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The Reversal

Sam stood up and looked towards the door. Dad was home. Dwight Evans had one of those big deal trucks that made much noise when he came around and he had a habit in different places of revving up the engine and making a smoky ruckus .

Mercedes looked slightly to her side at the loud sound and Stacie quickly rushed to her bedroom window. From her window, she couldn't see the truck, but she would be able to see the front porch, which was the entrance that Dwight always came through, instead of the kitchen on the side door, nearest the driveway, like everyone else in the house generally did. "My daddy's here," Stacie said to Mercedes. "All that you hear is his truck."

"And it smells smoky," Mercedes commented, wincing her nose. Stacie laughed at the face. "Should I go out to try to let Sam introduce me to him?"

Stacie looked worried about that, but she disguised it in her voice as she answered, "I'm sure that Sammy wants to try to see Daddy first. They haven't really talked since all of this." Mercedes nodded her head. At least Sam still had the ability to talk with his parents, before it was too late. She hoped that it would benefit everyone involved, as she heard the volume of the book rise. Stacie turned the book volume up and also put on some music, too. Obviously, she did not want to hear whatever would be said in the other room… or she didn't want Mercedes to hear it.

"What kind of place does this van belong to? I've never seen it around town. Looks pretty conspicuous, if you ask me…" Dwight said coming into the house. He stopped, as soon as he saw a blond young man. There were feelings that he had forgotten about that came rushing to the surface at the sight of his firstborn son – images of him as a baby, a child, a teenager, and now – a man. "Sam…" He said, with barely any breath in his lungs. He had missed something. He had missed a lot. The last time he saw this young man's face, it was youthful and innocent, virtually flawless and full of happiness. Even the trial and the conviction had not broken him. This strange man with a face similar to the boy he raised had a sparkle in his green eyes, but so much light had left them… so much.

Dwight and Sam Evans rushed to each other and held each other tightly, crying for several minutes. Stevie stood in the doorway, watching and waiting. He could not recall ever hugging his father for so long. He hadn't hugged Sam that long, either; but then again, their hug was interrupted by the dogs doing their duty of protecting the home front. He simply watched. When Sam released his father, he took a deep breath and tried to talk, but more tears came as they looked into each other's eyes for the first time in years. "I'm sorry, Dad. I am so sorry for what I did. I'm sorry…" He managed before collapsing unto his father's shoulders.

Now, Dwight was reminded of when Sam had gotten in trouble as a boy for lifting up a girl's skirt at church. He'd gotten a spanking from the Sunday school teacher and just knew that he was gonna get it again, as soon as he got home. When they got to the Evans house, the boy pleaded on his behalf. He heard that girls didn't have a peepee and was trying to see if that was true, crying as hard and loudly as this man on his shoulder. Now, Dwight was reminded. Yes, this strange man IS my son – my Sam is alive and has come home.

Stevie went to sit down on the single cushioned chair in the corner and watched as they each apologized over and over to each other. It became a bit exhausting not to cry, after a while. He didn't want to cry about this. It was a happy time to have Sam home, but seeing how much joy Sam brought Dwight simply broke Stevie's heart. He was unsure if Dwight would ever miss him nearly as much as he had missed his firstborn. "Dad, do you need me to bring you something to eat?" Stevie asked when Dwight and Sam sat on the couch together.

"I'm too excited to eat," he said, finally wiping his face clean. "Sam, how are you? You look different. Are you alright? You're bigger than you were. I guess you're eating well at that gift shop place?"

Sam smiled and nodded, "I'm being well looked after. Before anything else – since, I seem to have found my voice again, I have to tell you that I'm really sorry for the decisions that I made to mess up my future and hurt our family. You raised me to be responsible, dutiful, and have a sense of pride and I took what you gave me and made a mess of everything. I love you and I never meant for it to go so far."

Now, their father smiled, sadly and admitted, "Sam, I forgave you for what you did the moment that I found out about it. You made mistakes, yes. But, you're my son, Sammy. My own flesh and blood and there's nothing that could change that or take it away. I've missed you. We all have. I'll love you no matter what and really just wanted you to come on back home."

