by Susanne Beck
Perhaps it was the casualness of the entire encounter, at least from Ice’s respect. Living life between high walls and steel bars hadn’t robbed me of that mushy romantic side. Many things shone through in my dreams, but being pressed up against the shower wall by a fully clothed Ice wasn’t one of them. At least for a first time, anyway.
But I knew, too, that Ice had enjoyed herself. At least on some level. I could tell by the way the taste of her kisses changed. By the way she breathed and moved over me. By the way her heart thundered against my chest.
And she was tender, beyond all doubt. Incredibly tender. Especially in the way she held and soothed me at the very end.
Why, then, when I was strong enough to once again stand on my own, did she leave? What went through her mind at that moment? Was I just another assignation? Another seduction in a long line of them? The rumors of her sexual appetite were as great as those of her fighting prowess. Everyone, it seemed, had a story to tell. And if even one quarter of the stories were true, she had slept her way through the entire Bog, twice. And that was before she was let out the first time.
Obviously, I was intelligent enough to realize that the vast majority of rumors came from deluded thinkers with serious wish-fulfillment issues. But I also knew that within every legend lies a kernel of truth. If I ever wanted to learn the real story behind the myth, I suspected that I would have to quickly become very adept at separating the wheat from the chaff.
All these feelings accompanied me, laying on my shoulders like the world upon Atlas, as I slid between the cool sheets of my prison bunk. The shifting, mournful wind matched my turbulent thoughts perfectly and it was a long time before sleep finally claimed me that night.
* * *
When the morning brought with it no inspiration, divine or otherwise, I decided to give in to my demanding stomach and head down to breakfast. Arriving earlier than I normally would have, I was faintly surprised to see the cafeteria filled almost to capacity. I might have imagined it, but the noise level seemed to dim appreciably as I stepped into the muggy room, only to rise once again by the time I’d grabbed my tray, waiting in line behind the others for my serving of thick gruel that tasted like nothing so much as library paste.
After grabbing the bowl thrust at me and picking up a mug of horridly strong coffee, I looked around to see if anyone I knew occupied the tables. When only strangers’ faces stared back at me, I quietly made my way over to one of the corner tables and sat down, determined to enjoy what passed for breakfast in peaceful solitude.
As my senses got used to the crowded din of the cafeteria and began to settle in on little snippets of conversation, the gruel turned to a hard leaden ball in my stomach. Turning my head slightly as I lowered my spoon, I set my gaze upon four women who were sitting at the edges of their worn, metal seats, their heads bowed conspiratorially together. "Yeah," one said in a voice full of brazen mirth, "the perfect little Angel got her wings clipped but good last night."
"Ice bags another one!"
The group slapped hands as they laughed and elbowed one another.
"I heard she squealed like a pig," said the third.
"No, it was more like a bitch in heat!" The fourth lifted her head and let out a screaming yowl to demonstrate her point.
Other heads turned and laughter began to roll through the group seeming to pound upon the concrete walls like some maleficent wave.
Dropping my spoon, I stood up so quickly that I sent my chair flying back to clatter against the far wall. At the sound, heads turned my way and the laughter died off quickly.
Caught halfway between crying and screaming, I settled for stalking out of the cafeteria with as many tattered shreds of my dignity as I could possibly preserve. Which wasn’t much.
I know I must have looked like Satan come to earth as I marched out of the cafeteria and toward the stairs. Inmates took one look at me and gave me wide berth. The expressions on their faces would have caused me to laugh had I been in the mood for it.
Instead, I ignored them, taking the stairs two and three at a time, my breath coming short and fast through my nose. As I reached the top floor, I strode down the long corridor, the paint-chipped bars of Ice’s cell growing larger with each step I took. Gone was the trepidation I’d felt in my last trip to this particular inmate’s home. I was an angry woman on a mission of retribution.
I strode through the open door to her cell, then, not breaking step, stalked over to where she sat on her bunk, her back up against the wall, her long legs splayed, feet firm to the floor. I stopped in between her knees, staring down at her, hands on my hips, knowing my eyes were flashing messages which I hoped were well and easily read.
She looked up at me, her expression calm and serene as an unblemished lake, waiting.
I took in a breath. Then another to calm my temper enough so that I could speak coherently. Her calm attitude only made my anger burn hotter. "God damn it Ice! Isn’t it bad enough that you fuck me and leave me standing there like some two dollar whore? Did you have to go and brag to your god damn friends about it too?!?" Now I’m not usually much for swearing, thinking the words trite and very overused, but there’s a time for everything and, for me, the time for swearing was then.
Though the expression on her face didn’t change, oh, her eyes . . . . The vibrant blue leeched out of them, leaving a glittering silver behind. It was like looking down into the twin barrels of a shotgun and I found myself actively fighting back a strong current of almost primal fear. "Finish what you came here to say, Angel," she purred, her voice deathly soft and smooth as satin.
"Finish . . . ." I trailed off, disbelieving. "You don’t get it, do you?! They’re laughing at me down there, Ice! It’s nothing but a joke to them! Well, it’s not a joke to me!" I threw my hands up in the air, keeping myself from breaking down by the greatest force of will. "My god, Ice, I thought we were friends. I thought I meant more to you than . . .than . . .than just another notch on your god damned bedpost."
