Part 8

The pit. (Laughter)

The full force of the fire hose slammed into Jesse's chest. He was battered into the furthest crevice of his prison, gravel cutting into his scalp, bloody rivulets opening in his forearms. He ducked his head into his chest, threw his arms over his ears and eyes. He could hardly breathe or save his eardrums from tearing. His eyes bruised against their sockets.

The men above, the moonlight outlining their bulk, their faces in darkness, were laughing. One man, complaining about all the beer he had, began urinating into the corrugated grate. "As good a place as any!" he guffawed.

"Ah, just wait until the buffalo wings hit ya!" a third man exclaimed as he redirected the hose back into the pit.

"I don't think it's very clean in there, and tomorrow's supposed to be a hot one. What else can we do?"

"Eh, why don't we throw some dollars in there. He can wipe his ass with 'em. We have so much."

"Yeah, Jesse, it's pay day. You want some dollars?" They looked into the corner at the wet lump moaning there. Those sounds only made them meaner, and hungrier. "You know how to get them, right?"

They're drunk again. They're not going to stop. I'm going to die tonight. A relief almost went through Jesse at that thought, he only hoped they were drunk enough to make a mistake, to make it quick, as he hoped on other nights.

"Hey, hey, you're going to drown him. Remember what uncle Jack said." Todd came up from the parking lot and put a restraining hand on the fire nozzle, jerked it up and away. The drunk men dropped it - it whip-lashed across the compound and upended a security camera stationed over the cell. Finally, one guy staggered over to the shut off wheel, and the hose collapsed. He flicked back on the overhead compound light.

"Ah, we were getting tired of the whole thing anyway," one sputtered as they headed for the clubhouse, ready for another drink or the massage chair. "You go clean him up."

Todd looked down into the pit, saw Jesse curled up in a fetal position, arms over his head, small mewling sounds coming from deep in his throat. Water poured from his nose and ears, water and blood. Todd finished his cigarette, slowly contemplating, and reached down to the 5 dial combination lock that ensured Jesse would never get out of his cell again. Todd pulled over the metal, hook ladder and lowered himself down into the dark.

Jesse could not hear Todd approaching, there was too much damage, but he sensed a shadow crossing his one light source above, and tried to back further against the wall. Quiet gasps he could not hear escaped him, though he tried to be silent, terrified.

"Ok, Jesse, get up," Todd drawled. He nudged him with his foot.

Jesse looked up swiftly. Not Todd. He held his breath. Sometimes with the others, if he begged pitifully enough, humiliated himself enough, they were amused and left him alone after awhile. Todd didn't understand such niceties.

"Please, Todd, I'm alright, I just need to sleep. Just let me sleep, so I can cook in the morning."

"You can't stay in those wet clothes. Get up."

Jesse knew better than to argue with Todd. A swift, hard blow would follow if he didn't move, and he thought his injured eardrums would burst if that happened. He tried to stand up, but his legs gave out and he fell to one knee, pain bursts everywhere. "I can't get up, T-Todd, …p-please."

"You're such a whiner, Jesse." Alquist remembered the confessional tape Pinkman made for that DEA agent, the bald, fat one they shot, the one he liked playing parts of over and over, and smiled. "Alright, take your clothes off from down there."

Hesitant, Jesse began pulling off his soaking, stinking clothes. He wiped some of the blood off with his shirt, and held it toward Todd. Todd watched impassively, taking it.

"Okay, the pants," Alquist said matter-of-factly.

"The manacles?" Jesse questioned, softly.

"Just take them off."

Jesse began doing what Todd wanted. He stopped when he reached the leg shackles, did not pull the pants over the chain.

Todd bent over, clicked open the locks at Jesse's ankles, and murmured, "Remember, Brock, don't do anything," as he took the pants and reattached one lock back onto Jesse's leg. The other end he locked onto a metal loop newly drilled into the cell wall. "When I come back, we'll have to scrub you up some. I'll also clean out the… room a bit. I'll come back with some fresh things."

Todd eyed Jesse. "You going to be thankful to me later?" Jesse looked down, silent. He couldn't look at Todd's dead eyes. "Good. I don't ask for much, Jesse, for all my work," Todd drawled lazily.

… and He did this all to me.