"Dad, were you aware that he was taken in by a black woman?" Stevie asked.

Dwight said, "What difference does that make? - If he's being kept safe. He's probably better off hobnobbing with one of them now, anyway. Maybe that makes him less of a target than he would be on his own. Does it, Sam?" Dwight asked.

Before Sam could answer, Stevie commented, "She's here, too. She and Stacie are in Stacie's room doing girl stuff. She's been here all morning… Came from Ohio with him." Stevie's eyes were hard on Sam, accusingly.

Dwight stammered a little and said, "Well, I suppose she didn't want to let an ex-con drive away in her fancy purple van that she probably paid a lot of money for."

"Or she didn't want her man to have to take his trip home alone," Stevie said, as he looked at his father. "I mean, he's been out for months and living in her place. If she couldn't trust him to take the van, why let him? No, her coming along has nothing to do with that purple eyesore in the driveway."

Dwight frowned, then glared at Stevie, "You just cut that out, now! Sam's only just come home. There's no need to start trying to beat him down. This is your brother. Sam is my son. If he brought a, you know, colored girl home, I'm sure that's because Mary wanted to meet the woman that's been helping him out." As he said it, he desperately looked back to Sam for confirmation of his theory, begging him from behind blue eyes to simply say it ain't so.

Sam took a deep breath and said, "I've changed Dad. I am what my current counselor calls reverse-living." Right now was not the time to confirm nor deny that he and Mercedes were involved. The two of them had yet to discuss exactly what they were doing with each other… but he had a pretty good idea that she was his, now. He still didn't want to assume and he certainly didn't want to tell his father that they had sex (and that it was only last night, before he decided to bring her home, totally convinced at the time that she was his future and forever.)

Stevie said, "That's a good way to put it, because this 'new you' is a little ass-backwards."

"Stevie." Dwight said it strong and once. Stevie became silent. Dwight then said, "Sam, explain to me what that even means."

He shrugged and said, "From what I gather, it means that I was living one way, then something happened that turned me around and now I am living in the exact opposite way."

"He's lost his pride," Stevie said.

Sam shrugged and said, "I couldn't do anything productive with my WHITE pride and it got me nowhere but hurt!" Sam folded his hands together and said, "I wanted to make sure that before we go any further into a new future as a family that I gave you the chance to know about everything, and talking to Stevie today made me realize that he needs to hear all of this too. Dad, this is a life that I chose and what happened to me because of it. Stevie, this is a life that I never want you to have to try to live…"

Sam Evans was not really small at sixteen and he was in shape, but he wasn't the man that he was trying to be… he still was but a boy. Rick had asked him to come on a run with him, "Those Rutherfords that keep giving Mr. Schue all that hell are going down. I thought you'd want a piece of that. Why let us have all of the fun?"

Sam sighed and said, "Jesse doesn't want me to go. In fact, Jesse said that Schue doesn't want me anywhere near this." He frowned, then smiled and shrugged, "So… I guess that I'm gonna have to show them that I'm up to the task. What are we doing, anyway?"

"Top secret stuff. The Rutherfords are going to be history by the end of the week," Rick claimed. He smiled and lifted his fist to bump Sam's. "That uppity nigger and his family are checking out of town Friday night." Sam could hardly wait. He had drawn numerous cartoons and written dozens of stories about torturing and murdering one of them, but had never come so close to an opportunity before… The hardest thing would be to try to hide it from Jesse, until afterwards – when he could honestly say 'See, look at what I did!'

"Karofsky and I are going on a road trip, and you are coming with. " Jesse announced to Sam when he reached his locker. It had been a couple of weeks since their last predatory venture and he knew that the wait was eating a hole in Jesse's pants. That sadist would probably marathon rape, if he could. Sam shuddered at the thought of it. At first, it was fun to tag along and do the honors of taping, but somewhere along the road, when one of the girls asked, 'Why are you doing this to me?' Sam lost his rush for it. He kept thinking about his mother and wondering if she'd asked a similar question? Wondered if she had begged for it to stop?

