Redemption

R e d e m p t i o n - p a r t I.

I knew that he would be mine from the first moment I saw him. Not that his was the type of looks I always fell for or I was ever attracted to guys older than me. My last "punk" - a beautiful Puerto Rican named Benny - was about my age. Extremely slim - he probably had helminthes - and with the most sparkling eyes I could imagine. He paroled two weeks ago. And while I was glad for him, I couldn't say my heart was broken. I enjoyed him immensely - his silky fragile body, his sensual lips on the bony face - but there was nothing more between us. Nothing inner, I mean. Perhaps, I was the only one here who would give a dime for it. But I would. Of course, however, I'd never say it aloud.

I watched him as he got off from the prison bus with other newcomers - tense and lost all of them usually are - with this wary perplexed look. Rather small he was - 5'8 maybe - two inches shorter than me. Figure nice to look at. His dark-brown hair was receding. I couldn't get the color of his eyes from here and he had a cute little scar on his right cheek, more like a dimple. It was his age that made me think. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, I presumed.

Who was he? A businessman, used to be Armani-clad? He was not in Armani just now, for sure. And soon he would be given his prison overall - the same as I had - as well as seven hundred of other mates. But first of all he'd get his shower. I half-closed my eyes thinking about him naked, exposed, under cruel streams of hot water. Then doctor's examination. I couldn't refrain from a creepy smile; a year and a half ago I also went through all this... The old bitch Dr. Mitchell poked his finger into my ass and he did like it!

I spat. Took a cigarette out of the pack and caught a sidelong glance of Mishka, my buddy. My only buddy here - but he cost dear. Almost 230 pounds of muscles and not the worst brains. And I could trust him, which was the most important.

"Put your eye upon someone?" he said in sotto voce. I restrained a smile. "Just don't tell me it's this gorgeous blonde in Levi's. I bet he didn't break twenty yet."

I needed a little time to find whom he meant. A big hunky guy with sheepish expression. Blonde he was, really, and baby-looking somehow. Like a child grown to the size of an adult.

"He's not to my taste," I dropped lazily. Mishka laughed.

"Okay, then I won't have to sustain competition. And who is of your interest?"

I showed with the tip of my cigarette. He shrugged.

"Doesn't look like going to jump to your bed."

"I know," I said. "I know."

Hans is my name. And they say I'm one the toughest loner in this prison. Well, one had to be tough if he is twenty-five years old sweet-looking half-Austrian. My hair is yellow, my eyes are navy-blue and I have eighteen scars on my body. Three for each year I spent in prison.

And it was my world. There was nothing here I wanted and couldn't get. But in some ways Mishka was right: this guy I kept an eye on seemed unlikely to "hook" with me immediately. To "hook" with anybody, to be exact. Of course, there were means of persuasion, speaking the truth. But I hated the idea. I hated it at the moment when I thought about it. And I even didn't know his name.

I learned it fifteen minutes later. That black guy with Rastafarian hair brought the news.

"Jack Vance," he said. And immediately I understood that there would be problems.

I vaguely remembered the reports of his trial in the papers. A lawyer. A good one, they said. He was going home from a party, with his wife in the car. A girl jumped just in front of his bumper. He braked. The car skidded. It brought death to his wife as well as to the late passer-by.

There were 1,5 promille of alcohol in his blood. They gave him seven years. Bang up job of the lawyer.

And... the worst part of all this - an unpredictable part - was that the girl he ran down was black.

I lighted a cigarette. A glance from Mishka. I looked at our black guys. Smiling, laughing, their movements gracious - as if they were dancing all the time. The dance full of menace.

I turned away abruptly. On half of my way to the block Mishka came up with me.

"You think they'll get him?"

"I'm deadly sure they will," I dropped the butt and crushed it with my foot.

"Well, Hun, who cares? You care?"

"I don't know," I answered.

"Why? You just saw him for forty seconds..."

I shrugged. What could I say?

"Maybe, he should ask for protective custody."

"Am I to advise him?" I asked sarcastically. "I just saw him for forty seconds."

"Okay!" he laughed. "Nevertheless, I'm going to get my blonde. Gave the guard the tenner not to lock our cells this night."

"Congratulations!" I said half-heartedly.

I saw him again during the supper. Already he was in prison uniform - these dark-gray pants and shirt with white T-shirt; I have to admit, I rather liked the uniform of this prison. At least, it was passable, better than in some other places I had been in.

I sat at my table together with Mishka, watching Jack Vance taking his tray and looking for a free place. Well, I thought, maybe, he would disappoint me when I saw him close. It didn't happen. His face - lovely, with thin sable brows and soft pinkish mouth - so placid it was. So dignified. As if he was not going to allow all this around him to disturb his inner equilibrium.

But it would be disturbed. I knew it. I knew it a moment before it happened actually. I saw Danillo, a black shit of a man, shooting a vicious smile while his hand hit Jack's tray from the bottom. Every noise in the diner died away. For a split moment all eyes were directed to them. Then Jack thrust the tray into Danillo's jaw.

"Just a suicide," Mishka commented.

The black guys quickly skipped up. Surely, he didn't stand a chance, with all them. But he tried. He managed to punch two of them before Archie got him in the stomach. Then somebody else attacked him from the back. They knocked him down. I saw their boots kicking him.

Then the guards appeared cutting their way through the crowd with their clubs. Thanks God, I might well think, because if not for them, the blacks could easily kill him. The crowd broke up. The guards generously pushed their clubs under every rib cage they could get. The blacks held one of them - short burly man, Linus was his name. I despised him, he was a real freak. He still tried to catch Vance with his leg.

Jack stood up now. Blood rushed out of his nose and his lips were cracked. He was pressing his hands to his stomach.

And then T.C. came in. T.C. Anderson, the director of the prison.

I remembered our first meeting. Myself - in the row with other newcomers - and him - walking along, his eyes glistening behind small gold-rimmed glasses. "Do you have problems with learning by heart? You'd better have not. Anyway, there are only two things I want you to know - but you have to know them for your own sake. First is - I hate troublemakers. And second - people I hate don't live long."

He came up slowly, stopped between the fighters and shifted his eyes from Linus to Vance.

"He started it!" Linus was seething. "He hit Danillo!"

T.C. peered at him with the most amused expression, like he probably would scrutinize an interesting fossil, then turned to Vance. Well, T.C. was not an idiot. Surely, he was as fucking far from idiot as it's possible.

"You have already forgot what I told you two hours ago?" he asked venomously. "John "Jack" Vance?"

I saw Vance wiping blood from his chin. His eyes were cast down.

"Any comments?" T.C. leant to him.

"Just a matter of misunderstanding. I stumbled."

Oh! An adult man - and with these childish ideas like "never rat on your mates"! I felt uneasiness.

T.C.'s expression became sarcastic. It was a premonition. But Vance didn't know it yet. He shrugged and turned away.

And the same moment the club of one of the guards pounced on his right knee. He just fell down.

"A lesson," T.C. said sacramentally. "Don't neglect any of prison stuff. Stand up."

Jack lay on the floor, rubbing his knee. His eyes were full of contempt and mild surprise. A guard moved to him, ready to kick him. He rose hastily.

"Go on with your supper," T.C. proclaimed.

"You looked like you were going to interfere," I heard Mishka's voice over my ear. I glimpsed at him.

"I'm not crazy," I said in a low voice.

So. They were after him. From now whatever he did - he was doomed.

On the evening check-up I still couldn't help looking at him. His cell was solitary, in my row, quite near. He stood quietly, his face weary, almost blank. It seemed he had difficulty in keeping his eyes open. His mouth twisted when he stepped on his right foot.

We went into our cells. I sat on the lower bunk listening to the clanking keys in Preston's hands. No click of Mishka's lock. And of Ted's, too. Ted was the boy Mishka put his eye on. Well, the boy didn't know what was approaching. But, probably, he was lucky. At least, Mishka was capable to protect him. No gang rape, no shower duties. As for turning out - he had to think about it before getting there, with his blond hair and nineteen years.

I counted the number of locks Preston ignored. I did it before I grasped what I was doing. I felt shiver. Preston went to the left end of the tier. The cell next to mine. The following.

Fuck! I hit the bunk with my fist. He was coming back. I stood at the bars, clasping the rods so hard that my palms hurt. He caught my gaze.

"Fishing for troubles, Hun?" he didn't stop. I drove my teeth into my lower lip until blood appeared.

The lights went off.

I paced along my cell, feeling its cold walls under my palms - no comfort. A cigarette. I threw myself on the bunk.

"Hun!" Mishka's exhilarated voice. "Hu-un! I'm go-o-ing!"

"Good luck!" I said.

I saw him slipping out of his cell - barefoot, in his boxers and T-shirt only. Feline - with all his mass. He moved to the cell in the opposite row and pulled the bar door. Ted, the boy, got up on his feet. Too late. Mishka covered his mouth with the hand. A short cry. Muffled moans.

I flattened myself against the wall.

And then I heard other doors opening.

I felt it would be better for me not to look. Of course, not to close eyes, to cover ears with hands. Just to slip in trance. I could do it.

And I could not.

I watched them passing by the corridor. Some of them dressed, some having only their underwear on. Five. Jeggy. The big guy with bold head, Kikai. Linus. Danillo - a prize for his fractured jaw? Jude, a tough guy, we were on good terms. He greeted me passing my cell. I was silent.

Then I stopped seeing them. Just sounds. The door clinking open. Vance shifted, rose from the bunk. His voice:

"What the fuck..."

They interrupted him with the punch. Then fight. No screams, desperate struggle. And it all changed into beating. Simple beating. Did he lose consciousness?

"Like it, white shit? I'll give you what you need, bitch!"

I clenched the rods of the bars. My head was swooning. How long are they going to beat him? Here are five of them; they'll just kill him.

Then they stopped. I exhaled with relieve - but no relieve, I knew all too well to think it's going to be okay. I moved swiftly. Took my hand mirror. A long handle. It was easy to adjust the angle when it was pushed through the bars.

In dim light I saw the inside of his cell.

They raised him from the floor and made kneel. He was bleeding, panting.

"Enjoy it, white bitch? I know what you'll enjoy more. To suck a big black dick! You gonna like it! I bet you dreamed about it!"

Two of them held him. I saw Jeggy taking off his pants, pulling out his dick. He pushed it to Jack's lips. Jack withdraw.

