not coming. And nobody's allowed back out into the common area once prep for count-up has started, so even though every instinct is screaming that he needs to get back out in the open, he can't. His cellmate suddenly ducks into the next cell without looking at him, and he hears a low chuckle and realizes it's no coincidence the guard's been held up. Because there's Rico. With three buddies behind him.
He stares at Rico, fists clenching and unclenching, breath shallow. Don't fight him. Whatever you do, don't fight him. Don't fight him. Don't, don't, don't think about how much you want him kill him, how badly you want to beat him into a coma, how much you'd love to slice his throat open. Just don't. He's pissed off and he's lost face and the only way he's gonna let you live is if you give in and do whatever he wants. So do it. Do whatever he wants and just don't feel anything.
"Here's the deal. The guard ain't coming for twenty minutes."
You have a wife and daughters to live for. Just do whatever he wants.
Rico's voice is chillingly jovial as he spells out the situation. "So. Last chance. You want nice and romantic, just you and me, or you wanna be everybody's honey tonight? Do like I say and we'll just walk down to the cafeteria and have a cozy little wedding night dinner together when we're done. Try and fight me, and I'll still be your first but I won't be your last. And if I decide to leave you alive after my pals are done with you, you'll just be community property and I'll be your manager." Rey swallows hard and Rico smiles. "Your little friend, Timmy. He tell you how much fun that was? He was real popular for a while, I had him myself a buncha times, we all did. You wanna be popular like him?"
I got tired of paying for his coke on my back.
"I hand you over to my friends here and you'll have to work real hard to get me to take you back for myself, 'cause I don't like used goods. So, you gonna do this the easy way?"
He also knows it eats you up more if he can get you to consent.
It's not consent if it's under duress. If that's what your problem is, then don't think of it as consent. Think of it as keeping as much control as you can in a situation where you have almost no control whatsoever. And don't, don't, don't fight him.
Tim and Snapple survived this, you can too. It's just your body, it's just a shell, it's not your soul. He can't touch that.
"Let's do this family style, face to face just like you and your wife," Rico smiles at him sweetly, his expression an appalling obscenity in the face of what he's saying and doing.
Like you and your wife. He has a sudden image of Deborah. This may be just a shell but it's helped him touch her soul. He's felt as close as he could ever feel to another human being when they've shared their bodies with one another, never mind that because of her illness they haven't done what most people think of when they think of having sex.
Sudden tears spring to his eyes and he quickly looks down and blinks them away before Rico can see them. Sex is never going to be the same after this. He's never, ever going to want to let another person near him again. He can't even imagine wanting Deborah to ever touch him again, not like that, not after having intimacy perverted into this abomination.
If he had just forced himself to cooperate with Rico earlier today and 'paid the toll' again, he could have avoided this.
"OK, sweetheart, come on, shirt off."
Consent isn't consent if it's under duress. If you can't say no, then you can't say yes. He starts to unbutton his shirt, fingers trembling. Rico motions to Harris's bed and Rey slowly sits. "Lie back, chico."
He forces himself to lie down, shivering uncontrollably and focusing on the slats of the bunk bed above him. This doesn't mean anything. You're not here. Go somewhere else in your mind. God help me, God help me to not feel anything. God help me to not fight this. God help me to accept this and survive.
Rico sits on the bed, smirking. He sits for a long moment while Rey concentrates on the slats above him and tries to make himself stop shivering, knowing that his visible terror is what gratifies Rico the most, that without even laying a hand on him Rico's getting off on his anguish. Then Rico draws closer and lies down, smiling in approval as Rey keeps himself still.
His approval doesn't last very long. Suddenly the reality of how horrifying it feels to be touched by Rico, the sense of violation just from Rico's mouth on his, and the certainty that anything else will destroy him, decides Rey's actions for him. His rational mind is pushed aside by his body's instinctive need to keep Rico away as long as possible and to hell with the consequences. He shoves Rico off, scrambles off the bed and backs away, panic and revulsion rapidly spiraling out of his control. Rico falls to the floor cursing and makes a motion to his friends, who've been watching at the entrance to the cell.
And as every muscle and nerve in Rey's body kicks into overdrive, he knows he's lost before he even starts fighting. He won't be taken down without a fight, but he knows he will be taken down, there's too many of them and he's already injured. He catches a glimpse of other inmates peering through the bars, silent so that the guards won't hear, but grinning and getting ready to enjoy a show. Rico and his buddies are all crowding him and there's a hand over his mouth and then it's replaced by a gag, somebody kicks him in the ribs and he doubles over and he's thrown onto the floor, and then there's hands grabbing at him, grunts and curses whenever he's able to land a kick or an elbow to the gut, and his nails are scrabbling against the floor as he desperately tries to get up, somebody's hissing "Hold him down" and this is gonna happen and there's not a damn thing he can do about it, shirt ripped open, hands groping at him, fumbling at his fly again, and he's fighting with every ounce of strength he has and it's not enough, it's not enough, he can feel Rico's breath in his ear saying "You better relax baby, or this is going to hurt a lot, this is gonna hurt a whoole lot," and God please let me pass out, please let me not be here for this
"Rico, Rico, come on, count-up!! Come on, zip up and take your Backstreet Boys with you, for Chrissakes," an annoyed voice cuts through the muted sounds of the scuffle, and all of a sudden he's free and an irate guard is saying, "Get up and do up your damn shirt, get outta your cell, it's count-up time."