And while he didn't see them as equals, it began to bother him so that these girls were mentally switching places with his mother and his sister… he began to have some level of sensitivity about the issue that he hadn't had before and his rage over the thoughts of his mother being similarly treated or God forbid, his baby sister… those thoughts made him not want to so much attack these girls as to attack the men. He wanted to kill someone. Jesse wanted to keep him away from it, but Rick was willing to allow him the chance to finally get it out of his system.

Sam sighed and told Jesse, "Yeah, that got old really fast. I think it's great that you get to do whatever you want and never get caught and all of that, but these chicks are nothing. When are you going to step up and actually do something important for the movement?"

Jesse frowned and asked, "What's your problem?"

Sam slammed some books into his locker, that he couldn't even remember why he was holding them, because he hardly ever did any work in those classes, and replied, "My problem is that you have been selected to lead certain members of our race into freedom from the stifling bog that these blacks have put us in, in our own country, and you want to spend all of your weekends jerking off over their girls."

Jesse's eyebrow shot up at the little outburst, but he made no attempt to silence Sam nor even try to quietly speak himself. It was like he could care less who could even hear him, even though no one seemed to be paying much attention. "First off – I resent your accusation. The GIRL is not the part that gets me excited, it's what's done to her. Obviously, you do not appreciate the art of destroying their women before they become women – because you underestimate the power that their women have. These women, if we let them will help to build up the black men. If she loves and values herself, she is better equipped to love and value him, which makes him want to do better and be better. It gives him inspiration and motivation. So, please, do not trivialize what I do because I happen to find enjoyment in it. It is valid work for the cause. Secondly, aside from taking away Shane Tinsley's chance at his scholarship, throwing around a few punches and harsh words, and taping MY work, what is it that you feel you've contributed?"

Jesse placed a hand on his younger friend's shoulder and said, " Sam, let's be honest – you are a spineless follower. You do what I say, when I say it. While my words are very important, the tasks that I've given you are menial. You would never be able to be charming enough to have the world love you while you make certain, from behind the scenes that the laziest of minorities are rewarded for it and those that are foolish enough to work extra hard only get a small fragment of the credit… You aren't smart enough, either. I'm sure that if I wanted to, I could deny thousands of blacks all over the country scholarships, and find an economic or politically correct way of spinning it. I help to perpetuate an environment in which my children and grandchildren will have the power to keep them disadvantaged and to help our superior kind remain that way. Your weapons against them are all flesh and blood. You have heart and you have talent, but don't ever think that you have the brain or balls to challenge me, again."

Sam glared at Jesse and his jaws tightened. Jesse had a point. He had several points, but after Friday night, those points would be moot. Jesse would have to acknowledge that Sam, one willing to murder for the cause, to eliminate the enemy – he was the better soldier.

However, Schuester never intended for his henchmen to get away with the crime. The plan was to make sure that the evidence was found to link the culprits to the crime. They wanted the world to see that race hate crimes were still an option that they were not afraid to utilize, even if they weren't taking the credit for it. It was psychological warfare against all those who would try to take a stand and be proud and be confident and try to collapse the system instilled in the country to keep white privilege predominant.

Jesse shook his head when he saw the officers taking Sam away with Rick, from school. Dave looked nervous – please God; don't let this be related to the stuff that I've done. Jesse simply patted him on the back as a sign of comfort. Nope – this was something that Sam decided to step in, on his own, after being told precisely not to. Sam had bailed on the road trip and Jesse had to film for himself… Now Jesse knew why. That fool was not supposed to be a pawn. He was supposed to be a rook. Such a disappointment to the cause and what a failure as a soldier... Not only had he demoted himself, but he couldn't even do the job that he decided to take on. Will paid for his legal fees, but the lawyer hardly tried to keep Sam out of prison. In fact, it was better that he went, and took his secrets and knowledge inside with him.

Sam Evans was not really small at sixteen and he was in shape, but he wasn't the man that he was trying to be… he still was but a boy. The boy was now surrounded by men – big, dangerous men, many of them hating him from the moment he entered the joint and many of them wanting him the moment they laid eyes upon him. At the time, Sam had his hooded klansmen tattoo, the noose and the confederate flag, dancing up his right arm. He had a flaming cross covering the whole of his back, nearly, and a blood drop tattoo on his chest. Plus, he was a national celebrity and infamous, already.