"Take it, you slut!" Jeggy hissed.

"I will not!" his voice was hardly audible.

"What? What did you say? I did hear it? You fuckin' asshole!"

Linus punched him in the face. Again. And again.

How doesn't he understand? It's easier for them to beat him to death then to smoke a cig.

He passed out.

"Turn him," Jeggy. "On his stomach."

Mein Gott, what were they doing to him?! He moaned when they threw him on the bunk - but he was helpless, absolutely, they could do whatever they wanted. Probably, he regained consciousness - because when they started pulling his pants down he tried to free himself. For the first time he was not silent. No go. They even didn't pay attention.

Then I saw Jeggy's cock ready. These black guys! I swear, it was 11 inches at least, thanks God, Jack didn't see it. But he felt it all right when Jeggy shoved it all the way through.

He gave out a scream. I closed my ears involuntarily.

"Watch your mouth, whore!"

He seemed to try to control himself, to keep from crying - but as Jeggy went on moving in him, he couldn't help. And Jeggy just started.

"You like it, bitch! You like this black dick in your ass! I gonna fuck you to your throat, you piece of shit!"

I pressed my forehead to the bars. The rods were hurting my skull. I gazed at the mirror.

He could do nothing to escape it, no matter how painful it was. Jeggy's business was to decide when to stop. And for a long time he went on! Minutes.

Then he cummed.

"Take my milk, bitch!"

He jerked out his dick covered with blood. Jack moaned of pain. The thought about the others struck me. They were not going to let him rest. I already saw Kikai preparing himself.

"Please, please..." Jack was sobbing, half-conscious. "It hurt so much..."

"Shut up, asshole!"

Kikai went into him and started pumping in and out. His groans mixed with Jack's broken sobs.

I didn't know how long it lasted. It just went on and on. Jude after Kikai, then Danillo. I lost a trace of time. Maybe, hours passed. I was mortified. My arm that held the mirror was numb. And I felt the wetness of my face: my vision was blurred. I cried.

It was Linus that brought me out of stupor. When he released his dick. I just wanted to scream. He would kill him with this thing, plain and simple. Till then Jack's moans became fainter. Maybe, he was too weak. But when Linus tried to penetrate him, he came to life. They held him firmly, mercilessly.

I found myself praying suddenly, the words I seemed to forget forever:

"Just stop it, stop it, please! Just don't let him die..." I was out of control. For the first time in my life I couldn't cope with myself.

"Oh, Linus, you're so slow," it was Jude's voice.

"Give him head if you can't wait," Jeggy advised him sharply.

A mirror dropped from my hand. For a moment I blessed it. But no! What I felt? That I can't leave him? I reached my arm through the bars and dragged the mirror.

Now they were fucking him in the mouth, too. Not making him suck it, it was not their way, but thrusting the dick into his throat deeply. He gagged, choked.

Probably, every one of them fucked him in the ass, then gave him head. When no one more could get hard, they left him. He lay in the pool of his own blood.

I was just in time to hide my mirror. They passed my cell and, when they vanished, I again looked at him. He could be dead. Or terribly injured, for all I know. He didn't move. I held my breath. Minutes passed before he moved. Heartbroken I watched him trying to get up. He made a long groan through his teeth. He got to the sink and threw up. The sound of water. He washed himself.

For the first time I glanced at my watch. Just after midnight. I thanked God - he'll have a little time to sleep.

Me too. I jumped on my bunk. My mouth was full of blood, I bit my lips severely. I closed my eyes. It was still before me: them forcing him, beating him, their voices were in my ears. I thought I'd never forget it.

On the morning check-up I dreaded to see him - no, to see him not. Maybe, they mutilated him so he wouldn't be able to get up. But he was there. He stood steady but with visible effort. I watched the guards with hatred. Don't they see his face?!

I hated everyone. And what could I do? As I asked myself this question, I felt I couldn't do what I needed to - to stay away. He was "dirty" now, the "punk". Turned out. Nobody was to come to him unless to use him. But I didn't care.

When we turned to go to the breakfast, I slowed my pace. I wanted to level with him. Then...

"What the fuck you brake?!"

A guard. A freshman, Pearce was his name? He stepped to me quickly, with his club. I smiled at him. He frowned. Then he just jabbed his stick into my kidney.

I screamed and blacked out.

I regained consciousness at the doctor's. Lying on the plastic-covered bunk. The pain was terrible.

Thanks to Andrews, the guard at _________ prison. How many years ago? He had maimed me then: tried to persuade me to become a rat. Surely, I'd refused. Then he took me to the basement cell, tied my hands over my head and started beating me in my kidneys. "Agree? Agree? I don't hear!"

I fainted, then came up, then passed again - he proceeded. Well, I was young and healthy, that's the only reason I survived. But I didn't submit. And he left me with this terrible pains and even the slightest touch to my kidneys proved disastrous.

I opened my eyes and saw the worried face of the guard.

"Immendorf? You all right?"

I would spit if I weren't so weak.

"I am sorry."

Oh, God, I couldn't believe what I heard! He apologized?! I slowly put my feet on the floor. It was like a scorching rod pierced my kidneys.

"I didn't want..."

He was too fresh. For this prison. I cast down my eyes. Didn't want to see him, it hurt too much.

Then I thought. I needed an ally.

"Don't worry. It's okay."

"Really?" he brightened. A smile. "Then... Hurry up, the breakfast is almost over."

Hardly I could swallow a bit of food now. I carefully sank on the bench near to Mishka.

"You okay?"

I nodded. Then I looked at him - and at... who did I see near to him? Ted?!

"Yes," Mishka couldn't help demonstrating his pride. "We found mutual interests, so to say."

He was so proud! I couldn't resist praising him. Ted was a little pale, a little distressed, maybe, with faint bruise on his jaw - but nothing scary.

Again the wave of terror coursed through me. Mishka saw it.

"Too bad?"

"Did you see him?"

"Maybe..." he mused. "If you are interested. Try to trade him, then? I can lend you."

I considered it. Maybe, yesterday there was a moment when I could claim him. Before the blacks came in. And now he belonged to them. What if they refuse to trade him? And they'd for sure refuse. Then I'll lose my only chance.

I didn't know what to do. I never feel helpless, I always was proud that I could find way out from every situation. And now I could only watch in anxiety.

They met him in the yard.

"You served niggers? You forgot you are white, whore?"

These were the guys as white-skinned as I was. They put him on his knees, somebody shoved his dick into his mouth. He didn't resist, was already past it. Then another guy decided to use his ass. They put him on his hands and knees so that it was more convenient to insert their dicks into his ass.

"Ah! These niggers really loosened him!"

I don't know. It seemed they rather injured him inside because he didn't stop moaning.

That's how I ran into them in the corridor. Some twelve guys around him, all waiting.

"Hun?" they well might not like me but they respected me, really. "Join?"

I felt my heart contracted. For the first time I was so close to him. He didn't see me, I doubt if he saw anyone at all, his eyes were misted.

I just thought about it. Take him. Hold him in my arms. Give him a minute of relieve. Console him - if it was possible.

But not here. Not with another dick pumping his mouth or ass at the same time! They wouldn't let me to have him alone, they were too much excited, too horny. They liked him too much.

I stood there frozen. Mishka was pulling me by the sleeve. I didn't move.

Then the idea struck me. I felt sickening. Too dangerous. Mortal. But... I just had to decide if I really wanted him that much. I followed Mishka.

"No, thanks. I don't subscribe."

Jack's face looked dead, collapsed.

"Take him to the shower."

I didn't know how many guys went through him by this day. He was fair game, for anyone who bothered to thrust his dick into him. In the shower it could go on constantly. When there were no fuckers he was made to rim their asses with his tongue. Or they pissed into his mouth. There always were guys who enjoyed water sports. I didn't understand it. I never pissed in the face of a "punk". Though I pissed in the face of my enemy, yes.

After sound off it continued. Now for those who turned him out. They visited his cell. Not the same ones who were the first night. But the pattern was the same. I heard them insulting him, fucking him.

Then one of them had an idea. After cumming he stayed inside Jack and started pissing in him. Jack was shocked. I heard his desperate "Oh!". Pain it was, yes, but more humiliation, more the thought that he didn't own his body any more. Inside him anyone could do whatever he wants.

I think it was the moment when I made my mind.

Not for him. I saw such things during my years in prison that I could dispense it. But I couldn't stand my own torture caused by what was done to him. I needed to save him to stop my suffering.

Next morning I connected to Preston and to this new guy, Pearce. For Preston it was money; almost all I had. For Pearce I couldn't give anything, just ask for his good attitude to me. He agreed.

I met Mishka in the yard. Happy he was! His relations with Ted were pink of perfection. And he just dealed with the guards for Ted to be moved into his cell. Probably they were both satisfied with it.

"Stopped thinking about this poor ass?" Mishka asked when noticed that I didn't try to speak about Jack. I shrugged. I didn't have intention to tell him about my plan - so dangerous it was. I was sure Mishka wouldn't betray me - but I had to be the most careful. "At last. Anyway, he soon be so sloppy that only Linus will be able to use him."

But they didn't stop. There were enough horny guys here who needed to be served. By day he was fucked, the amounts mind-cracking, they didn't give him a half an hour to rest. But those who visited him at night were more inventive.

Again and again I used the mirror to see what they were doing to him. Damn them! When they were tired of pumping him, they thrust every possible subject into his hole, no matter how he pleaded them. They did other things to him, too.

And I was helpless. My plan was working itself but in no way I could forward it. In no way I could give myself away. I had to hide my feelings deeper than I could imagine.

Jack's life was permanent torture. He almost didn't have time to rest. Never by day, only several hours at night. He almost didn't eat. And I was afraid of two things: that they for all that would kill him. Or that he would kill himself. That I wouldn't get in time.

At last Pearce brought me what I asked for. The last possibility for me to give up. But I was long past it.

Well, I have to explain what I was intended to do. For some time I took special interest in chemistry. The part of it dealing with poisons. Never in my life I used poisons in my work. It was my first attempt. And not work, either.

Of course, Pearce was not aware. It was an innocent medicine he brought for me but from it with some skills one could extract the substance that was close to belladonna.

The last part of my means I spent for a short time access to the kitchen.