He spits out the gag and just lies on the floor for a moment, chest heaving, heart racing. A firm, impersonal hand is held out, helping him up. "Oh - you're missing a couple buttons."
He's shivering again, can't make himself meet the guard's eyes as he tucks his shirt back in. He tastes blood - he must have bitten his lip or maybe one of them hit him across the mouth, he doesn't remember.
"You're a little older than Rico usually goes for. How'd you get on his radar, snitch on him? Sleep with his wife?"
He shakes his head mutely.
"Oh-" the guard glances at his name tag. "You're Curtis the cop, right? Whadja do, arrest him?"
He can't speak, just nods. He's covered in sweat but feels like he's freezing, probably in shock.
The guard gives a low whistle. "I see. No wonder," he spots one of Rey's shirt buttons and hands it to him. "Curtis... don't fight them next time. You'll just get yourself killed."
"What the hell's goin' on here? What happened to you?" the head guard asks rudely, raking eyes up and down Rey with a smirk.
"Rico was trying to have a party with him. What happened to you?"
"What?"
"Any particular reason you weren't here, Johnson?"
"Paperwork."
"Any idea how Rico and his posse got past your post without you noticing them?"
"Like I said, paperwork," Johnson says, crossing his arms defiantly.
"Right," the other guard mutters in disgust. "Well, let's do count-up and then I'm gonna go take Rico and his three stooges down to the Hole-"
"Nah, the Hole's full 'cause of the search. Just tell 'em not to do it again," Johnson says indifferently.
===
Dinner time. He got to the cafeteria without incident, and he's trying to force down sticky tasteless pasta and greasy vegetable soup. It's not easy - the food is close to inedible, and his stomach feels like lead. And he knows that after dinner there's the walk back to the block, past the stairs again, and then another hour till lights out.
Tim and Snapple are talking around him, giving him space. He's just trying to keep his breathing steady and keep from shaking, blanking his mind and trying to battle down terror. He can deal with this. He can deal with this.
His nails scraped against the concrete floor during the attack and one of them is broken. He goes to chew off the broken bit, then notices blood under the nail. From him or from one of them? He knows they're going to come after him again, most probably in the next couple of hours. Maybe if anybody bothers to do a rape kit, that blood'll help identify one of his assailants.
There's probably fingerprints on his clothes too, he remembers his shirt being ripped open, hands grabbing at him. The name tag or buttons might keep a partial print or two. There's probably also stray hairs on his clothing, from Rico at least. Fibers from their clothes too, but that won't identify anyone - they're all wearing the same fabric.
His own body is a crime scene.
He's seen plenty of rape victims, eyes dulled, bruised, broken. Blue hospital gowns, bright lights, feet in the stirrups as they cried while some doctor with latex gloves checked them out. Swabs and samples, clippings, scrapings, pictures. Even saw a male victim once, a college boy who came in sobbing. Picked the wrong guy to 'explore his sexuality' with. Remembers him going pale and blank eyed during the examination, almost catatonic, until trying to get a statement from him was a complete waste of time.
He can't go through that.
He especially can't go through it now, when he knows he could be out any day.
But isn't that more of a reason to not risk his life by cutting? What if he kills himself, just days away from freedom? He might die if he cuts. He just might.
Not fighting Rico is not an option, he knows that now. Cooperating is the smart thing to do, but he just can't do it. Will Rico leave him alive if he fights? That knife that sliced his arm the other day, Rico wasn't just aiming to leave a scar. He would've ripped his throat open without a second thought. As an example to anybody who might want to defy him in the future.
And assuming Rico does let him live... will he survive the aftermath?
Doctors checking him out, having to tell people what happened. Having to live with it, live with more than just memories of a tongue in his mouth and hands groping him, fumbling at his pants, more than just memories of a hand job that he consented to.
No, he won't survive that.
I'm sorry, Deborah. I wish I was stronger but I'm not. I hope I don't die because I think I'm gonna have to cut.
===
It's right after dinner and Tim's in his cell with three books. He opens one up and it's not actually a book, it just looks like it, but inside there's a bottle of clear liquid. "Scuttlebutt is Rico's pissed off as hell so he's paid some guards to look the other way until lights out. You don't have a lot of time. Here's the brew. Drink up, it's pure, you won't feel a thing. I'll yell for help as soon as you do it."