Upon coming in, it wasn't hard at all to tell where he belonged. The prison guard that escorted him to his cell and introduced him to his roommate was a black woman with a foul mouth and insults a mile long for everyone. "Let me just tell you, Sam Evans that it makes no difference to me whether you killed a black family, or in your case was just there when it happened, whether you raped a child, beat up a homeless person, or set a building on fire that killed a dozen people.. Here, you are all equal pieces of sh*t and you can say whatever you want to me or about me, but I come right back with them and if you even look like you are about to touch me, each and every inch of this billy club is going into dat ass, Sam Evans. Then, I'ma taze you, Bro. And if you spit on me, you get solitary, each and every inch of this billy club is going into dat ass, and I will taze you. But if you touch one strand of these golden locks, I will kill you. Figgy! They tell you that you have a new roommate?" She asked the Indian older man.

He clapped his hands together and said, "I have been told that I should remain alert, Officer Washington. The young man doesn't look too dangerous." Sam was looking at the older man in horror. Did they really expect him to sleep in the same cell with this dude? He was probably some known terrorist and would try to kill Sam as an act of defiance against the superiority of white America.

"Naw, he don't look too dangerous to me either. He looks like a bitch, if you ask me, Figgy. But, I don't think you should trust a white child with lips like that and I noticed when we were checking him in that one of his nipples is higher than the other. You might want to make sure that he don't try to take out some of his stress of having to go through life with those crooked nipples on you."

Figgins smiled and said, "I'm sure that I can manage." Some of the other inmates were still catcalling and whistling at Sam, but his eyes went directly to where he knew he needed to be – the Brotherhood. "Well, Evans, I am Figgins, your roommate." The Indian man said, in a low, soft voice.

"I think there's been a mistake, Officer Washington. I don't think it's even legal for you to put me in a cell with somebody like this," Sam said.

"Sam Evans, you must have misinterpreted my meaning of equal pieces of sh*t," she replied, then shoved him into the cell and locked it up, with her lips pursed. "Don't worry. You'll learn." She walked away, yelling at the Brotherhood, "Cooter – I think this one has one or more of your tags on it!" Sam looked across the way and saw the one that she referred to as 'Cooter' – big, blond, mean and tough looking. He was leaning nonchalantly against the bars of his cell and his cellmate was leaning forward on them – both men were watching Sam. Cooter smiled and nudged his head at the boy. Sam returned the gesture.

As soon as Sam was able to get to the yard, he found Cooter and the others. Coot seemed to be the guy in charge, from the get-go. "I know that I can't just come in and expect a place, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn it. I didn't get the chance to prove myself that I wanted. It just wasn't that great to beat up a bunch of niggers who were bound up, but in this arena – where it'd be an actual fight – I know that I can do it. I could take anyone that you send me after and I'd do it with a smile."

"Why don't you slow down and be quiet," Cooter's cellmate asked. Sam looked at him as he made a circle around the newbie. The guy instantly reminded Sam of a pedophile as he continued talking, "I know you from the television. You're one of my brother-in-law's flunkies. I'm Phil Giardi."

"Is that Italian?" Sam asked. Cooter laughed as Phil turned red in the face at the question. "I mean – I wasn't trying to offend you. Just sounds a little wop to me."

Cooter commented, "Phil's married to Will Schuester's sister-in-law." Sam blinked and looked at Phil again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it," he said.

"Soft," Cooter immediately said. "The appropriate response would have been to keep jabbing at him until he tells you whether or not he's tainted."

"I presumed that if he was actually tainted, he'd have no place in your midst," Sam defended. "I ain't soft."

"Don't worry." Cooter said, with a small grin. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm not going anywhere. A true soldier gives up his own life for the cause and that's exactly what I did. I have more acts of war under my belt than any Brotherhood member in the state, and that's only for the things that they caught me for. There are no conjugal visits in Ohio…" Sam's eyes went to the right, then the left, then focused on Phil's amused face for questioning.

"I'm not a fag," Sam said.

