Part 2 of 4 ~%*~%*~%* Decommissioned Prison Boron, California February 6 Present Time *stick* Ow. Falling. But not falling. Flying through hallways that I shouldn't recognize, but still somehow know intimately. Now the voices...oh, God, please not the voices! Rising around me like water, closing over my consciousness until I fear that *I* will be lost in a multitude of people that I can't find and yet cannot escape. Random images. Disjointed thoughts that don't belong in my head. Layer upon layer upon layer of voices. Hundreds of tones mixing and clashing washing over me in wave after wave of unrestrained, arbitrary and completely alien impressions. "I bet if U throw that ass in the air, it would turn into sunshine... Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass...," The Artist formerly known as Prince sang over and over, stuck on an endless loop. "twenty nine...thirty...thirty-one...thirty-two..." "pot roast...paper towels...aspirin...fabric softener..." "This time, bitch, you're gonna struggle. You're gonna fight and you're gonna beg me to..." The last thought caught my attention and I tried to find it again, to grasp it but it was like trying to swim against a fast current and I felt myself being pulled back into the din. Alex. I latched onto the one thought that I could be sure was my own. ~%*~%*~%* Somewhere on the Bayou Teche New Iberia, LA February 6th It wasn't a long ride. We took 90 south and east until the fields of sugar cane turned to marshes of cypress trees. We had long ago abandoned paved roads and soon signs of civilization became more and more scarce. Finally, we could go no further by land and secreted the motorcycle in similar fashion as I had at the rest area in Alexandria. I retrieved several items from the saddlebags on the bike, stuffing them into a large, unstructured pack which I slung over my back and across my shoulders. "Right this way," I said, with a flourish. We walked a short way until coming to what looked like a dirty creek with a small pier jutting out into the water from shore. A pirogue (pee'-roh), a flat-bottomed relative of the dug-out canoe used and modified over the centuries by natives of the Mississippi Delta, was tied to it. I climbed aboard and took the long stick in my hands, "All ashore that's going ashore." The look on his face made me wonder if his faith in me wasn't wilting a bit around the edges, but he placed one foot gingerly into the boat seeming genuinely surprised that it hadn't sunk under his weight. It dipped slightly but remained otherwise afloat. His second step caused the boat to wobble precariously, threatening to dump us both in the relatively shallow, but muddy drink. The water smelled brackish and looked singularly unappealing for swimming. He sat quickly on the primitive wooden bench seat between the gunwales trying not to look sheepish. Once he was seated, I pushed off and we began to glide smoothly down the bayou. Along the way, we passed under a number of foot bridges that became progressively older and in poorer repair, obviously abandoned for long years and it suddenly occurred to me that Alex and I were probably the first humans to see this place since the Battle of New Orleans. We hadn't seen another human being in over an hour on the water. We had, however, seen plenty of wildlife. The entire place seemed to pulsate with primitive life. A large alligator swam sinuously past the boat, paying us no attention whatever as he slithered on his merry way, grinning as he passed. We were nearly there. I used the pole to navigate the boat through a maze of cypress knees that stretched skyward out of the dark water like some sort of aberrant stalagmites, the thick foliage forming a green canopy over our heads not unlike the roof of a cave. I hadn't been able to stifle a laugh at his reaction to the beaver-sized nutria rat that slid into the water from the shore and swam boldly up to explore the boat and us. His hand slapped bare flesh where his gun usually resided and his obvious horror at a 20lb. rat prompted me to tease him with "wait'll you see the snakes". Just as night was falling and the sky had turned a deep marmalade color peeking through the trunks of the hundreds of trees, we arrived at our destination. Out of the now black water, rose a small building on stilts with a large screened-in porch on the front of it. I tied the pirogue to a post that anchored one corner of the structure and climbed up onto the small pier that jutted out from the front door over the water. I offered my hand to Alex as he stood to disembark. The air was permeated with the songs of thousands of different species of birds, all seeking to roost for the night. In short order, he joined me on the long, gray plank walkway and we entered the house. "House" was actually an exaggeration. It was actually a one-room shack that hadn't seen habitation by humans in better than 70 years when I'd found it. But once cleaned up, it had served as a functional, albeit no-frills, hiding place for me in the six months since Alex had been captured. I had managed to convert it into a fairly comfortable home, after importing a roll of mesh screening, a broom and a few other things. I