He reaches into the back of his shirt, slides out a blade, a sharpened piece of metal, hands it over. He stands between Rey and the outside of the cell, blocking the view of the guards. If either of them is caught with alcohol or a blade, it's a pretty serious offence, even though everybody knows that brew and shivs are as common as cockroaches in here. Rey knows Tim's putting himself at risk by providing them to him.
Tim puts his hand on Rey's shoulder and waits until Rey looks at him. "You sure you wanna do this?"
Rey nods grimly.
"Rey, just so you know, he - he probably won't kill you. Not after the basketball game. That's not how Rico works. He'll turn you out and rough you up really bad, might cut you up a bit too, but he'll try and keep you alive to teach you a lesson."
I don't wanna learn whatever he's teaching, Rey thinks. He has a vivid image in his mind of the pictures and the ME's report of what Rico Gonzalez did to his ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend.
"Look, I heard what he said about - about sharing you around. That means he probably won't kill you. He won't even cut your face-"
"What, so he can charge more for me?"
Tim swallows hard and nods. His eyes are dead serious. "If you're gonna do this because you're afraid he'll kill you otherwise... you might stand a better chance surviving him than surviving cutting."
Rey looks away for a moment. What Tim's talking about drove Tim to commit murder. "What would you do?" he asks quietly, hearing the tremor in his voice. Tim gazes at him compassionately for a moment, then breaks eye contact.
"I'd cut."
Rey nods again. It was a rhetorical question anyway. He takes a cautious pull from the bottle and almost gags at the foul taste. Tim chuckles, "Sorry, I shoulda warned you. It's uh, fermented zucchini, from a friend of mine at the greenhouse." Burning all the way down. He swallows again, tests the blade with his thumb. It's damn sharp. Tim suddenly draws in his breath, seeing Rico coming up the stairs. "You're outta time."
Rico, coming towards him. Same three stooges with him. The shiv is very, very sharp.
He could use it to kill Rico. He'd probably die in the process, but it would sure feel good to take Rico down with him.
"Rey, if you're gonna do it, do it now."
He hesitates. What if he kills Rico? It would be self-defense. But nobody would believe that, and he'd be stuck here forever. And he would be guilty of ending a human life, never mind that it's a worthless one.
Would letting Rico use him really be worse than killing or dying?
He can feel his breath in his throat, heart racing faster and faster.
Yes, it would. Selfish for him to think so when he's got a family to live for, but it really would. He'd rather kill or die. After being here for less than a week, going through what he's gone through, seeing Tim and Snapple and the life they live, he really would rather kill or die.
"Now, Rey!" Rico's damn close, near the entrance to the cell, and he's spotted the shiv. The shiv that's either going into Rey's flesh or Rico's.
I'm sorry, Deborah.
Deep breath to brace against the pain, stare straight at Rico, slash. Spurt of blood from the left wrist, toss the knife into the left hand before it goes numb, slash again. Another gush of blood. Stunning pain. Blood spurting onto his face, into his eyes. Blinded by his own blood, he tries to wipe off his eyes on his arm.
"Jesus! GUARD!!" Tim's voice sounds properly panicked, grabbing at one of his wrists to stop the flow. Glimpse of Rico looking annoyed, small droplets of blood across his cheek.
Guards race towards him. Somebody's yelling "Cutter!" Inmates whooping, cheering, always amused when there's a show going on, anything to break the monotony. Can't see, too much blood in his eyes. Holding one wrist, trying to stop the blood, knees going weak, there's a guard, grabbing him with hastily gloved hands, somebody pushing him onto a stretcher - oh good, he won't have to walk to the infirmary this time. Starting to feel faint on the stretcher, he hopes he didn't cut too deep - wouldn't it be ironic if he did, and he killed himself now of all times? After all those times he wished he could, how much of a kick in the ass would that be, to kill himself now that he doesn't really want to die. God has one hell of a sense of humour.
Lights hurting him, he can't really see, blood in his eyes.
"Stupid son of a bitch, nobody, NOBODY cuts on my cellblock!" Sudden pain as a guard slaps him.
"Johnson! Lay off!" Another guard's voice, the guard who pulled him off the floor after Rico was gone.
Another slap, disorienting him even further. He lets go of his wrist, fresh spurt of blood, somebody's holding his arm too tightly, god it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and he's bleeding out, goddamn it, why is this guy holding his arm, he needs to stop the flow - tries to struggle, more swearing, another slap, when the hell are they gonna get to the infirmary?
"Fucking pussy!" slap "Don't you EVER cut on my cellblock again!"
"Johnson!! He didn't have a choice, you asshole, Rico was after him and you weren't doing a goddamn thing!"