"Neither am I, young one," Cooter told him. "But, as I said, I'm not going anywhere – and you're soft… and pretty. You have some ink, but no muscle. I can keep anyone and everyone off of your back. I just ask that you try to repay my kindness." Sam scoffed and took a step back. It was settled. He was dead, because there was no way in hell… Cooter and the others laughed out loud at Sam. He turned to face them. "Oh, the look on your face, Kid. Definitely one of Schue's arrogant little things. Rather die than hand over your pride to anyone. I respect that and I can definitely use you for war." Sam stared at him, trying to determine if that meant that he had just been testing him, or if he was simply trying another approach to the whole homo thing, because that simply was not an option.

However, the subject seemed over with. Cooter began talking to Sam about the different things that he had done and how any friend of Will Schuester's was a friend of his. Sam was listening to everything the man said, and when the time came to leave the yard and return to cells, Sam vowed in his mind that he would be right back tomorrow. In the meantime, Cooter would allow him protection, even before he would have the chance to earn it rightfully.

Sam heard a shuffling, either really late or really early… he couldn't tell. He had been lying awake since lights out. Figgins tried to have some type of conversation with him, right afterwards, from the bottom bunk, but he ignored the man. Now, he wondered what he was doing and the image of a stabbing scene through a bunk bed from a prison movie alerted him to sit up in the bed and climb out of it, wearily. Figgins stared at him, and even though it was dark, they could see each other, due to the small lights for the guards. "Good morning, Sam. Would you like to pray with me?" The man asked.

"I'm not a Muslim," Sam said.

Figgins retorted, "How shallow do you think I am? I do not believe that all terrorists are Muslims, or vice versa."

"Terrorist? Did you just call me a terrorist?" Sam asked.

"The systematic use of terror, especially as a means of coercion is the definition of terrorism and you and your Brotherhood use terror to try to intimidate and victimize minority groups," Figgins explained. "That is why you are a terrorist, and why I referred to you as such. To clarify, I am not a Muslim. I am a Christian. Do you have an origin of faith?" Figgins seemed to patiently wait the response.

"I don't want to pray with you," Sam said and backed away to lean against the bars, where he could keep an eye on the man. Figgins set up a Bible, and a notepad, then got down on his knees next to his bed and remained there for quite a while. Sam kept expecting him to come charging at him with his pen or to cry out some Muslim ramblings or something, but when the man was done praying, he sat up and began studying his Bible. Sam climbed back into his bed and dared to shut his eyes, but he still couldn't sleep. Just as well, because it was time for them to rise before long.

Cooter needed a little bit of time to gather a bit of intelligence on Sam Evans before making a decision. Phil called his lawyer for the information. They always called the many lawyers that Shuester had set up. The voice on the other line, after several transfers and holds said, "On the issue of Sam Evans – defect… not one of ours."

"I remember this Evans kid… he showed great promise. He was one of our most hopeful prospects," Phil said.

"It appears that he has a problem with taking orders and he doesn't care about ruining plans already mapped out. He should not have been involved that night and his involvement has raised questions in the wrong areas. It is in our best interest that you deal with him, for good."

"He's not going to be a problem for anyone," Phil promised and hung up. Figgins did not glance in his direction, as he continued his own conversation on the phone, but he did make a mental note of what he heard.

Sam was heading towards the group when his cell mate fell in step with him, "I have reason to believe that you are in danger," the man said.

"Every damn day in this place," Sam said. "And just because they stuck me in a cell with you doesn't mean that you have permission to speak to me or address me."

"You made a mistake on the outside – something that your friends in the Brotherhood did not appreciate. If you align yourself with those people, I'm afraid that you will be hurt or worse," Figgins warned.

"I'm sure that you would love to see something happen to me. They wouldn't give you the satisfaction. So, why don't you take your ridiculous warning and go to hell with it," Sam shoved past the man and made his way to Cooter. "Have you determined my initiation process?"

Cooter smirked and said, "You missed five opportunities to achieve soldier status on the outside. There were five bodies found in that house and you were not responsible for any of them falling. That sounds like you owe us a handful of dead niggers." He held out his fingers to show the number five.

"I don't know how I would be able to play off five deaths," Sam said.