Soon after breakfast the things happened. It was a mess. Short outbreaks of violence. The guards appeared. Some of the rebels were brought to the hole - and moved to the hospital when they started crumbling in pain. Apathy was the last stage, not long to wait for.

Well, I didn't poison all the prison, of course. Though a lot of guys from our block suffered, those who preferred this kind of food. Our blacks loved it. As for whites - I didn't care about them either.

I went looking for Jack.

I found him alone in the yard - fuck them! - they had to take the dose of the shit to leave him alone! He squatted, with his back pressed to the wall. His eyes were closed - despite all this noise around him! It was the expression on his face that petrified me. So weary. He probably was thankful for a moment when he could be not fucked, not dicked. A moment of relieve. Nobody touched him right now.

I approached him swiftly. He heard me. His eyes opened. Now I saw his eyes. Light-brown, transparent. Beautiful. Full of pain. He was always in pain. Even now. They did their best for it.

And fear was in his eyes, too. That I was after him, I wanted to do something to him. But more than fear it was submission.

His hands rose in defensive gesture, then fell on his lap.

I quickly leant to him, took him by his shoulder and roused on his feet. I looked into his face, for the first time so close. A fit of tenderness twisted me. Oh, so pretty he was! So lovely! So beautiful in my eyes. And now I could save him.

"Look at me!" I snapped my fingers, his expression was blank, he probably didn't react to what I said. "Do you understand me? Do you?"

He nodded.

"Listen to me. Do you want to go with me? You can be my punk. I will be your man. I can defend you. No more rapes, no more shower, no more niggers at night. You'll belong to me. Do you agree?"

His eyes were changing.

"Yes," he said. "Yes."

"Then move!" I dragged him beside myself.

To the block. The guards were locking the doors of the cells. Everyone who was not poisoned preferred to go to his cell in order not to be beaten or put to the hole. I pulled him to mine. Preston was here already. It was his work - to provide Jack's transfer to my place.

"Him?" when he saw Jack, his mouth distorted. "I wondered who Hun wanted to have for this time. You're crazy, Hun, there are such smart-ass boys younger than twenty - and you can hook any of them. What do you need from this niggers' litter?! I heard his ass is so broken in that you can fuck him with the fist," he added without even silencing his voice.

I was in rage! So, they knew what was happening and they didn't move a finger to help him.

"Just transfer him, Prest."

Preston spat. Jack was silent, flattened himself against the wall.

I looked at him. Delicious pain coursed through me. Pain because he was near.

I heard cries and shouts outside, steps, sounds of locks clanking. And I didn't hear anything at the same time. All that existed for me was him in my cell. We together, only two of us. What will I do now?

"Hun!" the voice brought me to reality. It was Pearce, his eyes full of fury. He pressed himself to the bar, burning me with his eyes. "Hun! You did it! You used me!"

I felt even my lips got pale. I was squeezing the words from myself.

"Betray me! Say it's me. You know what T.C. will do to me," I saw his face changed. I went on. "But don't forget who brought this shit here! I won't forget!"

For a moment he looked like he was going to come into my cell and beat shit out of me, his hand was clasping the club. Then he got blank. His eyes flickered with contempt. "They told me," he said in a dead voice. "You, Hun, you don't have friends. There are only people you fucked."

I shivered. I watched him going away, his shoulders very straight. Maybe, for the first time in my life I felt something that looked like remorse. Bad it was.

And then... Then I just turned to Jack who stood here, in my cell, so close to me. I got what I wanted, hard it was, but I did it. And everybody could go to hell - because he was mine now. All mine.

R e d e m p t i o n - p a r t II .

The infamous event in _________ prison occurred in the beginning of April. And now it was May. Jack shared my cell and was admitted commonly as my "punk". What nobody knew was that he was not the "punk" in real - not once during all this time I touched him other than in course of everyday business. And still the thought that I had him so close to me, that I can protect him, that he is in safety - and it's up to me that everything was okay with him - it made me somehow bitterly happy.

When Pearce left us together, my legs became weak. And my first and only idea was not to give him to see my weakness, not to betray what I was feeling, this love I was full of.

Jack looked at me with incomprehensible expression. So, I made a menacing face and ordered:

"You sit. Listen, learn and keep your mouth shut."

He nodded submissively.

"Don't think you won a prize ticket. You are my punk now and these are the things you'll have to do for me." I enumerated his duties: keep the cell clean, wash clothes, make the bed, bring me coffee and so on. In response I was to provide his safety - and supply him with money, cigarettes, dope if he was in it (oh, well, of course, he was not - and it was good for both of us, because I was not, too) and other stuff. I skipped the other usual part of his obligations - to sex-serve to me - and to everyone I would tell him to.

It was a common practice - to let one's buddies have one's "punk" or to send him "on tricks", with all income going to the "man". As long as I had only one buddy and never was short of money, it was not relevant. I never did it to Benny either.

Jack listened to me and nodded.

I watched him reveling in his beauty: his silken delicate brows, his soft pink lips he often licked with his tongue, his hands - for the first time I paid attention to his hands - thin wrists, exquisite gracious fingers.

And then he started fainting. His face became haggard and ghostly pale and he began to fall on his side. I rushed to him.

He came to himself; I held him embracing his shoulders. He looked at me with some kind of a shy smile. "Do you need to visit a doctor?" He shook his head.

"Thanks. I had enough of THE doctor."

I snorted.

"I'm okay," he said hastily. "Don't worry, I'm not ill. I won't disappoint you."

I felt deadened.

"Take off your clothes," I said.

He obeyed uneasily. His hands were shaking a little. He put his clothes in a neat heap on his bunk and straightened himself. His eyes were cast down. I held my breath.

He could look anyhow. Till then I was already so deep for him that I wouldn't see it. To my dazzled eyes he was incomparable. It was the state of abuse his body had endured that made me gasp. He was all covered with the mess of fresh and fainting bruises and scratches. But even not that. There were safety pins pushed through his nipples.

I swallowed with effort.

"Does it..." it was the stupidest question but I still asked it. "Does it hurt?"

"No, when it isn't touched," he said in a low voice. "When pulled - yes."

My mouth got dry. I reached with my hand - he didn't even try to escape me.

"I'll remove them," I mumbled. I felt helpless anger filling me.

He flinched when I unfastened the pins, his nipples were sore, swollen. I pulled the spikes out and threw the pins into the toilet. I was trembling inside.

I gave a careful look to his body. Oh, my God, what did they do to him?! Probably tortured him, squeezed and pulled his balls - they were black-purple, twice of usual size. And these burns... they stubbed cigarettes against him!

Pigs! I hated them. And I wanted to take him in my arms - gently, in order not to hurt any of his injuries, kiss him, console him, touch every his welt, every bruise with my lips.

Then a thought struck me. He was bleeding - I saw his underwear stained with blood - but not so much. I looked into his face intently.

"Do you have something inside you?" I asked. He nodded. "Okay, okay," I found myself on the verge of tears. "Come here! Set against the bunk!"

My hand touched the thing. It was a dildo stuck into his ass, 4 inches in diameter and I don't know how long. Where did they get it?! Of course, prison was full of smuggle.

I carefully started pulling it out. His hands clasped the blanket on the bunk. How could he walk with this thing inside him?! Probably, they removed it out only when fucking him.

It took ten minutes before I disposed of this nasty piece in his hole. He was panting, white as cloth. I looked at it smeared with blood, mucus and the residuals of the cum and felt I'd puke in a moment. I tossed it into the trashcan.

I looked at Jack: he was passing out again. I was just in time to catch him. I was in cramp - feeling his naked body in my arms. Slowly, carefully, I laid him down on the bunk. He became better, his beautiful eyes were fixed on me.

I covered him with the blanket, took a step backward and opened my little medicine bag.

"Take this," I gave him two pain-killers and brought a glass of water. "And don't worry," I said. "I won't touch you for a while. I'll give you as much time as you need."

Lying on my bunk, I listened to him, greatly aware of his presence. I was faint but couldn't sleep.

He didn't sleep either. Though it was his first possibility here, in prison, to sleep at night and he was clearly exhausted. He smoked. We both were heavy smokers, the air in our cell was a little dim. Then I heard his voice.

"Hans! Am I to name you Hans?"

"Name me as you want," I answered. Of course, funny it was, "name me as you want"; in real distress I had to be if it inflicted my wits.

I guessed his smile.

"I just... Thank you, Hans."

Oh... He should know better.

"Sleep," I said sharply.

Of course, I didn't plan to stay away from him for the whole month.

I presume I caused a mild sensation when appeared the next day claiming Jack my property. Some of guys were really disappointed - with him being fair game they at least could have relieve when they needed it. But with the blacks in the hole or in the hospital there were no many claimants to try to fight with me for him. Mishka was flabbergasted.

"You, Hun..." he gasped. "You're..."

"An opportunist?" I said quickly. He laughed.

"Yes. Bloody fuckin' opportunist."

What I was concerned with were the blacks. I had no doubt there would be problems when they're out.

But - lucky I was! - T.C, clearly alarmed by the situation and taking into account that it was mostly the blacks who suffered in the event, decided to soothe the environment - and transferred the most part of them to other blocks. Those who were to stay could be managed.

So, the things were working themselves out.

I went into two fights for Jack. One looked more like a circus, the other left me with a bad injury of my right upper arm.

It happened when we were in the shower. Well, when I was on my own, it wasn't risky at all. But with Jack I didn't want any unexpected events. So, I asked Mishka to be on guard.

Jack got pale when approaching the shower-room. I thought he would faint, stop at least - but no, he followed me without a word. I felt a little jump of my heart. I hated myself for inability to say something comforting to him, to take his hand. And I melted in love.

We were undressing when that guy came in. Hmm, maybe, he thought that I lost part of my strength with my pants. Well, wrong he was.

He looked at me, then at Jack and said all sugar and honey:

"You're such darling, Hun, to bring him here."

"You'll explain or I have to guess?" I replied with the same simpering smile.

"You won't deprive us from fucking him, will you?" he started. "Nothing changed?.."

I shoved my fist in his solar plexus and forgot about him.

It was in the shower Jack saw me without clothes for the first time. His eyes became wide when he noticed my terrible scars. I hoped they didn't make me bad-looking, they just were not the things people usually have on their bodies.

It seemed he wanted to say something. But at the moment I heard Mishka's voice:

"Behind you!"