Finally, someone's calling "Bleeder! Bad one!"
Scurrying of orderlies, guards and nurses, he's being transferred onto a gurney and two orderlies are grabbing at his wrists to stop the flow. There's a brief scuffle of people around him, he can't really follow, still can't see much, just knows his arms are being held fast and he tries to move, panicking. Don't know what's going on, too many people grabbing at him, just like under the stairwell, just like on the floor of his cell, gotta get outta here - slap again, then somebody's grabbing his leg - some sort of restraint, oh shit, no, don't, he starts to struggle with everything he has left, everything getting confused, his other leg is in restraints too, too much noise, people shouting instructions, "Hold him down!" and his own voice yelling "Let me go!! Let me go!! NO!! LET ME GO!!" and now his left hand is restrained, oh, no, please, no, don't, tied down and helpless and bleeding out, oh don't, right hand tied down too, no, no, no, let me go, LET ME GO, he's screaming and trying to get away and now he can't move at all, there's even a strap across his chest and he can't breathe, Mary Mother of God help me, Jesus help me, and the doctor's stitching him again, this is familiar, the sharp jabs made more horrifying by the fact that he can't get away, can't get away, and they haven't even started to anesthetize him this time, stab near his shoulder, somebody's just stuck him with a needle, and another one, screaming, desperate, no please let me go, stop, let me go, God, please... blood everywhere - the smell of it making him gag. Mother Mary, help me please... stitches, restraints, body growing tired. Panic starting to fade... everything getting muggy. Dark. Dark and red.
Sounds muffled. Burning with every stitch, but strange, like it's happening to somebody else. Staring at the needle going in and out of his wrist
Blood, rubs his fingers against each other and they're sticky
Dark. Agony from the restraints Jesus Christ help me
Guard covered in blood, wearily peeling off red gloves
Dark. Tired. God in Heaven please
Wedding ring covered in blood
Warm
Smell of blood
===
Day 8
Tuesday, December 30
Everything so confused. Who's watching Tania?
Where is he?
Thirsty... water... throat hurts...
Somebody giving him a straw to sip from... water... no don't take it away I'm not done...
Thirsty...
===
Rico's voice - shit! He's gotta get outta here, he can't move one arm, sharp pain from the other as he tries to get away, Rico laughing, You better relax, baby, I'm gonna enjoy this
"Shit! Grab him!" a sharp voice says, sounds familiar somehow, "Goddamn it Curtis, you pulled the IV out, stay still - Stephens, c'mere, hold him down, he's - Curtis!! Stop that!!" He doesn't understand what they want him to do, all he knows is
Rico's somewhere around and he's gotta get away but they're saying Hold him down and somebody's screaming and he's trying to fight his way out from under the stairwell and off the floor of his cell, the other inmates peering through the bars
"Curtis! Stop it!! Stephens, get the restraints again, he's totally out of it, he's gonna hurt himself. What the hell's the matter with him?"
"I think he thinks Rico Gonzalez is here."
"Oh. Curtis, he's not here," the sharp voice is trying to tell him, more gently this time. If only he could figure out what the hell that means.
"Put him out again. You got it?"
Sharp jab, fade away.
===
Rey, if you're gonna do it, do it now.
Say gracias, chico.
Whattaya think, you wanna put on a show? You wanna be everybody's honey tonight?
Mother of God, help me, please.
Deborah I'm sorry I cheated on you.
Rey, your mother...
She's dead, Daddy.
Your mother... she didn't want to burden you any further. She didn't know how else to help you.
Suicide is contrary to love for the living God.
And nothing but the truth, so help you God?
I do.
Did you in fact commit this crime?
Yes I did.
You didn't fail the Church, Rey. The Church failed you. Or rather, I failed you.
Betcha wish you had your handcuffs now, huh Detective Curtis?
A little slower this time, baby, take your time, let's enjoy this.
We can take this nice and slow or quick and real, real painful.
Face to face like you and your wife.
Tongue in his mouth... gagging...
"Stephens, he's throwing up again."
"OK, buddy, it's OK. Shh, shh, you're OK, you're in the infirmary, you're safe, OK? I'm gonna release your left arm, but you got an IV in, so you gotta keep still, OK? Don't pull it out. Hey, hey, relax, I'm not gonna hurt you, I have to take this gown off and get you a clean one. Relax, relax, Curtis - Curtis! Fucking calm down, wouldja? I'm not gonna hurt you. Relax - no, it's OK, shh, I'm not touching you, relax, relax. Nurse!"
"He's not gonna let me do this. He's too freaked out. You gotta snow him again."
Distant mumble.
"Well look at him for god's sake, addiction isn't exactly your biggest concern right now, is it? He's dehydrated and scared. Shh, shh, it's OK, buddy - just put him out for crying out loud, then I can clean him up again without him thinking I'm Rico and you can give him his IV without him pulling it out."