"You most likely can't. You'll just have to own up to them. It'll make them think twice before approaching you and you'll earn a few more tats."

"If I'm caught killing people, I'll kiss the possibility of parole goodbye…" Sam said, automatically thinking of how that would affect his mother. His father had not spoken to him or visited during the entire trial and urged Mary not to involve the kids, either. Sam didn't want his brother and sister to see him like this, anyway. But, he had a shot to get back to them with enough time to live a full life. Besides, there were appeals in process. There would be so much more at stake if he didn't get his act together and play it safe, here. And by safe, of course he meant not getting caught killing anyone or anything else that might negatively affect his chance at being freed.

"Are you more concerned with white dominance or your insignificant life that you wasted effortlessly on the outside, anyway?" Phil asked. "Maybe this is why you are here today – because you don't know how to take orders. You aren't even a true soldier, are you? How many lives have you taken as casualties of this war?" The group was encircling Sam and he tried to keep his head level and his body and face from showing his true fear. "You said that you were willing to do whatever it took. Did you just say that because you wanted protection? Because I'm sure that everyone else in the yard would love to have a shot at you!"

"What is it that you need me to do?" Sam asked.

Cooter smirked and said, "If I could, I would kill all the niggers, and just enslaved the populous spics for the work that's too beneath the rest of us. You only have to deal with five of them. If you think you can do it without detection, great. But whether or not you can, you owe us that, or you'll hate yourself in the morning."

Sam frowned. "Any particular five, or just random ones?"

Cooter said, "Two of your choosing, Canada, the fish, David, the chaplain's trustee, and the irritatingly annoying and uppity Officer Washington."

Sam glanced around. Canada was clearly gay, and appeared to belong to one of the toughest looking black dudes in the yard… which made him a hard target. David had an impeccable record, and killing him would probably not only start a race war, but would have Sam's record burned to ashes. And Officer Washington was a guard. While that might make a great show for the inmates, he would never see the sun again. Even though she was black, she had a point – in this setting, she had more rights than he did. She was in control in here. How had he let himself get in this position. The reality of his situation was now getting to him. "I can't do it," he admitted. "My mom wants to see me again outside of this place and I can't endanger that, even to save face. So, if you have to unleash me into the wild, I understand. I'm not worthy of being called one of you."

"You are so admirable," Phil said. "Coot – I think that you should give the kid another chance to prove himself."

Sam Evans was not really small at sixteen and he was in shape, but he wasn't the man that he was trying to be… he still was but a boy… and that boy was an object. He tried to fight, but he wasn't strong enough. He screamed for help, but no one really gave a damn about him, not in here. He knew firsthand what it was like to be assaulted and violated, repeatedly. But, throughout the day no one was trying to kill him and he didn't have to try to kill anyone else. Cooter tattooed a swastika on his neck. It was large and obvious, and he and Jeff – Cooter's other bitch had them. Jeff repeatedly reminded him that Cooter was keeping them safe – no matter how much it hurt and no matter how he felt about it. If he wanted to see his mom and family again…

But, Sam was always a fighter. He never just took it. Cooter actually liked that about him. That made it more entertaining. He could get rough with Sam and watch him go from fighter to failure when he wasn't powerful enough to prevent the inevitable.

Figgins found his cell mate, seated on the floor of the shower, crying, with blood rolling down the drain. The old man knew how Officer Goolsby could sometimes be, and was sure that the man pretended that he did not know when things were happening in the shower room. Figgins gave Sam a towel and said, "If you'd like, I could get an officer to escort you to medical."

"I'm not sick," Sam said and snatched the towel from the man.

Figgin's turned off the water and said, "You may be. You need to be tested and determine that you have not contracted any STD's from your regular abuse. Your rectum appears to be bleeding. That may be something that you want them to medically address, as well. Not to mention the fact that your aggressors need to be charged for their crimes against you."

"Figgins… this has been going on for weeks. You ask me about it everyday. Do you really think that you're the only person who sees that I have handprints on my throat and shoulders? Do you think that Goolsby or Washington will care that this happens to me, right under their noses? They don't. We're all equal pieces of sh*t in here. She told me that on day one."

