Night had fallen on the prison. Jackson lay on his bunk, too disturbed by DeVito's suicide to find sleep.

He kept on seeing DeVito's eyes in his mind, devoid of life, as they had appeared to be the last time Jackson had seen him alive. He shuddered. He didn't want to be broken like DeVito -a defeated animal caught in a trap, and which had chosen a slow, painful death over a more agonising prolonging of life.

Bubba, Jackson decided, had killed DeVito, and it hadn't affected the man in any way -instead, his fat lips, like a split pork sausage, had leered at Jackson. Bubba clearly placed no value on the lives of others. He was insane, Jackson realised.

He felt a need to talk, for he was sick of the silence that allowed his mind to dwell on thoughts best left to nightmares. He wondered, or at least hoped, if Raquel was still awake.

"Raquel...? You awake?" he whispered.

"I'm awake, bunny." There was a sad edge in his voice which the youth detected, and had heard for the better part of the day.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You've been kind of strange all day," Jackson noted with concern.

Raquel giggled girlishly for a moment. "Darling, I've been strange for a long time!" He laughed again, and Jackson couldn't help but smile, too. "And I like it!" Raquel added. But then Raquel became serious, once more. "You're thinking about the DeVito boy, aren't you?"

"Hard not to," Jackson replied.

"Yes ...yes, I suppose it is," and his voice trailed off.

"I'm scared as Hell, Raquel," he blurted in a tight, childish voice.

Raquel's heart went out to the boy. He was scared for Jackson, too. He battled with himself; should he tell him what he knew? What was all over the prison?

He heaved in a breath. The boy had a right to know. Besides, it could make very little difference to the eventual outcome. It was inevitable. Raquel was sorry about that, because he liked Jackson. He was a sensitive and good-hearted kid and it worried Raquel what prison life might to turn him into.

"Jacky, the word is out on you; you're not to be touched," he said suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been claimed. It's been made quite clear what will happen to anyone, and I do mean anyone, if they so much as breathe on you. In one way, it's a blessing - you don't have to worry about being gang raped. But," Raquel sighed, "you could also see it as a curse."

Jackson swallowed. He didn't need, nor did he want, to hear more. He was certain that he knew who had laid claim to him. "It's Bubba, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

There was but a brief pause, and then Raquel confirmed it. "Yes."

Jackson's blood chilled in his veins and his skin froze over as he tried to imagine the deviant's caress. He couldn't. His eyes brimmed with tears and he could scarcely keep the tremor out of his voice as he spoke. “When...?"

"I don't know, bunny, truly I don't," he replied. "When Bubba feels like it, I suppose."

"Fuck this, no!," he groaned. "If he touches me, I'll die, I swear Raquel, I'll die. I couldn't take it!" he exclaimed, his words cracking with emotion.

"Jackson, Jackson," Raquel whispered soothingly. "Keep a hold on yourself. You're not going to be the first. You won't be the last. The only thing you can do about it is to decide to survive it."

Jackson shook his head. "I just couldn't take it, Raquel. I don't want to end up like DeVito...”

"You don't have to," came the response. "He was weak. He couldn't make it. You can."

“No..." Jackson said, his voice choking with horror and frustration.

"… And when he comes for you, remember, don't fight him, or he'll make it hurt ...he can do things to a body that don't seem anatomically possible...” Raquel told him.

Jackson let out a harsh laugh. "This isn't making me feel better," he declared.

"It's about surviving, Jacky, it’s not about making you feel better."

"I'd rather be dead, " Jackson shot sulkily.

Raquel ignored the self-pitying words. "Just tell yourself that it's not your body he's using ...escape, Jackson. Find some place you would rather be and stay there for as long as it takes. Find something special there, make it yours and let it get you through it..." Raquel's voice trailed off.

Neither of them spoke further that night. But Jackson reflected on Raquel's last piece of advice.

As he did, he found himself bristling with the deep hatred that lived within him: how Lloyd Crane would pay for this! He would live to see that man withering in agony at his feet, covered in his own shit and sick and pleading for the torment to end.

But it would have to be one day at a time for Jackson. He had to think about surviving the next day. And tomorrow night, he would have to think about getting through the day after that...