I moved swiftly. This fuckin' bastard had iron claws and he buried them in my arm right to the handle.

I grasped his wrist and twisted it backwards. He gasped and lost his weapon, left it in my arm, actually. I beat him up.

You know, sometimes I get blind when fighting. Simply don't see when to stop. It brings me reputation, of course, but for this guy it could prove fatal. I coldly considered the idea to jump on his chest.

Then I thought of better. I removed the claws from my arm - fuckin' bloody they were - and drove them over his cheek. Really he would remember me. At least, every time when look to the mirror.

I didn't go to the doctor with my wound, just took aspirin. For a while the pain was as if the claws were still buried in my muscle; then it passed. Probably, thanks to my Yoga.

Jack was silent almost all the time after that. I wondered if I scared or disgusted him. I didn't want it.

Then he suddenly said:

"Do you kill people?"

I was a little shocked with the form of the question.

"Well," I said after a pause. "It's not my usual activity, but yes, sometimes I do kill them."

"Is it pleasant?" he asked.

"Yes, there is something that can be named pleasant," I replied with amused smile.

"How old are you?"

I answered.

"What is your sentence?"

"Six years."

"For what?"

"Armed robbery."

"How much have you served yet?"

"Two and half years. I'll probably get out next year. At least, I'll try."

"Is it your first one?"

"No."

"Which then?"

"Nice way to talk. Did you get it in the court?"

"Perhaps," he laughed. "Then... okay. Tell me about yourself, Hans. Whatever you want. If you want."

I wanted it. I didn't admit it but I wanted to speak to him. To tell him about myself. It was a strange feeling - that if I tell him, he will like me. Though there was nothing in my life he could like me for.

"My father was Austrian. A journalist - but not a successful one. His only advantage was his exceptional beauty. My mother was mad of him - as well as the most part of women in our neighborhood.

"They didn't want to make a criminal out of me. It was just that I thought it cool," I went on. "There was a petty gang around there and I joined it. I spoke with an accent then - how do you think they liked it? So, I tried to be more hard-boiled than any one of them. An idiot! I got in prison when I was twelve. Not real prison, of course, a colony. Police seized me while I was taking a car "for a ride". They wanted to know whom the car was due to. Of course, I didn't say anything. They didn't get any name out of me. I was so proud! Thought the rest of the gang would admire me. But... Surprise, surprise! I was in and nobody helped, nobody came - just forgot me. My mother died then, well, my father died even earlier, when I was a little boy, actually. But, when I was out, they came: if I want participate again. I told them I didn't want to shit together with them. Since then I never needed anyone.

"I started alone. Flat robberies. From fourteen till, well, about eighteen I was very successful. I liked it. No obligations, no partners. Then I got in prison again."

"How did it happen?" he asked.

"Broke into a flat. Some lawyer lived there. A bachelor, well set-off. My fence set me up. Didn't warn me about the bull-dog. He jumped on me, buried his jaws in my stomach and started gnawing into me. I lost my crow. Oh, the fuckin' dog was tearing me apart. And... well... I killed him, eventually. Pushed his eyes into his skull. But myself left on the floor in the pool of my blood."

Didn't I like this story. Played a fool. Not to check the fence's information.

"Ah, yes, I shivved the fence after coming out," I added calmly. Jack laughed a little. Then his voice changed.

"This dog gave you the scars?"

"On my belly? Yes."

"You had to be very close to death."

"I was," I answered. "I often was. But I really have nine lives, everybody says. Well, then this guy returned home. Saw me bleeding like a duck - and his dog dead. How he sputtered! Kneeled to his dog, patted it, only not licked it! And I was dying in half a meter from him!" I felt urge to spit.

"Lawyers," his voice was venomous.

"Maybe, your acquaintance," I said.

"My acquaintance was the guy who fucked me into seven years," he said - for the first time I heard anger in his voice. "Then, Hans, probably I would do the same as your dog's owner. It was his dog, he knew and loved it. And you were the robber. Forgive me!"

I bit my lips. Then I found it humorous.

"Thanks for honesty."

"You are welcome," he said. What a guy! I enjoyed him! "Where are your other scars from?" he suddenly asked.

"Two - from bullets," I enumerated. "Some from guards' clubs. Some from the events like today's."

"And on your wrist?"

"Don't you know?" I teased him. "What are the scars on the wrists from?"

"I mean it looks terrible."

"I made it with my own teeth," I said.

"What?"

"At _________. I don't remember what they wanted from me. At last, they put me into press-cell, with the directive to turn me out. I was not going to make it happen. There were six of them, so... I cut my vein open with my canine tooth."

I heard him gasped. I expected him not to go forward. But after a pause he said:

"And what then?"

"In a moment the cell was in blood, so, the guys called for a guard. I was taken to the hospital - they sewed me - and then to the hole. That's all."

"They didn't try to do it again?"

"When I came out, the mates were on my side. The administration is cowards, they never do anything that the prisoners don't like."

He was silent for a while, then said in a strange voice.

"I didn't cut my vein open."

"You couldn't do it," I said. "You know, with teeth it's not like with the blade..."

"I don't mean it," he said and his voice was somehow bitter. "Do you contempt me for I allowed it happened to me?"

I sat up on my bunk. My mouth was dry. Then very carefully I started to speak:

"How I can contempt you? No. I swear I don't."

"I was not ready for it to come about," he said thoughtfully. "Well, I heard it happened but I believed it was for young pretty boys or for child molesters. Not for me."

I wanted to say, are you sure you want to go into it.

"I think I was surprised," he said. "Taken in somehow. Believed they would change their minds in the last moment. Well they didn't. At first it was such a shame! I mean disgraceful. And then I just wanted them to stop."

Breathlessly I guessed a kind of smile in his voice. He added ironically:

"Really it was new for me, I speak about giving head. You know, when your wife makes you oral sex, you won't fuck her mouth, you'll just let her suck and think how kind she is. Right?"

I thought about it a little and said:

"I guess I fucked them girls okay."

He chuckled.

"Did you love your wife?" I asked suddenly.

"Natasha? Oh... I don't know, truly. She was so close for so long. She was part of me. Of course, I loved her. I never wanted to kill her."

"I didn't mean it," I tried to say.

"What happened after your second term?" he interrupted me.

"I met Donovan," I said. "Did you here about him?"

"Did you here about John Dillinger?" he asked.

"We started working together. He was my first partner in many years. It looked like so was I. The thing was we perfectly matched each other. The same blood. More money, more successful heists than I ever could imagine. He taught me. Everything I know I learned from him. We could go on and on together."

"His lover," I continued, "she was a lawyer like you. Well, she is a lawyer. Rachel Greene. Ever heard about her?"

"Yes," Jack said. "Oh, yes. She is brilliant."

"She was my lawyer on the last trial. I would probably have life imprisonment with another one. Well, in the beginning she hated me. She wanted Donovan going straight and thought that I corrupted him. But it was not true. It was just the man himself. You know, he was a genius. He just couldn't stand knowing how he can do it - and not to do. And he knew always."

"I heard he was dead," he said.

"He saved my life," I answered. "When these pigs from ___ P. D. started shooting and we didn't stand any chance... He fell to the channel with a half-pound of lead in his chest. Oh, well. Rachel was in a miserable state. But somehow it mended our relations. We both loved him."

"You miss him?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"You are very special, Hans."

"What do you mean?"

"Does your arm hurt?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Actually I forgot about it," I said.

"That's what I mean," he answered in a strange voice.

It was the first of our almost every-day conversations.

That morning I woke up with the hardest erection I ever had. My balls just ached. It was like I had two burning swollen spheres between my legs - and one exploding rod. I shifted on my bunk, adjusting myself to the pain and to the strain. It was 5 o'clock and I heard Jack's breath below. I thought about being quiet in order not to wake him up.

I tried my own hand to take relieve. Well, I knew it. I almost never could cum with myself. So, several long strokes, then jerking, then... it just finished dry. I swore. Some hours will pass before the ache subsides.

I moaned despite of myself. He woke up immediately.

"Hans? What's happened?" his voice alarmed, perplexed.

"Nothing," I said through my teeth. Then he got up and looked into my face. I swallowed my tongue.

"I see something is wrong with you. Maybe, I can help..."

My fucking meat just jerked up again. I tried to raise me knees to shelter it - too late.

"O-oh, God!" he said. "Hans! Why didn't you tell?"

"It isn't your business," I replied sharply.

"You are your best enemy," he said with some kind of amusement. "But don't try too hard. Now we don't have enough time but at night..."

I felt misery.

And at the same time I felt the most delicious expectation.

I spent the day swimming in excitement. My vision blurred when I looked at Jack. He seemed calm. And, maybe, this his calmness, this submission was that what forced me to make my mind.

When we stayed alone again, I lay on my bunk perfectly still. He was reading - till the lights went off. Then I heard him taking off his shirt. I felt weepy. I said:

"It's not going to happen. I can't."

"What do you speak about?"

"No!" I exclaimed. He came up to me, reached for me. "Just don't touch me!"

He sighed.

"Hans!" his voice was perfectly patient. "What do you do to yourself? I know you are strong. I know you can do without anything. I know you like to be superhuman. Oh, Hans! But everything can be so easy."

I felt humiliated.

"Come down," Jack said firmly. I just obeyed. He took my hand and lay down on his bunk pulling me after him.

I had full erection in a second. How could I resist?

I moved over him, rising on my elbows. His beautiful eyes were fixed on mine. I kissed him in his mouth. Just put my lips on his, comforting him - and then shoved my tongue inside. He backed despite himself. A pain flooded me. Probably, he felt it - because his hands then lay on the back of my head, pressing me to him tightly.

I found tears in my eyes.

The taste of his mouth was so sweet, with this tiny blend of cigarette smoke. I reveled in it.

I licked his tongue, caressed it, probing his mouth - and after a while I felt him started. He not only received - he took pleasure in it! I felt delighted. I kissed him deeply, with my knee lightly massaging his crotch.

Suddenly his cock came to live. He gasped out of surprise. I gently hugged him and proceeded. Oh, so beautiful it was! His tongue moving with mine, his lips soft and accepting. His eyes were open and it seemed I felt energy coursing between us.

I touched his basket with my palm made into a cup. He tensed first, then resigned to the pleasure. I smiled into his mouth.

