Thanks to ewan's girl, Katie, Lina Skye and Athena Leigh for the replies! I really appreciate your feedback.

Five: Hideous Possibility

Despite the energized activity in the cells, and Cellmate's attempts at convincing me of the breakout's authenticity, none of the joy could reach me. I fell asleep with my face to the wall, my back to the excited prisoners.

My dreams were an indifferent composition of gray and black.

I woke without feeling rested, an ache covering my skull and a stiff soreness in my neck.

Now I lay, flat on my back.

"Hey."

I inhale sharply and blink, as if I had been roughly roused from a trance. It occurs to me, while I wipe at my eyes, that my mind had been blank.

I shiver—and refuse to consider what such absence of mind could mean.

Cellmate's face, with features that appear cramped within the limits of his creased forehead and cheeks, is unusually grim.

This day has certainly changed things around here. I don't think he's ever spoken so frequently to me since the day I came—since I was brought—here. "Hey what?"

He exhales heavily and runs his foot along the dirt floor.

Not for the first time, I wonder if he was the murderer of my sole comfort, if that small boot obliterated the sketched face that could have saved me from…this.

But what can I do? Hating him will accomplish nothing, except drain what little strength I have remaining.

"What if the guy that got away…what if he told someone where we all were bein' hid? Ya know, what if he told the police or somethin'?"

"That's a nice thought." My voice cannot be completely purged of its cynicism. I draw my knees to my chest, and rest my chin between them. "But rescuing the rest of us from this scum hole isn't at the top of his priority list, I would guess."

Cellmate quirks his lips to the side. "Yeah, maybe not. But I betcha revenge is."

I glance at the surviving eye, staring up from the ruins of its dusty canvas. My heartbeat doesn't quicken, slow, or stop. "You never know." I tell him quietly. "If he's been here long enough, maybe he doesn't even care anymore."

"Well," Cellmate scoffs with a hoarse, quick chuckle, "I would."

I lift my head, studying him for a moment. "You've been here since before he was, haven't you? You had his cell before he did."

He nods. "I've been here longer than most everybody else."

I frown. "Would your first thoughts be of revenge, if you ever escaped?"

"Sure. That and gulping down a huge L'rongian steak." He answers easily, in a light tone.

I observe him a minute more, then slowly look away, nodding. I've been here only a fraction as long as him…why do I feel…why can't I feel like him, or the others?

"What if the scuzz here think he'll go tell the police? What if they think they're gonna get caught?" Cellmate persists.

"Relocate, maybe."

"And what if they don't wanna go to the trouble?" A hideous wealth of possibility darkens his voice.

I huff. "If you decide to obsess over every scenario, consume yourself with 'what ifs', then eventually you won't be able to escape them—they will drive you insane."

A flush splotches Cellmate's pallid face. "What else is there to think about?"

"L'rongian steak." I recline and seal my eyes with a forearm. My stomach is tense until I fall asleep.