had also brought a hammock which was hung on the front porch. There was no electricity nor any other amenities more modern than hand-pumped, running water. A pot-bellied stove stood in one corner of the room near a large, deep porcelain sink and I emptied the contents of my backpack on the attached counter. When I'd been cleaning the place up, I'd discovered a stack of antique jazz records and an old wind-up Victrola phonograph. The place didn't look like much on the outside, but it was clean and comfortable and, most importantly, it was the last place anyone would think to look for us. I had made arrangements to borrow a friend's boat and we were going to meet at the marina at Lake Pontchatrain Tuesday morning. Until then, we had nothing but time and each other. "Are you hungry?" I queried. *** "Hungry?" he responded with an arch smile, "I think that depends on what you're offering." He had come up behind me and his arms snaked around my middle in a move that brought his burgeoning erection tight against my lower back just above my ass. "You're an insatiable beast, aren't you?" I teased him, turning in his arms to drape mine over his shoulders, clasping my hands behind his neck. And I kissed him. He responded most zealously, his tongue enthusiastically seeking mine in a dance of sweet seduction. "Patience, Lover," I said, pulling breathlessly away from his devouring lips, "we have time." He recaptured my lips briefly, then gently released me and resigned himself instead to concentrate on his stomach. "So what *is* on the menu?" he asked. "Seafood," I answered with a broad smile, "at least I hope so." I slipped my boots and socks off and went barefoot out onto the protruding dock. At the farthest end that extended out over the water, I reached down and pulled at a length of thin chain that disappeared into the muddy water below. A large frame cage covered in coated wire and filled with crabs came to the top and I knew that we had dinner. Letting it drop back into the water, I returned to the house to make preparations to feed us. I poured Zatarain's seasonings into a large pot of water that boiled merrily on the stove adding salt, potatoes, corn on the cob and several lemon halves, which I squeezed before tossing into the mixture as well. Next, I retrieved the crabs and dumped them into the boiling water. When they changed from bluish-gray to red we drained the water from the pot, pouring the remaining contents out onto newspapers spread across the bare planks. We sat on the dock pulling the shells apart and plucking out the sweet, white meat, eating with our fingers. It was simple fare, but satisfying. We topped it all off with a few bottles of ice cold Dixie beer that had been chilling in a styrofoam container of ice since early that morning. The unseasonably warm weather was nice, but as with all good things, it had come to an end. The wind had switched out of the north and once the sun went down it wasn't long before I was shivering. We were still seated on the plank deck when he slid up behind me and wrapped his large hands around my upper arms, gently chaffing warmth back into them. He also attempted to warm me with his breath on the back of my neck. It heated me, most certainly, though it sent chills racing through every nerve in my body. I was trembling nearly convulsively as Alex stood, lifting me to my feet. He draped his arm around me, letting his hand drop to rest on the curve of my ass as we walked back inside. The fire had died down somewhat and the chill was beginning to invade the house as well. Even in the deep south, February was cold after sunset. Alex stoked the fire, adding another scoop of coal to the stove, while I opened the old Victrola and retrieved several of the old recordings. I put one of them on the felt covered turntable and turned the crank until it was tight. Then I flipped a little lever to the side of the turntable and it began to spin. I gently put the needle in the groove and the thin, tinny sound of the music poured out, mixed with Louis Armstrong's deep voice. "Now won't you listen honey, while I say, How could you tell me that you're goin' away? Don't say that we must part, Don't break your baby's heart." Alex, finished with the fire, had crossed the room to where I stood. He reached out to clasp my hand, pulled me into a twirl and into his arms. He held me tight against his chest as we swayed together to the music. He surprised me by leaning down and singing softly in my ear with the record, "There'll come a time, now don't forget it, There'll come a time, when you'll regret it Some day, when you grow lonely, Your heart will break like mine and you'll want me only, After you've gone, after you've gone away." Finally the music stopped, the needle scratch, scratch, scratching as the record continued to spin, the action slowly wearing down. Still we stood there, slowly swaying against one another, his hand cupping the back of my head gently. His other hand had undone my long braid and now played lightly up and down my back, threading through my hair. My ear rested against his chest, vibration tickling my ear as he still hummed the tune that had just finished playing. "Am I going to