Mounting on my elbows again I kissed his face: his eyes, temples, cheeks, just covered them with kisses. He embraced me tenderly but firmly.

My hand was working with his pants and T-shirt. I reached for his bare chest, his silken beautiful skin, stroked it, played with his lovely chest hair. He shivered in enjoyment.

I backed and helped him to sit, removed his T-shirt and then found him trying to remove my own! Now we both were bare-chested.

I put my mouth on his right nipple while pinching lightly his left with my fingers. He arched his body, pressing himself to my lips. I sucked one his nipple, then the other, feeling them become hard. He moaned - a low, vibrating sound, full of delight. With the tip of my tongue I moved down to his navel, to the trail of hair coming down to silky curly fur around his cock. I pulled down his pants and he kicked them off. Now he was completely naked.

I held my breath. He was staggering. So sweetly beautiful, so neat of build. His nipples were quite big, now inflamed after my sucking. I liked his body hair, my own skin was girlish-sleek. His cock cut, erected, exquisitely shaped. I buried my face in his crotch, sniffing his smell.

Then I rose again and ran my tongue along his cock. From the root to the head, devouring its slightly salty taste. Jack quivered; tiny hair on his body rose. I licked it again, with long stroking movements. He wetted his dry lips, panting. I embraced the head of his cock with my lips, thrusting my tongue into his urethra. He arched in a long cramp.

Then I moved to his balls. One, then the other I tenderly took in my mouth. Then both of them and I started sucking them, nibbled them with my teeth while my palm was stroking and rubbing his pulsating cock.

"Oh, God," he said breathlessly.

I pushed my hands under his hips and raised him a little. Now his ass crack was exposed. I saw his anus - tender, silky, vulnerable - and touched it with my tongue. He was shocked but I didn't let him go. I licked his anus, then with a short darting movement I shoved my tongue into it. He tensed, his ass contracted. I went on and soon he started pushing himself to it, opened himself and accepted me.

I rimmed his ass feeling that he was close to cum. His ass was shrinking. I swiftly took his cock into my mouth. All of it deep into my throat, sucking it ferociously. He was pushing it deeper and deeper, I held my breath. And then he cummed. Shot after shot my mouth became full of his bitter-sweet wonderful semen.

I was careful not to lose a drop.

And, oh, I was near to cum myself, without even touching my crotch.

His balls gave me the last drop of his semen and his cock became limp. He was tired, weak. I caressed him rocking him in my hands.

But it was not all. Again I put my lips on his cock, so sensitive after cum. Tenderly but urgently I was awakening it. At first he didn't response. Then I succeeded.

I sucked his cock diligently. Then he took my head in his hands and pulled me upwards. I pressed my body to his, my nipples to his. Our lips met. His tongue was examining my mouth, the taste of his cum left there. Then he moved down.

I felt him fumbling with my pants. Oh! Cool air was so good on my burning cock. And then his mouth embraced it.

"Jack!" I exhaled, full of feelings. "Jack, my darling, my beloved..."

I felt him smiling. Then he sucked me. I turned mad, pumped in and out of his mouth. He let my cock into his throat to its end. I was crying of delight.

He stopped and took his position again. I kissed his face.

"Oh, Jack," I said, "I won't hurt you, I promise. I'll be careful."

I reached for a bottle of "Baby oil" on the table and applied a palm of it on my raging cock. It was the hardest ever in my life. The same oil I applied to his hole. He was tense. I kissed him again, tenderly rocking him in my arms. Then I pushed the head of my cock into his anus. His sphincter contracted. I pushed again, patting his face at the same time. He let me in - and I slid into him in languid gentle motion.

He held his breath.

Oh! He was not loose, not in the world. Even if he had been, I probably wouldn't have minded. But he was what he had to be - beautiful, and gentle, and velvety.

Very carefully I started moving inside him. His face was wary but there was no pain. My hand reached for his cock. I started stroking it, in the same rhythm with my thrusts. He moaned - I moaned, too.

"My sweet little one," I repeated, "my child..."

Suddenly I felt him found "Baby oil" and applied it to his fingers. They became slippery - and he drove them into my ass. I groaned.

For the first time in my life somebody (except the doctor, sure) did it to me. And fucking good it was! I was driven mad. He worked my hole with his fingers, first with one, then two of them - and not only it was not painful - it was pleasure I never knew! I felt Jack's sphincter contracted. And the same moment I shot my load into him. I was cumming and cumming and cumming - the longest cum I had in my life. Then I felt his shot in my hand.

Oh! So long, so good it was! Forever, it seemed to me. Then just the repose.

I fell near to him, tired, worn out. Jack's breath was heavy, with a little blend of laugh. I laughed, too. I took him in my arms, held him, kissed him lightly.

Like in heaven I felt. Nothing mattered now. And how I could hide what I felt to him, to my darling dear?

"Jack, my love," I breathed out. "I love you, I love you, thank you!"

His soft lovely palm lay on my cheek.

His bunk proved absolutely wet after our session. So, we moved to mine. Narrow as it was - but I was delighted - his body pressed into mine and I could feel his warmth all the night. We smoked our cigarettes - and I slid into sleep.

I woke up early. Half in dose still I reached for him - and felt only coldness of the sheet. Desperation struck me. For a split moment I thought I dreamed all this and Jack... Jack has gone.

Then I heard the noise of pages turning. I looked down. He was on his bunk, reading, in his cute round glasses.

He smiled to me. I said in a harsh voice, still unable to forget the pain I felt when didn't find him near:

"Don't even think about telling anyone that I reciprocated!"

I got what I wanted. His smile faded. He made a little nod.

R e d e m p t i o n - p a r t III.

That was how this summer passed. Jack Vance being my "punk" became common knowledge in ______ prison. And, therefore, people understood they should stay away from both of us.

For all this time my love to Jack didn't diminish even for a little bit. I was in blaze. Every minute of my life I longed for him. It was not that I just got erection in his presence. It was hard for me to suppress my erection.

Strangest thing - I devoured him with my eyes every hour and every day - and yet again and again I found new features of his beauty that made me drown in tenderness and admiration. His hands, for example. How well aware I was about their attractiveness - and still at one moment I was simply struck by the sight of his exquisite fingers fumbling with the cigarette and the lighter, liquid motions of his wrists. I endlessly listened to his voice - seemingly usual - and then I found out how beautiful it was - unobtrusively deep and husky, so expressive. His tiny scar on his right cheek, this cute little crevice on his chin, his dimpled smile, his receding silky hair... He was all beauty.

And all his beauty belonged to me. Because he belonged to me. And still I didn't own him.

While this urge to have him was almost unbearable, I still struggled with myself trying not to expose my desire, not to make show of it, to be exact. I wanted him all the time. Kiss him. Kiss his hands, take them in mine, just hold them, caress them, lick his fingers, his wrists, smell him, bury my face in his palms. I wanted to lick his toes - I did it many times and still I never had enough. Hold him in my arms, feel his body nestled into mine, his head on my shoulder, his hands clasping my hands. I wanted him on my lap while I was reading, just to stroke his hair, pat his head. But he put on his glasses and started reading, too, and I said:

"Don't, sit up, you'll spoil your eyes."

I would like to make love to him for hours every day. But it was much, much rarer occasions. I kept myself from it. How could I put under threat to break what I was building so diligently?

Because, though I always reciprocated with Jack, always cared about his cum before my own, I knew all too well that his desire to me was not at all comparable to mine.

He cared for me, however. I knew it, too. He liked my looks, he said it many times, telling me that my appearance was almost ideal, my beauty breathtaking, that I could be an actor, a model.

He never avoid touching me. No, he even enjoyed it - brushing or disheveling my hair, occasionally hugging me. He liked to stand with me in front of the mirror, stroking my face. He enjoyed when I kissed his cheek or embraced him.

It was sex that took him aback. With all pleasure he got from it - remember, I worked hard! - I still felt every time how he made himself yield inside to what I was doing to him. He had something inside him that had to yield.

Usually it was no more than a moment. But I petrified each time I felt it. I just made myself go on - because I couldn't do anything - and because I couldn't deprive myself of the heaven pleasure having him. I was crazy about him.

"I'll soon learn German with you," Mishka used to tease me. "Meine Liebling, meine kleine, meine Leben... You're lucky it's my cell near to yours."

But, I repeat, I couldn't say Jack didn't love me. Of course, his feeling was unlike mine - with my heart sank every time I saw him, my mouth got dry, a rush of tenderness piercing me. His attitude was somehow... friendly.

He liked to talk to me, liked to smoke together, often lighting a cigarette for me - and though I never felt his taste on it I fancied I did. He asked about my life and always listened with empathy. And there was something more in his attitude, something I became aware about only after some time. It was as if he felt pity about me.

Sometimes, instead of our love-making, he was just rocking me in his arms, tenderly, and kissing my scars - for hours. And occasionally I felt the wetness of his face - as if he was crying.

I couldn't understand that. I was strong! I could protect myself - and him, too. It was me who had to be sorry about him.

It was lovely Sunday afternoon. I was in the yard playing cards with Mishka and our "punks" (oh, yes, Mishka was still blind with his Ted almost as much as I was with Jack but - what a mother fucker! - he somehow believed that while his feeling was understandable, mine was just caprice and folly). So nice it all was - that some time passed before I heard a group of other guys near.

Nick was telling jokes. They laughed. I listened to them absent-mindedly. Well, I was too relaxed to pay attention at first. But after the fourth joke with the beginning "Once upon a time an English, an American and a German..."

I put my cards down and stood up. Probably nobody else noticed what they spoke about because the faces of my partners became surprised. I swiftly moved to Nick.

It was what he wanted. I understood it upon the expression on his face - humiliating, impudent. I stood over him - he seemed relaxed but I felt his muscles strengthened.

"If you think I'm German," I said, "you are wrong. I'm Austrian. But I got the message."

I was still speaking when my heel thrust into his balls. He howled and fell. His buddies jumped up. I was ready to meet them. One I knocked down while he was still rising. The others moved to me.

"I'm here, Hun!" I heard Mishka's voice. I swore to myself. What the fuck I was doing?! For my fuckin' national pride I was going to involve my friend into it?!

"Stay back!" I took the blade from the heel of my boot.

One of them had a blade, too. I backed his attack. I hit another guy in the stomach. And then one of them thrust his brass knuckles into my head.