Mumble. Sharp jab. "How do you get away with talking to her like that?" Another nurse's voice, talking to Stephens. "She'd can my ass, and she'd send any other con to the Hole. You, though... she just nods and smiles."
Everything fading.
===
Do you still love me?
And this is how we're going to spend our last night together? Tearing each other to pieces?
Why not?! We're good at it, we've had lots of practice!!
We can hear you all the way down the stairs.
Daddy, don't... I won't get in trouble any more, please don't... I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was so bad, please don't go away Daddy
Rey, we're done talking. We know what we have to do.
Which makes this is our last night together. Let's not talk any more.
"Curtis? You OK, buddy?"
"Deb'ra."
"Who's Debra?"
"Wife." She's not here. Can't think about her. She's not here. Hurts too much to think about her. Shreds him to pieces inside.
"Sh, it's OK," somebody's patting his arm.
"How's he doing?" There's the sharp voice again. He opens his eyes. Everything's blurry and way too bright. Closed is better.
"He's awake, sort of. In and out."
"He shouldn't be."
"He's not hurting himself."
"Yeah, but he pulled the IV out last time."
"Not doing it now, though."
"Looks upset."
"Just a little down. I'm gonna sit with him a bit. He's not freaking out." Silence. "Oh, you were right, Debra's his wife."
"Thought so. He's said her name enough times." Silence. "OK. Stay with him a bit and then do the AIDS beds, OK? Oh, and see if you can give him these - he was supposed to be taking them daily but the scrip took a while to get here from Riker's."
"Yeah, OK." Pause, small rattle. Chuckle. "Oh these are doing a great job, eh?"
"He was off them for a few days. Anyway, the doc upped the dosage."
"Oh come on I was kidding. Nobody slashes 'cause they're off their happy pills for a couple days."
"You got an MD now?"
"No, just a brain. Look, there's not a pill in the world gonna make rape OK."
"There wasn't any evidence of sexual trauma. We did a full workup when he came in."
"Right. And it's just a coincidence that Rico Gonzalez happened to be next to his cell when he cut."
Long pause. Heavy sigh, tired voice. "I know. Nothing we can do about it though. Just give him his meds."
"Fine." Footsteps walking away. Silence. "Curtis, you awake?"
"Mm."
Silence. "What's wrong?" gentle voice.
"Miss 'er."
"Your wife?"
"Hurts."
Sigh. "I know, buddy."
"Hurts."
"I know."
"She's gone."
"It's OK, you'll see her again," comforting hand on his shoulder.
"No. She's gone."
"Shh, shh. It's OK, buddy."
"All gone. Ev'ryone." Wife gone, kids gone, everybody all gone.
"Shh. Here. Take these." Ugh, bitter bitter pills, then cool water to wash them down. "Why don't you go back to sleep."
Good idea. Sleep.
===
"OK, Curtis, time for lunch." Some disgusting green stuff being shoved at him, he tries to get away but it's right in his face. "Come on, buddy."
Tries to focus his eyes. Teardrop tattoo. Gang member. No it's not.
"Din' you kill a cop?" It's harder to form thoughts and words than he ever would've imagined.
Small chuckle. "Yeah, ironic, eh? Right now, a cop killer's the best friend you've got."
That's pretty funny. He smiles.
"Good, good, that's the stuff, you're getting your sense of humour back."
"Lennie sez I don' 'ave one."
"Who's Lennie?"
"Par'ner... loong time 'go." A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. In another life, when he worked Homicide and Deborah could still walk and they lived in a house in the suburbs, before everything everything everything went straight to Hell.
"Don't have what?"
What? Oh. "Sense o' humour..." Lennie's a funny guy too... oh man, so tired. He closes his eyes.
"No, no, come on, Curtis, stay with me, buddy, you gotta eat."
"Lennie sez tha' too..."
Chokes down more of the disgusting green crap that keeps getting spooned into his mouth no matter how much he tries to turn his head away. Nothing feels bad though, that's good. Everything's kinda floaty. That's actually pretty nice.
"OK, I'm done. He's done. He's zoning out on me."
"How much did he eat?"
"Not a lot. Enough though."
"Think we oughtta snow him again?"
"Nah, see how he does. He seems a bit more with it."
"Curtis." Fingers snapping in front of his face. "Curtis. Do you know where you are?"
"... Hell?"
Chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose so. Do you know what part of Hell you're in?"
"'firm'ry."
"What month is it?"
Uh... "N... D'cemmer?"
"Good. Who am I?" Opens his eyes wearily. Not so blurry any more. Still too bright.
"Don' 'member yer name. Nurse somethin'." She told him to clean his works and no hooking on the ward. "Y'said don' shoot th' bleach."