wake up to find you gone?" he asked softly. "You know, a girl might infer from that question that you cared one way or the other," I teased, pulling my head back to look up into his face. I smiled wickedly, backing him toward the small, net-draped, four-poster that occupied one corner of the room opposite the stove and sink, "Are you afraid that I will leave, Alexei, or are you afraid that I won't?" The backs of his knees had come to rest against the edge of the bed and he fell backward when I pushed against his chest. He didn't relinquish his hold on me, though, and we both went down in a heap, he on his back with me sprawled akimbo on top of him. His hands came up to cup my face as he looked earnestly into my eyes, "I have nothing to offer you," he said, his eyes filled with sad regret, "not even my probity, should it come down to it. You know where my loyalties lie, Marley, as I do yours, and we both know what it would mean should our employers turn against each other and set us at cross purposes. But I've found that you fill a void that I didn't know was there until I met you and I don't look forward to a tomorrow without you." "None of us is guaranteed tomorrow, Alexei," I said, stroking my thumbs across his lower lip, "we only have now. But I promise you, I'm not going anywhere at the moment." He didn't speak, but pulled my face down to his and kissed me with a dark and desperate passion that took my breath away. This blinding electricity sparked between us and we both caught fire. His hands slid from my face and his fingers threaded through the length of my hair, trailing the ends and dancing across the curve of my behind and back up again. Seemingly without effort, he rolled us over until he lay beside and above me on the bed, one leg covering mine looking down into my face. Butterfly soft kisses alit on my forehead, my eyes, down the bridge of my nose and across my cheeks. His lips brushed over mine on their way down to my throat where the kisses became less timid as he nipped and tasted. The exploration continued across my collarbone and up the side of my neck just under my ear. I moaned aloud and I could feel the smug smile that crossed his lips. His head rested propped on one hand, but the other hand was free to roam. It slid under my shirt and, feather light, his fingers glided over my belly, making my muscles there jump beneath them. I was bare under the light tee and my skin tingled beneath his touch as it moved up my torso to seek out and cup my breast, massaging the flesh and gently plucking at the turgid nipple. My own hands were busy beneath his shirt, worshipping the bare skin they found there. I could feel the definition of the muscles beneath the smooth, warm skin and the tension in them as I stroked my hands over his chest and back. I lightly raked my short nails across his back as he leaned down to capture my lips in another deep, long kiss. His fingers had caught the hem of my shirt and he pulled it up. Breaking our kiss, I moved to assist him in removing it. He sat up on his knees and whipped his own shirt over his head, tossing it off the edge of the bed which might well have been the edge of the earth for all we cared. My fingers had found the waistband of his jeans and sought out the buttons there. With a quick tug, the buttons of his fly popped open one by one in quick succession and I pushed them down impatiently as he helped, finally kicking them away into oblivion. He grasped the hem of the stretchy material of my skirt and with a smooth downward motion, pulled it off me along with the wisp of material that made up the thong I wore beneath it. He pulled me up to my knees until we both knelt naked in the center of the bed, facing each other. I reached for him, but he gently clasped my hands and replaced them at my sides, holding up a finger gesturing patience. He then took that finger and traced my jaw with it, tipping my chin up to expose my throat. His lips descended to that spot and began a torturously slow journey downward. He lingered at my breast, his tongue encircling the nipple roughly. I couldn't leave my hands idle any longer, and they found their way into his hair. I clenched my hands in the dark, silky strands as his head moved farther down to tease my navel. My back arched of its own accord and it was all I could do to keep from pushing his head southward. Instead I writhed beneath him as he kissed over the arches of my hip bones and down finally to the nest of springy curls. His hot, moist breath came against me and I shivered with anticipation. His tongue darted out to flick my clit and I gasped with the intense sensation that zinged through my body. He sat up with a pleased look on his face. He lay me gently back onto the bed and lifted my legs until my thighs rested on his shoulders. His tongue dipped and delved until I was overwhelmed by sensation and incapable of coherent thought. Suddenly, his mouth was gone. With my eyes screwed shut, my hips bucked upward in search of him and I thought I would die. A feral snarl approximating "OhGodAlexei" escaped unchecked. I felt him shift above me and then he slipped inside me, stretching and filling me utterly until he was buried