Oh, God! It was as if a train hit my brains. A train never did, of course, but I felt as if it happened. I was lucky to move forward a little - if not that, his punch would be just in my temple. Now it was the left side of my forehead.

I gasped and my legs became weak. And despite myself I started falling down.

"Hun!" I heard Mishka's voice. Very slowly I saw the blade reaching to my throat.

And then it stopped.

Somebody held Morg in his strong arms. I tried to clear my vision.

"Pearce!" whose voice is it? My God! T. C. himself! "What happens?"

The bastards were clever enough to adjust themselves, their knuckles disappeared in a moment. And where was my blade? I couldn't recall.

Pearce threw Morg on the ground and pressed his heel on his neck.

"Fuckin' mother fuckers decided to trifle."

"Morgan? Cartwrite? Immendorf? Who started it?" the eyes of T.C. behind his gold-rimmed glasses were steel-cold. "Who is to blame?"

Everybody was silent.

"What the fuck you swallow your tongues?! I can really make you to do it!" I saw T.C. in real anger for the first time. I shivered.

Then Pearce came up to him.

"A couple of words," he leant to T.C. The director gave him a side-long look, then nodded.

They took some steps away.

"Hans!" I felt Jack's hands backing me up. I really needed it, I was still weak in legs and blood that rushed freely was blurring my vision. He didn't add anything but his voice was full of reproach.

"Too bad," Mishka dropped. "T.C. is in rage. I bet somebody will answer for it."

"The hole?" Nick asked. His jokes cost a lot.

"Pray it's the hole," Mishka whispered. "And not the basement."

We all heard about the basement. People said T.C. had his private torture chambre there. Not that there were witnesses - just nobody who got there ever returned. "Died of natural cause" was the usual verdict Dr. Mitch signed.

T.C. was back.

"Morgan!" he snapped his fingers. "You are trouble-maker?"

"Oh, no, Sir..." he became pale as a ghost.

"Take him!" T.C. said to the guards. They twisted his arms behind his back. T.C. came up to him and I saw him grasping Morg's hair into his hand. "You idiot!" he hissed. "You fucked your life off!"

The guards pulled the whining guy away.

We all felt mortified.

For the first time here I had to go to the doctor. My forehead wound was bleeding severely. Of course, Dr. Mitch didn't have any intention to give me anaesthesia while sewing me. But I didn't mind - I knew what I had to wait from him. Any pain-killers? You are kidding!

Soon I returned to our cell where Jack was waiting for me. I was distressed because of the wound - it was my first face wound and I didn't have hope that it would be imperceptible. And, besides, I felt groggy.

He jumped from his bunk when seeing me, his face full of rage.

"What do you think you are doing, Hans?" he sounded like he was really surprised. I frowned. Oh! I'd better not to, with these stitches. "You could die today! They could kill you!"

I shrugged. I didn't like it.

"Did I die? Did something wrong happened to me? Why to worry about what didn't happen?" I said chilly.

He stopped abruptly. But he didn't cast down his eyes, they were still directed at me, with this strangest expression of pain and compassion.

"I do what I want," I went on. "And you're not the person who can direct me! Take care about yourself first!" I deadened inside thinking how rude I was! I would love never to say it!

"Oh, dear," he said suddenly. Instead of turning away from me. I was astonished.

"I have to defend myself," I couldn't shut up. "It's the way of living! He wanted to insult me, I couldn't allow it! I couldn't afford to allow it!"

"Yes, yes..." he repeated.

"An, by the way, where is my blade? Did you take it?"

He closed his eyes.

"No. I think... it couldn't be... it seems Pearce took it. He took it while T.C. was after Morg..."

I sighed in relieve.

"Do you think Morg is..."

"My guess is we'll never hear from him again," I said.

And then he just threw his arms around me. I gasped in surprise - and he said:

"Oh, Hans, Hans, my dear, my baby, it could be you! If not Pearce, it could be you!"

There was something in his voice I never heard before. It was rush - and his body was pressing into mine with all its strength. His hands clasped me - feverish movements. And I felt his hard-on.

He had hard-on - and I didn't even touched him! Could it be?! I was afraid to feel happy, to tell myself it was what I waited for so long! I forgot everything - the ache of my wound, the terrible events - just he existed for me.

He led me to the bunk and lightly pushed me on it. I lay down looking at him still in disbelief. My body was in languor, with the erection wearing out all my powers. He slowly unbuttoned my shirt, occasionally touching my face with his hands. He moved my T-shirt up, over my head, very careful not to bother my wound. He kissed my chest, stroked it with his palms, slowly, enjoying its smoothness.

This time everything was unlike usually. I was not leading. He led me as he wanted it - languidly, carefully, exhausting me. He seemed to enjoy my pleas and I was pleading to stop, to let it be over. I was drowning in the waves of unbelievable delight.

He teased my nipples, squeezing them hard, almost cruelly - I was gasping in pain but then the pain rose into excitement. My nipples became swollen, scarlet and his lips on them were torturing and still I asked for it as much as I asked him to stop.

His hand was teasing my cock. It seemed to me I'd cum if he just gave me a second of its touch - but he didn't. His touches were darting, side-long, sometimes just the sensation of warmth of his palm, just energy emanating from his hand.

I cried of pain and of delight. I tried to reach for his cock - he pushed my hand away almost roughly. He was doing it his way - and, God, his way was so good! I moaned loudly. His hand covered my mouth. I felt pain in my stitches.

"Hush-hush!" he whispered. I cried like a little child. I felt weak, small, like a baby, in his arms, so dependent of him. It was up to him to give me relieve or to make me suffer on and on.

Then his mouth enveloped my cock. He was not sucking it, just holding in his mouth, wrapping it tightly with his lips. And with wail I cummed.

I was inundating his mouth with my semen. It seemed I'd never stop it, it seemed I was spending all the semen I had for all my life. I felt him swallowing it and smiling at the same time. And then I heard my own voice saying:

"Fuck me! Fuck me if you want!"

He swiftly covered my mouth. His moved upward - his eyes, cold now, were gazing into mine. He shook his head.

"No," his lips whispered. And I felt his shot on my crotch. I was delighted. I pressed myself to him to rub his semen into me, into my skin as deep as possible. My crotch hair became wet as well as his own. I was in quiet hysterics.

And I thought it was the best moment in my life.

It seemed that the day when Morg found his death (we learned about it a little later) changed our relations with Jack completely. It was as if some inner barrier in him was broken - and he surrendered.

Our sex became mutual. Now he initiated it as often as I did - and so passionate, so inventive he was. I was in heaven. Is there anything I need else, I asked myself, and I doubted that there was.

I thought that he accepted his fate. He even started joking about his position as my "punk". Jack was a cheery person, he considered life generally funny, with this mild irony - the feature I liked in him dearly. But till then he, even if tried to joke about what happened to him here in the beginning or about "man-punk" relations, he just stopped abruptly and his face became blank.

Now he teased me:

"Why did you choose me, Hans? I'm twelve years older then you! There are bunches of pretty kids around there."

"You are more pretty than any of them. And you have your character written on your face."

"U-ghu. If you mean this scar - I didn't get it in a heroic battle, like you. My buddy just hit me with a toy-shovel - and we both were five. And my hair? Are you going to say you like bold men?'

"Hmm! Bold is sexy. Not to mention, you won't be bold in the next five-ten years."

"Thank you, beautiful boy."

Once, being relaxed in my arms, he said suddenly:

"What will be with me when you leave here?"

I hugged him, patting his cheek, and said smiling:

"I'll never leave. I'll stay with you as long as you need me."

Next day I wrote a letter to Rachel Greene, asking her for a meeting.

Thin to the point of emaciation she was. Long-legged - her bare knees - good four inches to the edge of her skirt - were a real feast for other criminals in the room with us. Strawberry-blonde waning beauty. But still beauty - full of gentleness and intelligence.

She sat in front of me, separated by a solid glass. We watched each other carefully. Okay, it was a long time ago when we passed after hatred. Donovan's death united us: I was grateful to her that she spared me life imprisonment and I was for her the only thread to the man she loved endlessly.

"Looks good", she showed at my scar.

"It feels good", I said. Small talk. She laughed. "You are tanned."

"The Dominican Republic. Almost two weeks. I would love to stay there forever."

"Well, they need lawyers, too, I bet."

"How are you doing here?"

"It's the best prison in my life. The administration doesn't touch me - and I don't bother them."

"Maybe, otherwise?"

"Do you know Jack Vance?" I asked suddenly. Her eyes became small and thoughtful.

"Should I?"

"He said he knew you."

"Maybe, if you say where I can know him from..."

"He was a lawyer, too. You remember, that one who..."

"Oh, yes!" she brightened. "That one! Jack the Driver. Well, we shook hands."

"He is here," I said.

"He has to be," she answered calmly.

"I want you to take his case," I said.

For a long moment she was just looking at me.

"I know it's not your field," I continued. "But he will pay you, he has money..."

"Hun!" she interrupted me - her eyes became brilliant-cold. "His case is closed. Did he appeal?"

"Of course," I said.

"Then what do you want from me? What can I do for him?"

"Are you sure you can't do anything for him?" I asked carefully. There was a pause. I knew I struck right. Then she said slowly:

"Why on the Earth do I have to do it, Hun?"

I gasped. I didn't have the answer.

"Please, Rachel," it was all I could say. "Please!"

She watched me with amusement. For a while, I have to say, for quite a while. Then she sighed.

"Hun Immendorf pleading. Some people would pay a sum to look at it," she said coolly. Then she leant to me. "You know what I'll do, Hun? I'll look through his file. And if I find anything I'll be able to hook at - I said "if" - I'll contact him. Accepted?"

I breathed in relieve.

"Sure!" I blew her a kiss. "Rachel, you're my beloved woman."

R e d e m p t i o n - p a r t IV.

A month and a half passed since that our conversation with Rachel. I almost forgot about it. No, I didn't doubt she would do what she promised. I thought it was the matter of "if".

And then Jack had a visitor.

He returned in an hour, ghostly pale but with sparkling eyes.

"You know who I met, Hans? Oh, you know, you know! How could you do it and never say me a word?! It was Dr. Greene and she said she could start revising my case!"

"Did you agree?" I asked mildly.