She stood so quickly that I didn’t realize what had happened until I felt her long body pinned up against mine. "That’s enough, Angel," she said in that same quiet voice.
"No, Ice, it isn’t enough! It isn’t nearly enough!"
"Yes it is." Pushing me away slightly, she turned and headed for the door to her cell.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
For a long moment, it looked as if she wasn’t going to answer me. Then she turned, slowly, that glittering steel still very present in her eyes. "Alright," she drawled, smiling a smile so cold it chilled me to my very marrow. "I’m going to pay Sonny and Critter a little visit. We’ll see how well they can spread stories with their tongues ripped out of their mouths."
As she turned once again, I reached out, stopping just short of touching her arm. "No, wait. Don’t do that. They wouldn’t spread stories about me. They’re my friends."
Back came those eyes again, though this time I swore I could see a small seed of hurt in them before the emotionless mask settled back down over her face seamlessly. The corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk. "I see. Your . . .friends . . .wouldn’t spread tales out of school, but I would, is that it?"
I stood there, hundreds of conflicting feelings shooting through me at her soft, uninflected words. The anger drained from my body, leaving me off balance and uncertain.
She closed the distance between us and looked down into my face, sharp gaze assessing. Was that disappointment I saw? "Tell me Angel," she said in a completely emotionless tone, as if she were talking about nothing more important than the sports scores, "if your opinion of me is so low, why did you let me fuck you last night, hmmm?"
With that, she turned away and stepped to her bed, reclining lazily on the mattress and dismissing me completely. I stood there, rooted to the floor, my mouth opening and closing, fruitlessly trying to form words to thoughts that weren’t even complete. "Ice, I . . . ."
She held up her hand, not looking at me. "No, Angel, it’s alright. I thi
nk we’ve said pretty much everything that needs to be said. You don’t have to worry about the stories; they’ll be stopped. You have my word on that. As for the rest . . . ." She twisted her wrist, as if throwing something away to the wind.
As I stood there, staring at her like a cross between a spanked child and a spurned lover, my mind sifted through a myriad of things I wanted to say. I bit at my lip, a bad habit of mine, and winced at the soreness still present from the evening before. Taking a deep breath, I decided to go for broke. "Can I ask you a question, Ice? Can you at least tell me why?"
"Why what," she muttered, staring down at her hands.
"Why you did what you did. Last night, I mean. Why you came to me in the showers. Why you made . . . ." My voice trailed off, together with my thoughts. What did we do last night? Make love? Have sex? What? That I didn’t know was the most frustrating part for me. Looking down at Ice and trying to read her emotions through the carefully blank tableau of her face was something akin to being blind and entering the Philadelphia Art Museum. Not very enlightening, to say the least.
It was by the barest of margins that I resisted stomping petulantly on the floor. "Damn it, Ice. Say something! Anything!"
The eyes that finally met mine were cold and hollow. "What do you want me to say, Angel?"
"Tell me why! That’s all I’m asking here!"
Her broad shoulders shrugged slightly. "You made an offer. I took you up on it. Simple as that."
If you are incredibly lucky, there will be very few times in you life that you will ever feel what I did when those softly spoken words seeped into my ears. I could almost feel my heart close in upon itself as it shrank from their meaning, cowering. Tears came again, but I held them back with steely determination.
"Why are you looking so surprised? It’s what you expected to hear, isn’t it? A cold blooded murderer takes an innocent young girl as a trophy then brags about it to her friends?" She shrugged again. "Happens all the time here. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been somebody else."
That did it. The damn broke and my anger rushed forth, controlling my emotions once again. "You cold-blooded, heard-hearted, evil son of a bitch!"
I felt my hand go up, though to this day, I have no idea what I was planning to do with it. It was caught in a grip of iron and I suddenly found myself, once again, face to face with Ice. She smiled coldly down at me. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, or ya just might find out how true those words really are."
Tugging hard, I was surprised when my hand came easily free. Still, I met her gaze dead on, vowing not to show any fear. I was with a predator and I knew it. If she smelled fear on me, the situation could turn from bad to worse in a heartbeat.
Refusing to even give her the satisfaction of seeing me rub my tingling wrist, I stood my ground, staring up at her, almost daring her to show me her worst. When she didn’t, my racing heart started to calm and my anger along with it.
As I looked at her, her face seemed to change, as faces often will when you stare at them long enough. I began to imagine I could see past that carefully cultivated fierceness and into the woman beneath; a woman who had held me so tenderly in the shower the night before, rocking and soothing me with a gentleness this present persona belied; a woman who could create such a marvelous sense of freedom with just a few hand-held tools and a few stunted trees; a woman who would unhesitatingly thrash the living daylights out of an inmate twice her weight for laying hands on an innocent girl. Most of all, though, I imagined I could see a woman with whom I felt a profound connection that not even the heat of our anger could dissipate.
"I don’t believe you, you know," I finally managed to say in what surprised me by turning out to be a normal tone of voice.
"About what?"