She trades a smile with Stephens. "Good enough. Do you know why you're here?"
Cut himself. To get in here. No, he can't tell her that. "Tried... tried ta kill m'self."
"You remember why?"
"Gonzalez."
"What did Gonzalez do?" Stephens asks gently. He turns his head away. "Curtis?" He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to think about it. "Did he rape you?"
"Nah."
"Did he try to?" the nurse asks.
Oh hell, go away and stop asking. "Yeah." Why's she wanna know anyway? Not like anybody's gonna do anything about it. "Go 'way. Lea' me alone."
"There he is, your very own cutter." A guard. Some guards aren't very nice around here.
"He still fucked up?" Who's that? Another guard. Ugly voice.
"He's doing better," the sharp nurse's voice is cool.
"Son of a bitch. You think it was bad before, when I get you back on the block you'll wish you'd cut deeper."
Frogs and toads and snakes.
"Officer, this isn't exactly the best time to-"
"Nobody cuts on my block." Fuck him. Sick bastard. Looked the other way so Rico and his pals could have a go at him.
"Fuckyou."
"Curtis-" Stephens says softly.
"Don't you mouth off at him," the other guard's voice. "You dis one of us, you're dissing all of us."
"Fuckyou too then."
"Not a good move pissing off the guard who's doing your suicide watch, pal. I just might forget to watch you."
"Go t'hell."
"Come on, guys, leave him alone," the sharp nurse's voice is a lot more gentle than theirs.
"Give him some more," the doctor's voice says. Babble of medical terms. "Take him out again."
Jab. Ow. Sleep.
===
You better pray that God can help you, 'cause nobody else here will.
Kneel down, Detective...suck me off...
Betcha wish you had your handcuffs, huh Detective?
This is gonna hurt a lot and I'm gonna enjoy every minute of it
Fucking pussy! Don't you EVER cut on my cellblock again!
Rey... it's not your fault. But we can't go on like this.
I - I want a divorce.
NO!
You can't, you can't take care of all of us. It's too much to ask anybody to - you've tried but you can't, please, I'm not even... I'm not even really your wife any more... please, this is better for everybody...
Reynaldo, you're so tired.
I'm fine, Mama. Did you go to your doctor's appointment?
He said I'm doing fine. Don't worry about me.
Suicide is contrary to love for the living God.
Do you still love me?
Well you know I wanted to be the Boss but I wasn't from Jersey and I couldn't carry a tune.
Still cute.
... and married.
So?
You just warm a barstool or do you move too, handsome?
And what's your solution? Getting drunk and doing drugs and fucking strangers?
It's not that different, Rey. Men, women - they're all the same.
You know the old saying, if rape is inevitable, just lie back and enjoy it.
I don't wanna get used to this, Tim.
You'll have to.
I'm sorry, Deborah.
Footsteps approaching. Sound of a wheelchair. Stop by the bed. Who's that?
Jack. And Deborah. Deborah?
"Hi hon," he reaches for her. Ow, damned IV. Deborah. Nice. Must be a hallucination. Nice things don't happen here.
Her hand. It's warm. Hell of a hallucination. Thank you God. She can't really be here, but he'll take what he can get.
"Watcha doin' here?"
"We were told that you tried to commit suicide," Jack's voice.
Suicide. Did he? Oh right. "Mm," OK. Wake up. Maybe this is for real. "C'n anybody hear us?" No, apparently. "That's what I told 'em, but I jus' did it to get in here. Head guard in my cellblock reeally hates ex-cops. He been turnin' a blind eye ta everythin'," Johnson, that's the guy's name. What happened to you? Looking him up and down with a smirk on his face. Paperwork. Right.
"What happened yesterday?" Who's that? Jack again.
"Gonzalez. Tried ta fuck me again." That's what happened, right? Or was that also a nightmare. Did that happen again here in the infirmary? No. But there was a guard. Or something. Rico came close, but didn't quite get him. But he would've. And he might have killed him. "I cut m' wrists so th' guards would havta bring me inta th'nfirm'ry."
Oh, man, this is tiring. He's not used to talking. Feels like he just climbed a mountain. Oh they better not tell. If they tell he'll be sent back to the cellblock. So don't tell. Why not though? "I don' wanna be that guy's girlfrien', I don' think he's much inta romance," he thinks of Rico giving anybody flowers and it's a pretty funny image. What did Tim say? Degradation. That's what Rico's into. Face to face just like you and your wife. Making you feel so filthy you'd be better off dead. No flowers.
"Where did you get the blade?" What blade? Oh. From Tim.