"Sure! Sure!" he was excited. "Oh, I can't believe. She said we had chances... Hans, you don't know what you've done for me! What a shit I was. I let down my life, I stopped fighting for myself..."

I smiled to him. I loved seeing him so excited. Well, it could be that nothing will come of it; Rachel was terrifically good but not a magician. But he was happy now and I appreciated it.

Rachel was thorough. I knew her working style - and for Jack she was doing her best. I doubt if she could work half-heartedly. And with the promotion of the case it happened more and more often that they met in the room for visitors or even tete-a-tete.

"You know," Jack told me, "I was never great, just passable. But she... I learn every day, every hour when I see her. Dr. Greene is the most clever woman I've ever met."

"Why for fuck's sake you name her Dr. Greene?" I asked.

Never we were so close with him as now. He was tender and accepting and our sex was beautiful. It seemed so good that it couldn't be spoiled in any way.

It was the end of November when he said to me:

"Rachel managed it. They'll free me on probation next week."

It was unexpected. Not that I never thought about it - it was me who arranged it - but still I believed his separation from me impossible. At least, far, far away. Deadened inside I was. No pain. Just as if my heart sank into emptiness. I found his eyes with my gaze, ran over his darling face. So, I was to lose him? Never see him again?

He met my stare. A little grimace of pain distorted his mouth. Then I felt a pang. Oh! Now it hurt. My senses were coming back to me. A wave of burning washed my body.

Trembling of pain and shame, I reached for his face and took it in my palms.

"Oh, my little one! I'm so glad for you."

"It's not all," he said. His eyes were sad and beautiful. "I... I marry Rachel."

At first I missed his words. My brain just didn't register them. Well, registered - but rejected. How could it mean what it meant?

"What did you say?" I asked calmly.

"Me and Rachel," he reiterated. "We are going to get married."

"No!" I shrieked. I tried to catch this shriek but it escaped me before I knew it. "It can't be!"

"I am sorry," he said quietly.

Suddenly I found myself unable to breath. I tried - I just couldn't take a breath. Something in my chest was contracting. I gasped. Losing consciousness.

"Hans, Hans!" his voice. So far away. His tender hands on my cheeks, he slapped me slightly. Oh, yes!

I pushed his hands away abruptly.

"You are not really going to do it, are you?"

"Yes, I am," he said deeply seriously.

"I mean... I mean..." my thoughts were a mess. "You won't be with her? It's fictitious marriage?"

"It isn't," he replied. God! I expected this answer. Do you think I was so stupid? I knew him! It was him who I loved!

How clear it became to me now. Their meetings, their long conversations. Her telephone calls. Dr. Greene. Rachel. One had to blind not to see.

I was that blind.

"Did you fall in love with her?" I asked carefully. His answer was prompt.

"Yes."

"No!" I screamed. "No! You lie! You love me!" I was shaking. He didn't answer. Just looked at me, his eyes full of compassion. Such tenderness. And silence.

"It's that!" I felt hope rising in me. "You don't love her! You love me!"

"Hans," he closed his eyes for a second - as if he was deadly tired - and we spoke only for five minutes! "You have to understand. There is no love between us. It's not love. I'm normal, Hans. I mean, I'm straight. You too. You told me about your girls. It's only prison that brought us together."

I shook my head. No. No.

"You'll forget me as soon as I am gone. And you will be out soon, too. Maybe, after some time we meet and even wouldn't recognize each other. Or prefer not to recognize."

I gasped. I sought the traces on his face - that he jokes with me, he doesn't mean it. He looked at me as if I was a fretful child who had to be indulged.

"Oh! So, it was all nothing?" I asked ironically. "What was between us? If it was not love. Just sex? Or even not sex? I used you - a nice rapist, an opportunist - I was not cruel, didn't hurt you. And you used me, didn't you? You paid me for protection?" never in my life I felt so bitter. I wanted to cry - no go. My eyes were dry and burning. And my heart was on fire. "Then why did you pretend?! I thought you liked it! After all you liked it!"

"It's true," he said slowly, carefully. "Hans, I didn't mean... Nothing has changed between us. We have a little time, maybe, you'll adjust yourself to this idea..."

"What?!" I couldn't believe what I heard. "Nothing has changed?! You propose me to fuck you and to know that you think about her?! What do you think I am?!"

His lips twisted in grieve.

"I thought it would be easier for you."

"Easier?!" I felt rage flooding me. Terrible hatred. To him for hurting me. To myself for being hurt. "I'll say what is easier! I'll kill you right now, you bitch!"

He blinked. It was the first time I said this word to him. I felt my heart collapsing. I was too used to be gentle with him, to care for him.

"Then kill," he said quietly.

I stopped.

"Why did you say it to me?"

"I thought you deserved to know. I think it now."

"And Rachel? She, surely, was for not saying me anything?!"

"You are not fair to her," I knew I was not fair. "She told me to do as I want."

"So, she knows about us?" he nodded. "And..." I was afraid of what I was going to say. "About the others..."

"She knows everything," he said firmly.

"You lie!" I cried again. "This cunt just wanted to take her revenge upon me! She thought I took her Donovan from her! And you wants to feel a man again, any woman will do!"

He got pale. He didn't say anything - but only for a moment I could believe it was because my words struck the aim. Then the ice-cold idea deadened me: he could disgust me. For all I was doing. But how could I stop?

"Ask for protective custody," I said. "I can't warrant myself."

"Do as you want," he said wearily.

I crushed my teeth in attempt not to let tears go.

The following week was a slow torture. Together with him in the cell.

"Believe me, Hans, I would do anything not to hurt you."

"Oh, really? Four days ago I would bet my life to it. But now I think I was mistaken. Maybe, you want to hurt me. You always wanted."

"You take me all wrong."

"I am not going to take you in any way."

"Why, Hans? What do you punish me for? For my love to Rachel? Or for me telling you about it? Did I have to cover it?"

"You are not my darling!"

"Hans, forget it!"

"Forget what? That you were in bed with me and despised me?"

"I never despised you. How can I? After what you've done to me? I was lower than any animal, the filthiest litter... And then you came. You, with your flawless beauty, your angelic face, your immaculate cleanness. You smeared your hands with my shit. You rescued me. You returned me to myself. Don't you think it's enough to be grateful to you for all my life?"

I writhed. I shouted at him:

"Stop being ironic to me! You don't remember who you speak to? I am not feeble-minded, I have the same IQ as you have."

"It's not irony," he said quietly. And then I started pleading again.

"Jack, please, don't destroy your life! Don't destroy Rachel's life! You don't love her and neither she does. She was broken after Donovan's death."

"I know. I was broken, too. It took both of us to build something."

"It won't work. I just know."

"But we can try."

"Ask for protective custody."

"Do I need it?"

"I'll probably kill you."

In my thoughts I killed him hundred times. Beat him to death. Smashed his skull on the wall. Strangulated him. Rejected him. Announced him "fair game" for everyone.

But I couldn't. Because... the thought was sweet but I knew I wouldn't live a moment after it - and even this moment will be agony.

No sex. Well he wanted it. I mean he tried to get me into it. How could I say now if he wanted it really or just tried to give me pleasure? But I didn't yield. I wanted it so much! I woke up with ache in all my body, my balls on fire. But I would rather die than do it to him once more.

It was all over.

He ruined me.

It was our last evening. With a kind of relieve I thought about it. It was bad when we were tete-a-tete but much worse when on public. I didn't betray to anyone what I was feeling. It was very delicate - the relations between the "man" and the "punk" - and I never dreamed about fucking off the respect I had. I smiled and joked a lot, probably, it was as close to hysterics as it could be - but I kept from it.

I felt Jack's sad eyes on me all the time and tiny hairs on my body shivered.

But I thought I managed okay. Then we returned to our cell and I was going to jump to my bunk. Somehow it became my shelter.

And suddenly his hand grasped my elbow. I winced. With unusual strength he turned me to himself. His face was in rage. Never I saw him so angry. He looked like he was going to hit me.

"What the fuck are you doing, Hun?!" he almost spat the words. "Is it you? Or is it a miserable freak, in tears, with grimace of pain on his face?! Who do you want to prove anything and what do you want to prove?! You want me to feel remorse?! Well, I do! I feel it! But not because you can't live without me as you show it all the time! I am sorry because I was with the man who is not a man! Who is just a faggot!"

He shook me violently. It was so unexpected that I didn't resist. He slammed me into the wall. Leaning upon me, he whispered in sheer fury:

"You fuckin' piece of shit! You don't have strength to live, you are slut, just a bend, I am glad I won't see you never from tomorrow!"

I felt blind. I think my eyes became white - but he didn't backed. I stopped hearing what he was saying, I was just wrapped in anger.

I didn't think. My body did it. I seized his wrist, pulled him to myself, turned him around and twisted his arm behind his back cruelly. He gave out a long "O-oh!" Involuntary tears escaped his eyes. Now it was him flattened against the wall.

"You say I'm slut?" I whispered into his ear. "You say I'm faggot? I'll show you who faggot is - and I promise you won't like it!"

I ran my fingers over his neck. Feeling it, he shivered. He was panting.

"You are my punk," I said coldly. "You'll drink my piss."

He didn't answer a word, just trembled. I turned him face to me, hurting his arm. And then I just forgot myself. I was nothing. I was dissolved in him.

I pressed my lips hard to his mouth, kissing him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. He struggled my invasion. I pushed him away and slapped his face in full force with the back of my hand. He gasped. I smacked him again enjoying how his head dangled. There was a little blood on his lips. I kissed him again, feeling this slight taste of ferrum. Now he didn't resist.

I let his mouth go, held his head in my hands, pressing his temples hard, consciously hurting him. He didn't give out a sound. Then I threw him on the bunk.

I turned into animal; brought all my weight on him. My fingers stuck into his shoulders so hard he couldn't help moaning. I bit his lips and then again I rose over him to smack his face.

His eyes were fixed on mine. Not for a moment he took his eyes off from me.

I was saying something. Insulting him. All dirty words I knew in English. I wanted him to feel pain so much! I hurt him. I just ripped apart his T-shirt and I was gnawing into his nipples, biting them, sucking them hard until he couldn't keep from tears. His nipples became swollen, so vulnerable that even my breath made him quiver.

