The beds in the refuge always seemed comfortable to me and there's no particular reason why. Maybe it was something in the water. In any case, I always fell asleep rather quickly and rather soundly every time. My sleep was regularly interrupted at three thirty in the morning. Out of habit, I suppose. I had a job once that required I leave at all hours of the morning.

I woke that night and faced the wall with my eyes open. My paranoia would always get to me about then. Half of the time, I was afraid to roll over. Someone might be standing there ready to attack, never mind that hardly anyone else was allowed that far into the refuge. I stared at the wall and periodically shifted my eyes to a new area.

At night, the refuge was a comfortable place. everything was so quiet, save the occasional brawl in the street or nightmare ridden mind of the person a cell over. What little moonlight that waded in slinked over the stone and brick walls-- everything looked a hint of greasy blue. Some nights, when the moon was full, there was enought light to read my pocketwatch by. Some other times, the silence wrenched at my imagination and I would hear things, people and such-- but that night, as I laid there with another Irish girl above me, I got angry. The good Lord, if there be one, only knows why-- I sure as hell didn't. I needed to curb my temper before I did something I'd regret... again.

I rolled over to face the room-- no maniacal murderer awaited-- and gradually brought myself to stand on the chilled floor. I can't really say the floor was chilled. I'd left my shoes on-- I always did. Reaching into the pocket of Marconi's pants that I wore, I pulled out my deck of well-worn and faded playing cards. The corners on the Kings were bent and the Aces had pinholes along the edges. I took the corner of the room furthest from the door and beds and sat down. I got into my rhythm with the cards: split, tap, fan, bridge, slish, tap tap-- split, tap, fan, bridge, slish, tap tap-- split, tap, fan, bridge, slish, tap tap-- split, tap, fan, bridge, slish, tap tap.

Once I got into the rhythm of the cards, there was no turning back. I estimate that I sat there and shuffled for a good hour while staring at the floor, turning things over in my head. At one point, I thought I heard someone walking down the corridor and it startled me. The cards flew loose from my tight-knit manipulation and rained down in a fluttering black, red, adn yellow storm in front of me. I do believe that a rough explenative left my mouth rather loudly as memory serves. It was loud enough to wake McCartney from her sleep. Right then, talking to her was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do. But it was inevitable-- she rolled off thetop bunk groaning and mumbling incoherently.

"What ya wake me up for?" she whined.

"Din't mean it, trust me."

I watched her rub her eyes and adjust to the five o'clock light. I was gathering my cards, figuring I'd just shove 'em into my pocket and climb back into bed completely ignoring and avoiding my problem.

"Why-" yawn, "are-" groan, "there cards all over the floor?"

Then she did the unthinkable-- she picked up my ace of spades and looked right through the pinhole. It took every ounce of me not to wring her scrawny little neck. But I wouldn't kill her there-- nobody else around to pin the blame on. She looked at me through the card.

"There's a hole in your card."

"Mice got at it," I said dryly, rolling my eyes.

"So, what ya do with these things anyhow?"

I grabbed my ace from her and snapped, "Ya play cards with 'em! Ain'tcha seen a deck before?"

"Of course I know what you do with cards! You don't listen very well. I asked what you were doing with them!"

"You don't speak very well-- I ain't gonna argue with ya. Why don'tcha go back t'bed, eh?"

She looked hurt and I wasn't surprised it didn't seem to take much to hurt the kid. I caught sight of her eye, it was swollen and bruising and I could feel my own bruising, but mine was more or less my cheek than my eye. I was sure that there was a fist imprint on my stomach area. Her voice shook me from my analytical trance.

"I will then. Don't wanna talk to you anyhow if you're going to be mean about it."

"Bottom," I mumbled.

"What?"

"Take the bottom."

"Why?"

"Asking why will get ya killed one a these days."

She gave me a terribly pathetic look and crawled into the bottom bunk and faced the wall. I picked up all of my cards and shuffled them several times then arranged them to my liking. I shoved them back into my pocket and climbed to the top bunk. I didn't have a specific reason why I wanted the top, but I still believe in the back of my mind that I took it so the phantom maniac would get her instead.

I tried falling asleep, but it didn't work very well. There was an incessant tapping sound in my ears that wouldn't go away. I tried to ration what it was, but nothing seemed to be right.