"Oh, there's a guy in here use' ta be a cop too, in Baltimore," Baltimore, that's a loong word. "I worked with 'im a few years back. He's done it a few times - cuttin' himself. Gave me 'is shiv. Nice guy." Tim's a nice guy. And so's Snapple, and so's the cop-killer. Not everybody here's awful. Rico Gonzalez, frogs and toads and snakes. Nobody talks in diamonds and pearls, but Tim and the cop-killer at least don't talk frogs and toads. And the other guard, the one who helped him off the floor and told Johnson to stop hitting him. Not so bad.
"How are you feeling?"
How? Oh wow, pretty good actually. He hadn't noticed. "Oh, I'm feelin' nooo pain." Why's that? Must be the drugs. Lots of them. Jabbed so many times he can't even feel it any more. "They got me drugged t' th' gills with painkillers, an' sedatives, an' aall kindsa shit. I'm higher'n a kite," he realizes. Everything's soft, like on pot - when he did a whole hell of a lot of it along with a lot of beer. Oh wow, he hadn't even noticed how nice it was. And Jack looks pretty funny... like one of those Keebler elves or something, what're they called, leprechauns. It's funny.
This is much better than yesterday, and how nice of the leprechaun to point it out. What was yesterday like? Oh that was nasty. Mother Mary help me. "They ha' me in five-point restraints till th' drugs kicked in. Tha' hurt," oh man, yes it did. And there was blood. Lots of it. Blood in his eyes. Ring covered in blood. Guard covered in blood. Red gloves. Deep breath, slash, no time to get drunk so he wouldn't feel it.
It's waay too bright in here. Close eyes. Nice to be alive. It was a good idea, cutting. Now, anyway. Not so fun while he was doing it, but it's all worked out OK. And Deborah's here. That's nice too. Better than when he thought of cutting before. That's kind of interesting. What's that called? Irony. "Kinda ironic, innit? After aall the times I thoughta slittin' m' wrists ta end my life, when I fin'ly do it, it's ta save it."
Small sound from Deborah. Why's she look like that?
Oh.
Oh god. Oh, god, he can't face her and he closes his eyes, turns his face away. God, he's so ashamed. She wasn't supposed to know that he wanted to off himself before. Ever. He can't keep track of what he's saying out loud and what he's just thinking, and he must've said that out loud. Oh, and she's gonna be pissed too. No, please don't. "Please, please don' be mad at me. I wanted ta tell you, I jus' din' know how." No, Deborah, please, don't be mad at me, not right now. I wanted to tell you so you could help me and hold me and save me and give me a reason to live but you were so sad too and I couldn't do that to you and I was so ashamed and I'm sorry I kept it from you please don't be mad don't go away don't go away.
Tight squeeze of her hand. "I'm not mad at you, Rey." Her voice sounds funny. Like she's choking or something. And she's talking to Jack, but he can't figure out what he's telling her. What's she look like right now?
Her eyes... they're sadder than he's ever seen them. And she's looking at him with all the love he's ever felt for her, only doubled, she's looking at him the way he wished she would for years, like she wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with her, like if she could she'd take him away from here. After all he's hurt her and let her down and betrayed her, she's looking at him like she loves him as much as he loves her, only more.
But she's so sad. So sad, and it's making him sad too. And then she's all blurry, and he's so sorry he's made her sad. And then she's stroking his cheek and it's like Mother Mary herself is there, comforting him. And he'd gladly sell his soul if only Deborah could stand up and hold him close. If only he could feel her arms around him and know that he's gonna be OK. If only he could touch her face - but he can't even move his hands, one's got an IV and the other's cuffed to the side of the bed. But at least she's here. Thank you, God. I'm OK if she's here.
"Rey... my god..." she chokes. He's made her sad by coming in here, but there's some reason why he had to do it. Serena. His little girl going through this, Rico Gonzalez or Tammy Morisen or somebody like that attacking her, no, that just doesn't bear thinking about. No way.
"She OK?"
"Yeah, she's OK."
"OK. Then it's worth it." And it really is. He'd do anything to spare her this. Even if Rico - even if that guard hadn't saved him, and Rico and his friends had taken turns with him with the cellblock watching and cheering, it's still worth it if it saves Serena. But...
"I miss you though," God, he does. He doesn't even want to think about how much it hurts when Deborah's not here. How much it aches that even now that she's here, she can't do more than hold his hand. He can't feel her arms around him. And they... they were just getting back together again. After years of so much pain and distance, they were just getting back together when he had to leave. And now he's probably never going to hold her again, she really will be as good as dead before he's free. And no words can contain the sorrow of that. That the last years they could've been together, they really weren't. That they only made love a few times, only had eleven impossibly short days together, before he had to leave. Before they were torn apart again.
Deborah's crying. She looks so sad. She looks like she's crying for him. Why? "Don' cry hon. M'okay while you're here."
Jack the leprechaun is saying something, who knows what. He can't hear Deborah. Where is she? Brief panic before he realizes that she's still here, still holding his hand.