"When she said that, she did not mean that you could be violently abused every day. Officer Washington is hard, but she isn't cold. You can talk to her. Perhaps she could assist in getting you moved into a new cell block." Figgins reached a hand out to Sam, to help him stand and the boy accepted it and wrapped himself up in the towel, mortified to be seen this way, but relieved that it was Figgins, and not one of Cooter's.

"This is my karma… do you believe in that?" Sam asked. "I mean, I see you reading a Bible, and I didn't even know that people like you read the Bible. I thought that you were only Muslims. But, I think that you guys came up with Karma, right? I mean, the Indians, or something…?"

Figgins sighed and shook his head at everything wrong with Sam's comments. "No one deserves to have to go through this each day, Sam. Whatever you have done, though there are consequences – I look at you and I see a child. You are being abused and it is not acceptable. But, things are not going to change unless you are strong enough to admit what is happening to you."

Fortunately, Sam didn't have any diseases. But, when Officer Goolsby faced losing his job for neglect, Sam noticed that most of the other guards began to pretend that he did not even exist… which meant that not only was he a target for the Brotherhood, who he had given up, but anyone else who wanted him as fair game. The attacks only stopped when Officer Washington was on duty, or when he was with Figgins. Figgins somehow had a great deal of respect in that place, and Sam honestly wondered now what he was in for if it wasn't terrorism. "What did you do to get in here, Figgins?" He asked, when they were awake after lights out.

"I hunted down and killed the men who raped and murdered my wife in our home. I created a torture chamber for the three of them and let their execution last for days, watching each other and waiting their turns," he said simply. Sam almost expected him to say that was just a joke, but something in his voice told him that was exactly what had happened. "I didn't care if I was going to go to prison for the rest of my life or even if I would have to go to death row. I just wanted them to have to suffer and I wanted them to die. It did not make me feel better for very long, but I felt better about the fact that my wife, who was number five was one of the last ones. People here call me the Indian Jigsaw. I'm not even Indian, I'm Pakistani." Sam chuckled slightly, then apologized. "Sam, I want you to get out of this place. But, I don't want you to go back into the world thinking the things that you thought when you were in it before."

"Cooter and the others have definitely taught me that the things I believed were not true. But, I've been thinking that there are bad people everywhere, right? I just came across the bad ones in the Brotherhood. There are good ones. I knew them and they were my friends."

"Do you remember when I tried to warn you that you were in danger? These so called bad ones had contacted your friends on the outside, and less than a day later, you became Cooter's sex slave. Sam, I don't think that any of them care about you, at all and I don't think that they ever did. Your family cares about you. You must be able to return to them and be productive. Therefore, I am volunteering to mentor you as a spiritual advisor and a GED efficiency tutor. I have some helpful books that we could use to prepare you." Sam peeked over the side of his bed and looked at the man. "Because, Sam… I look at you and see a child. NO child can learn everything for himself. He has to be taught. You have to be re-taught."

Sam agreed to it, but he also took back his accusation against his assailants. That gave him the chance to be protected again, but it also opened up more aggression and revenge from Cooter for "betraying" him. He wasn't going to be physically killed, but he was being killed inside, more brutally than even before…

Sam wiped his face as his father and brother stared at him, both crying, themselves. He got up and shook his head, "I'll be back. I'm just gonna check on Mercy and let you two have a breather." He rushed out of the room and Dwight and Stevie looked at each other. Sam came down the hallway and saw Stacie painting on her canvass and Mercy laying in her bed, sound asleep. He smiled, slightly and entered the room.

Stacie said, softly, "One moment, there was music and soft words from pages… the next she was out cold. I'm glad that she feels that comfortable with me." She noticed her brother's sad expression, but would not point it out. Instead, she said. "I think I'll take a juice break." She placed her art supplies down and left the music and book playing as she stepped out. Sam sat next to Mercedes on the bed, and the dogs jumped up onto it, too. But, he shooed them off. He didn't want her to wake up. He just stroked her hair and kissed the side of her head. That brought him a little bit of peace, but he still had quite a journey to take his father on before he would have everything off of his chest.