I pushed his legs upward, exposing his hole. No baby oil this time. I leant upon him, pressing his legs to his chest. He was just in time to cover his balls with his hand or they could be smashed under my body. I shoved my dick into him in one motion. He gasped. I fucked him hard, thrusting it into him, rotating it, jabbing it. He made short gasps close to moans. His eyes were wide-open, his face absolutely white.

"I'll fuck the shit out of you, bitch," I repeated. I wanted it being long. So long that he asked me to stop, pleaded me. But I was too excited. I shot in long painful cum, filling his rectum with my semen.

And the same moment tears ran from my eyes.

I cried - and it was such a great relieve. All I could see were my tears. I fell down near to him, without strength, without any desire. For world's sake I wouldn't be able to move.

And then I felt Jack's arms gently enveloping me.

He stayed with me all the night, nursing and caressing me. He told me how beautiful I am, how brilliant. How all my life is in front of me. I felt sickening.

The morning was grim. He packed his possessions - though few of them he had, the cell became empty at once. Uninhabited.

He caught my eyes.

"Maybe, you'll give me something? As a keepsake?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know what. Take what you want."

He looked at my things. I really didn't have anything special. He moved his hands over my books, full of notes, dog-eared - as if he was sorry to part with them. For a while he was looking down.

"Are you going to have breakfast?" I asked. He was visibly glad.

"If you want me to."

"If you want," I said.

We four sat at our table in the diner, Mishka telling some story he learned from the other guy. They didn't notice when I got up. Well, they noticed - they didn't realize.

I moved across the hall to the guard staying with his hands in his pockets. Did Jack's eyes follow me? I didn't turn to look back.

I came up to the guard and hit him into his jaw. Poor guy gasped.

Then it all came to movement. Everybody's eyes were on me. The guard screamed for help, the steps of others, prisoners jumping up.

"Hans, Hans!" I heard Jack. The guard hit me with his club. I seized it and pulled to myself. I saw him letting the club go and grasping the gun. That's all, I thought.

"No! Don't shoot!" it was Jack's voice. He tried to hold me, to embrace me. I pushed him to the floor with all my strength. The guards surrounded and got me. I struggled. They threw me on the floor on my stomach and wrung my arms behind my back. Somebody's fist was punching my kidneys.

I think I blacked out for a little while.

Because when I came to myself I saw T.C. in front of me - and I was standing. The guards held me firmly.

T.C. looked at me with the mixed expression of curiosity and disgust. He walked around me, looking at me as if I was an exotic insect.

The diner was silent.

I gazed at him without blinking.

"Hans Immendorf," he said. "Aka Hun. I knew you would have your problems."

Past him for a moment I saw Jack. He looked at me, his eyes were so sad, so weary. And dry. Then T.C. shut him from me.

"You will be sorry about it," T.C. said, his voice full of menace. I smiled involuntarily. He grabbed my hair and bent my head backwards, staring in my eyes. "Something funny, you smart ass? We'll see. And, by the way," he added lazily, "if you were caught all right... I want you to know - I always hated Deutsche Schweine!"

I struggled against the hands holding me.

T.C. spat a mouth-full into my face.

And they took me away.

I was drowning in a sea of pain. Again and again it covered me with my head - but never enough to save me from sensing it.

My legs and my arms were stretched to the extreme, with my wrists and ankles tied with barbed wire to the edges of a rack device. When they were tying me and it started sticking into my skin, it hurt terribly. But now it pierced the skin and was well washed with my blood. And, besides, it didn't matter. Because now pain was all over my stretched body. I never could imagine that human body could be stretched so. My stomach came down. My ribs protruded as if a cage. All my muscles were on fire, my joints coming out of their places. My veins and sinews were tearing.

And they were still stretching me. How could they do it? Were they going simply to tear me apart? I already almost couldn't breath. My ribs didn't rise because the skin was too tight. I choked.

"Give him another portion of spanks," somebody said. Probably T.C.'s voice but I was not sure. The spanks were hits of rubber hose. On my chest. On my stomach. On my crotch. My veins were broken, I felt hot blood leaking under my skin.

But I didn't scream.

I bit my lip - it was bloody-torn already, blood was rushing on my chin. But I didn't give out a sound. Even a moan.

I thought only one: Jack. Jack. He came out of the prison doors, slightly squinting with sun-shine, a little indecisive, he was not used to free life. And she expected him. Her lovely European car on the opposite side of the road. She saw him and rushed to him - and smile was on her face. He embraced her, their lips met.

No, it was better to be here, on the rack.

"Like it, Deutsche Scheisse? You are going to have a lot of it."

T.C. it was, for sure.

I was blindfolded. Some black bandage on my eyes - the reason why I felt especially vulnerable. All their preparations were unknown to me. I found out them only when I felt them on myself.

"Do you know how fascists tortured people in World War II? You fascists! You killed my father!"

I would laugh if I could. I am Austrian, I wanted to say, I am Austrian.

By the way, why did you do these things to Morg, he was native American?

Then... Jack, again. Jack, forgive me.

Did I want my face to stay in his eyes as his stayed in mine? Did I succeed?

They beat me again. Cold water when I passed out. A little more stretching.

I didn't know what they took. Just felt the burning on my skin. An open flame to my chest. Moving down. To my stomach. The smell. Disgusting.

"I'll have you screaming, you schwein!" a little lower. The hair in my crotch burnt. "Even if I have to cook you balls."

Well, I screamed. I tried not to. But it was so painful, so... I screamed after that, too. No matter how long I bit my lip. They got it out of me.

What they were doing! Oh, I never imagined people could do these things to a human being. Such devices they had. Painful and humiliating. Even more humiliating.

There was no part of my body they spared.

I was dying. And then I was alive again - to new tortures. I prayed to die. I knew I would die in the end. But the end was so far, far away.

"You fuckin' Aryan shit, we'll teach you whose country it is. I'll show you it. But probably you won't have anything with what to look."

I didn't understand T.C. at first. He was doing something. Preparing something. Then his hand grasped my face. His fingers fixed my jaw tight. I felt the movement of the air, approaching my face. And then something sharp gnawed in my eye.

I tried to back. No way. The sharp object went deeper, pressing into my eye, smashing it under the lid and under the bandage. Then the bandage was pierced. And my lid, too. It was sticking into my eye.

My scream was silent. T.C. was sticking an awl into my eye. A deafening pain. All red. All red. And I felt the bandage becoming wet. But it was not with my blood.

"It seems you'll never be that beautiful boy again!" T.C.'s sarcastic voice.

I fainted.

It seemed I spent several hours unconscious. So I felt when I came to myself. They were doing something to me. Not hurting me - if not to pay attention that I was already hurt terribly. Just preparing me to something.

I lay on a table, spread-eagled, naked, my hands and feet fixed.

"Hear me?" T. C. "Look at me!"

He tore away the bandage from my eyes. From my eye, I have to say. The blood dried up a little. I almost passed out again with pain. A room full of light. Why did I think the torture chambre had to be murky?

T.C. leant to me and I saw the syringe in his hand.

"You were sent to my prison for correction," he said calmly, looking at me. "You didn't succeed. You are incorrigible, I presume therefore. And what do we have to do with incorrigible people? There is death penalty for them. Do you know how the death penalty is performed in our state?" he asked.

"By injection," I said. He jumped. Probably he didn't expect I would talk, it was a rhetoric question.

"Yes, by injection, you smart ass," he hissed. "By two injections. One fixes all defendant's muscles preventing him from breath. He tries to - he can't. He tries to move - no. He tries to scream - all too late. And the second sends his heart into collapse. I think for you it's enough the first one."

I didn't say anything. Was it the moment when on recalls all his life? Was there anything I wanted to recall? I just waited.

He pushed the thread into my vein. I felt the medicine, hot, leaking inside me, coursing through all my body. And on its course my body felt numb.

I still felt it, all the pain and this new one - I just didn't own myself any more. Not my eye lids. Not my fingers. Not my lungs. It was like I was in airless space. I tried to breathe in - and there was no air. Nothing to breathe with. I was choking. The light became blinding, too much of it.

And then it was switched off.

I came round. I emerged, to be exact. The sea was gone. The pain was just dull ache, but I understood I could live with it. Even if there was no hope that it would subside ever.

I survived.

At first my vision didn't want to serve me. But I was conscious that it let me down, that I was not in darkness. I lay on my back, something soft under me, something warm covered me. And somebody was near.

I had to know who it was. My brain struggled with my sight. Dark big silhouette. A man. Sitting. Striking a match against the box. It reminded me... oh, yes, he never used a lighter. An exquisite blend of smoke.

It was Pearce sitting at my bed. I met his dark laughing eyes. He looked at me for a while, then his lips slowly slid apart.

"Hi, Donovan," I said weakly.

"You fuckin' imbecile," he burst out. "What the fuck did you do to yourself?!"

"I don't know," my lips didn't want to behave themselves. "I don't know..."

"I know!" he was seething. "You jerk! You tried to kill yourself!"

"Maybe," I whispered. Then I felt the rush inside me, so familiar. I just gave it its way and waited for it to fill me completely. "Of course, I tried! Oh, fuck! What the point to ask stupid questions?"

He didn't got angry with me calling him stupid. He chuckled.

"At last I see my Hun, I thought I lost him forever. You almost succeeded in dying, sweet pea."

"I knew I had nine lives as a cat," I said pensively. "I just thought I had spent them already."

"Thanks God you recalled that Yoga trick in the last moment," he said. "That I taught you."

"Yes. The trick you used when they were after you."

"I was arranging your escape - and then you were so clever to spoil all my efforts! I hate you, Hun!"

"What happened to me?"

"You died. "Some kind of pneumonia" killed you. Well, it proved not so bad after all. Your file is in limbo, your crimes are buried. You are a free man now! Enjoy!

"Though not Hans Immendorf any more, I'm afraid," he added. "What about taking some decent American name?"

"Maybe, John Doe?" I proposed.

"Distasteful," he shook his head. "James? No, I don't want to name you Jim. Roger?.. Actually. And some surname started with "K".

"I'll think it over," I said.

"Of course. And now we have many things to do. This world really needs to be smacked up."

He laughed again. His hand grasped my wrist, pulling me to my legs. I got up - and he patted me on the shoulder, holding me firmly. His eyes were reveling in me - with humor and adoration.

"You'll look gorgeous - with a black band across your eye, Hun."

T h e E n d .