"Deb'ra. Don' go, 'kay? Don' leave me again." Christ, he can't take it if she leaves him here. If she leaves him here, he's gonna die. He really will. Especially if Rico comes back. She can't leave.
"I'm right here. Jack's here. You're in the infirmary. You're safe."
"'Msafe if you're here." This is OK. She's here.
Oh god. What if she leaves and he's sent back to - God, no. Jack. Jack can help. He's got to. OK, concentrate. This is important. Focus. "Jack, get me inta Seg, please. I can't... I can't... I can't let Gonzalez..." damn it, how to explain this. "I thought I could, I thought, it's better'n bein' killed... but I can't, he, he jus'," he's trying, he's really trying, but he can't do what Rico wants him to do, he feels the hatred and rage rise every time and he tries to head it off 'cause anger will kill him and so anger turns to fear and revulsion and he's trying, but even thinking about Rico touching him - oh no, "Gonna throw up-"
This is horrible. Heaving, again, he's been doing this so much lately. Can't keep anything down any more. Repulsive green food that Stephens fed him for lunch - lunch? breakfast? what the hell time is it? coming back up. Hands grabbing him, brief stab of fear, but it's OK, it's just Jack and some orderly, not Stephens though, too bad. Nice cop-killer. Kind of awkward, not being able to support himself because his hands are restrained, but Jack's there making sure at least he doesn't puke on himself. Oh, and there's a nice wet cloth on his forehead, that helps.
OK, he's done. Somebody's wiping his face, OW!! Pulling the bandages and the IV, fuck that hurt.
Water. That's nice. Wait. Where's Deborah. Oh, please, tell me she didn't just disappear. Not again. Deborah?
Her hand. He can't even see her, but he'd recognize her hand blindfolded a million years from now. Fifteen years together. His other half. Better half. Thank you, God.
"Deborah. Please help me." Save me. Take me out of here.
"I'm here," she says. Sweetest words he's ever heard. Then she's saying more sweet words, can't really follow all of it, taking him out of this hellish place, talking about the kids.
Olivia. She's so big now, he's so proud of her, such a big girl, responsible, kind... everything he could have hoped for when she was born, before she was born, when he and Deborah conceived her out of their love for one another.
Serena. She's doing OK, as much as he's hurt her and failed her, she's doing OK, and she's not in a place like this. A place like this would snuff out her fire and her spirit, and letting that happen would be an unforgivable sin.
Isabel. So fragile, such a good thing Olivia takes care of her, because he can't protect her from their lousy life. And she's still sweet, sensitive, innocent.
And Tania. Other people see her as damaged. So joyous though, such pure emotion, a miracle, a gift from God just like her sisters. Deborah talking about all of their daughters, the children they made together, the children God gave to them.
And it's OK. He can deal with the pain and degradation of this place, as long as Deborah's still here. Even though she's just a voice, just a hand holding his and cool fingers stroking his forehead, talking about their girls, telling him stories. This is OK. This is a small piece of Heaven, right in this corner of Hell. Diamonds and pearls and rubies, falling from her lips.
Diamonds and pearls and rubies
Diamonds and pearls and rubies
"We're going to have to go soon, Rey. Visiting hours are almost over."
Oh no. "Don' go," he says to Deborah, but he can tell that she's going to. Not again. "How come I keep losin' you, Deb'ra?" She doesn't know what he means. She's left him so many times, so many times and it's been so hard every time but this is going to be the worst, because now he won't have anything left after she leaves. No job, no friends, no kids, nothing left to try to fill in the aching void. "Hate losin' you. It's like I lose part of me. Walk aroun' like I got no soul when you're not there." Please, don't go.
"OK, visiting hour's over boys and girls. Come on, out you go." That's the guard.
OK, maybe he can do something to delay this. She can't leave yet. Hold on tight, please don't let go. Maybe the guard can let her stay just a bit longer, just a bit longer, she just got here. Where's the guard?
"Please, jus' letter stay a li'l bit longer, 'kay?"
"Get the hell outta here."
OK, be respectful, you're just an inmate, he's got all the power and you need him to do something for you. Pretty please. "C'mon, man, I won' mouth off atcha any more, jus' let 'er stay, please..."
No, he's not listening. Goddamn guard. Pulling her away, hold on tight, don't let go, don't let go, sharp pain OW!! and his hand lets go no matter how hard he's trying to hold on, and then she's going. The sun's going out. Please, please, who cares if this is begging, please, please, who cares about pride, "C'mon, man, let 'er stay, she's all I got, please..."
Guard taking her away. There she goes. She was all he had left, and now she's gone. Farther and farther leaving him alone in this miserable place, nothing left, just pain and fear and loneliness so deep there's no bottom to it. She's gone.
Sleep.