inside me completely. He began to move, slowly...deliberately and my inner muscles clenched convulsively around his unyielding flesh as he plunged and withdrew, again and again. I met his thrusts forcefully as my hips responded, independent of my conscious control, grinding and swiveling beneath him. Faster. Harder. Flesh slammed into flesh with an intensity that bordered on violence until the silence was shattered by my screams, with his guttural groans following close upon their heels. Before long, we fell peacefully asleep in each others arms, his fingers twirling idly in my hair. That is pretty much how we passed the following week. We lived a life of primitive hedonism, spending long hours in each other's arms far from the concerns of the world. We only took the long journey back to civilization twice, once, to pick up more supplies and again, so that I could check for confirmation from my contact. On Monday, I received it. We were to meet him at the Lakeshore marina early Tuesday afternoon, under cover of the sea of humanity that was flooding into New Orleans for Mardi Gras. On Wednesday morning, we would leave New Orleans unnoticed with the rest of the world. We would sail the Roxanne to Havana where my contact would later reclaim her. With a sad nostalgia for the time we spent there, we packed up the last of our things and headed out for New Orleans. ~%*~%*~%* Decommissioned Prison Boron, California February 12 When I awoke, I was in the infirmary wing. My head was clear but my jaws hurt from grinding during the drug A small window that graced the top of the wall in my room was dark and I realized that I must have been out for hours. I had been put in restraints again and couldn't move except to turn my head. I had learned long ago that it did no good to plead for release. But if I pled a call of nature, they might undo the straps and leave them off. "Hey!" I shouted, "Hey! I've got to go to the bathroom!" Silence. "Hey!!!" I screamed again, "I said I gotta go!" This was no ruse, I really did need to relieve myself and it was becoming quite uncomfortably urgent. The door suddenly exploded inward as J-Dog burst through it. "If I have to clean you up, Marley, I'm not going to be nice about it," he growled, baring his teeth in a vicious smile. "Believe me, it's not at the top of my list of things to do today, either," I snarled back, trying hard to think dry thoughts. He deftly unbuckled the restraints, removing them from my arms, legs and across my chest. After unfastening the latter, he jerked me off the bed by my wrist, and shoved me roughly across the room toward the bathroom. The insides of my elbows and the backs of my knees twinged painfully from the immobility, but I was able to make it to the toilet without falling flat on my face. I nudged the door with my elbow, only to have it encounter J-Dog's hand which abruptly stopped the door from closing. I winced inwardly, but did what I had to do as he leaned against the doorjamb and watched in the mirror. I gritted my teeth and vowed silently, for the millionth time, that the last thing he'd ever see would be my hands dripping with his blood. "You stink," he spat at me, "get in the shower and clean up." I knew the routine. We'd played this particular scene dozens of times. The shower was an institutional affair, essentially just a large, tiled alcove without a door or curtain. I knew that I wasn't going to do myself any good fighting with him, so I squelched what was left of my sense of modesty and stripped the muscle tee over my head, tossing it carelessly into the corner. The cotton drawstring scrub pants followed, along with the simple white cotton underwear that I'd been given and I now stood completely naked before him. My flesh burned with the intensity of his unabashed and brazen appraisal of my body. I fully expected him to stay and watch the show, but once I was in the shower, he surprised me with, "Behave yourself, Marley. I'll be right back." He stepped out, closed the door and I heard the lock engage from outside. I immediately cast about for a means of escape, but the place had been designed as a prison and there wasn't even a small window in the room I could hope to shimmy through. So resigned to another day in captivity, I comforted myself with the thought that at least I could get a nice cleansing shower without an audience. One thing about institutional facilities, I continued in my "the glass is half-full" attempt to fend off total despair, there was an endless supply of hot water. I had lathered and rinsed both body and hair, still without any sign of J-Dog and I stood in the limitless stream of heat flowing down onto my head and shoulders, letting it melt the ever-present tension in them. My thoughts again turned to Alex. My love. My rock. My lack-of-a-soul mate. If I still believed in God, I would have cursed him as a cruel trickster. We should have known that any happiness we might have found in each other wouldn't have been without its element of irony. Invisible tears flowed down my cheeks mixing with the bountiful hot water as I sobbed silently. Oh, Alex! I'm so sorry! I had killed us both, but I was still breathing. ~%*~%*~%* End part 2/4