STREET PHOEBE

"I need to be transferred to another facility, or at least another cell," Chandler said in as confident a voice as he could muster. Even before he spoke, his confidence was failing him.

"If you have a complaint about the standard of accommodation or the state of the food here, fill out a form and we'll get back to you," the prison officer sighed.

"No, it's not that," Chandler muttered.

"What is it then? I haven't got all day," the officer snapped.

"My cellmates… it's hard to put into words, they… they've been awful, to say the least," Chandler struggled.

"Define awful," the officer grumbled.

"They actually... well, they attacked me," Chandler admitted.

"They attacked you? How? When? Where? We get a lot of complaints of this nature, so you'll have to be more specific," the officer said curtly. Chandler remained mute, staring at his feet.

"The way I see it son, I don't see a single mark on you. So either you be forthcoming with me, or I'm in no position to help you," the officer sighed.

Feeling backed into the corner, for he wasn't ready to admit the humiliating truth, Chandler stood up mumbling, "Sorry to have wasted your time."

Chandler trudged back to his cell, his insides twisted in agony, his stomach almost rebelling against him, and his head throbbing with the beginnings of a migraine. His misery was really beginning to eat into his health.

Am I to spend the rest of my life trapped in a cell with the men who raped me, for a crime I never committed? All because I cannot bring myself to admit the truth?

It was absolutely breathtaking how much, within the blink of an eye his life had disappeared into the gutter. As Chandler stepped towards his cell, an inmate he'd never spoken to before stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Chandler felt pangs of panic rise in his chest. What did this stranger want with him? Was he about to get prison-bashed? God knows he already had more than enough trauma to deal with. To his surprise, the inmate squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Let me know if they give you any more trouble. A friend of Phoebe's is a friend of mine," the inmate whispered in Chandler's ear.

As the inmate walked away, Chandler gasped in shock at the sight before him. His cellmates Eric and Lucas lay crumpled on the cell floor, their faces swollen black and blue, and their limbs twisted at inhuman angles. He heard their pained muffled moans and saw the smear of blood across the prison floor. Chandler glanced around the facility. All the prisoners were walking by quickly, averting their eyes, refusing to get involved.

Christ, Phoebe, what have you done?

Rushing over to kneel by his cell mates, his first instinct was to help them, to cover up their wounds, splint their broken limbs, to call for help… But as he reached over to attend to them, a dark thought washed over him.

He remembered how they dragged him by his hair; pressed his face into the mattress, almost suffocated him; forced themselves into him; abused him in the worst, most degrading way; completely erased his humanity. And in that moment, any shred of sympathy he felt towards them evaporated into thin air. As much as it chilled him to admit it, he felt satisfied seeing his cellmates lying bloodied on the floor. Grasping a fistful of their blood-matted hair, he pulled their faces towards him, and stared them straight in the eyes.

"Let's hope for your sake, you never fuck with me again," Chandler whispered. Lucas and Eric shifted uncomfortably under his icy blue stare.

"Here's what'll happen. I'll have the prison guards attend to you, and you'll inform them that you need to be transferred to another facility immediately. You got me?" Chandler asked coldly.

Lucas and Eric nodded weakly. Standing up, Chandler walked away, leaving his cellmates crumpled on the floor. For the first time since Emma's accident, Chandler felt the veil of paralysing helplessness and depression lift over him. It was replaced with the bittersweet sense of vindication, and a biting rage at the injustice that had been inflicted upon him. This newfound bitterness fed him, fuelled him, empowered him. Finally, the moment Monica had been waiting for, Chandler had come back to life. He was ready to fight for his freedom.

"Thank you Phoebe," he whispered.