"About what you said. That it was a game, that I was a trophy. You may have said those words, but I don’t think you meant them at all."
Raising one eyebrow, she continued to stare down at me, her face still completely expressionless.
"You’re hiding something."
"Oh? What am I hiding?"
"Your feelings."
The eyebrow arched higher as a faint smirk played across her face. "I’m a murderer, Angel. An assassin for hire. I lost anything that even resembles feelings a long time ago. Don’t waste your time looking for something that isn’t there."
I allowed my own smirk to curve my lips. "Oh, it’s there alright. You just have to know where to look."
"And you know where to look."
"No, not yet. Not completely. But I will." Taking a big risk, I brought up my hand again, one finger extended, and poked Ice in the chest. "Beneath that oh-so-cold exterior lies a living, beating, feeling heart, Morgan Steele. And I’m gonna find it. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, and believe you me, I will find it." Grinning triumphantly, I turned on my heel, prepared to make my dramatic exit.
I was a step away from the door when the barely whispered words met my ears. "I hope you do, Angel."
Lacking the courage to turn back and catch the expression on her face, I continued out of the cell and into the hallway, a woman whose mission had been changed irrevocably.
* * *
Sunday dawned cold and with a drizzle that was just a degree or two short of being sleet. Apparently, though, I was the only person in the prison surprised when the much anticipated basketball game managed to go off without a hitch.
That’s not to say it was smooth sailing. It appeared that the game of ‘inmate basketball’ was quite a different animal than any I’d seen before, and believe me when I tell you that, being from the mid-west, I’d seen enough of ‘normal’ basketball to last me several lifetimes. The rules seemed to be non-existent and the object appeared to me to be ‘stuff the ball through the net while injuring as many opponents as it was possible to without becoming a victim yourself’. There were several instances when I began to doubt my wisdom in assuming that this would be a peaceful way to settle the differences between the two gangs.
For her part, Ice appeared to be having fun. Her job seemed to be to keep the fights from becoming too bloody and interrupting the flow, if it could be called that, of the game. Rain glittered in her thick, black hair and every so often she would shake it out, sending a fan of fine mist out over the yard.
Our eyes would meet occasionally and, for those brief moments, nothing else seemed to matter to me. Her small grin warmed me inside and the rain, as well as the roar of the crowd and players, seemed to fade away to nothing. Then, invariably, another fight would break out and her attention would be called back to the game and I would feel the cold and damp all over again.
When it was over, Trey’s team easily maintained possession of the court for the next year. The score might have been closer, and the game more interesting, if Derby had put some of her more athletically inclined people in to play. Since her overblown ego didn’t allow that, it was, quite simply, a rout. Trey, who by herself managed to score more points than Derby’s entire team combined, was paraded around the court on the shoulders of her teammates, grinning wildly and proclaiming her dominance to all who would listen.
It was with a feeling of great relief when I finally pulled my protesting body up off the rain-slicked tarp that Critter had managed to put down and escaped back inside the warmth and quiet of the prison walls. All in all, I was quite pleased with myself. My plan, for better or worse, had worked and peace, or what passed for it in the Bog, reigned for one afternoon at least. Ice wasn’t mad at me and our connection seemed as strong as ever, despite the wounding words of the day before.
It was another good day.
PART 5
THE LAST WARM day of 1978 dawned sunny and clear as if Mother Nature was snickering behind her hand, giving us a last glimpse of a summer we wouldn’t see for another half year or more. Ducking outside at the earliest opportunity, I strode onto the nearly empty field and sat cross-legged in grass which still managed to maintain some measure of its vibrant color despite several har
d frosts which had ravaged it.
Closing my eyes and tilting my face toward the sun, I imagined that if I could just listen hard enough, I’d be able to smell the fresh cut grass and hear the sounds of summers past; the laughter of children, the splashing of water and the almost monotonous drone of a baseball announcer coming through the tinny speakers of an old transistor radio. The images playing behind my closed eyes warmed me inside and I felt a smile break across my face as I was swept up in my fantasy world. The cold walls of my prison home were far away as I sat there, determined to enjoy this fleeting glimpse of both summer and freedom for as long as I could.
My training had caused me to become more aware of the world around me, even while deep in my musings, and so I almost immediately caught the subtle current of change in the air around me. With a sense of disappointment, I lowered my head and opened my eyes to find Ice lowering herself to sit, also cross-legged, on the ground some feet from me. Her hands snaked across the carpeting of grass, plucking one thin stalk and twirling it between her fingers as she looked around the yard for a bit before turning her head to meet my interested gaze. Her lips curved into a gentle grin that lit up the vibrant pools of her eyes and softened the harsh planes of her face. "Morning, Angel."
The sound of her slightly husky voice warmed me more than the sun and my memories put together and I couldn’t help but return her smile. "Morning, Ice."
Nodding her dark head at me, she broke the lock of our gazes, seeming inclined to allow the comfortable silence to stretch out between us as she continued to casually scan the yard.
I, however, wasn’t one to pass up even the slimmest chance to get beneath that armored exterior. My mind whirled, tossing out and discarding several opening gambits. Finally, I decided on the old tried and true direct route.