Later in the day, Spider's body was found hanging in his own cell; a dramatic touch added by the Delvicchio brothers under Bubba’s instructions. As far as Pentoville Prison was concerned – inmates and officials alike - , Spider's death was a suicide.

Meanwhile, Jackson waited on news about Raquel's condition, but couldn't get anything from the guards. They either weren't prepared to tell him, or honestly had no idea.

Jackson still felt responsible, for Spider had clearly meant it for him, as a twisted sort of way at getting back at Bubba, so in a way it was also Bubba’s fault that Raquel had been nearly killed.

Several days went by without any news on Raquel's status. But by this time, Jackson had some fresh concerns to fill his thoughts; Bubba was making overtures towards him again. I could only be a matter of time before Bubba came to him.

Jackson did his best to avoid having any contact with him, but found it difficult and knew that it was pointless. If Bubba wanted him then Bubba could take him. He wondered if he had the strength to play it out and submit to Bubba. All too soon, the opportunity came to him to test his resolve.

Alone in his cell during one of the recreation periods, Jackson was trying to distract himself by flicking through one of Raquel's discarded magazines. But he found focusing his mind on things to be difficult, as it was cluttered with thoughts about Raquel and Bubba.

He was laying on his top bunk and didn't notice that Bubba had entered the cell. He only realised when he heard the ominous click of the cell door as it was closed.

He looked down and found himself staring down into Bubba’s bulbous, ruddy face, his smile a puckered, pink gash. The youth's body immediately stiffened. He grew cold all over. The skin on his testicles crawled and his armpits became damp with sticky, cool sweat. Aside from this, Jackson managed a restrained composure.

He began mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead; closing off parts of his mind that he knew he was not going to need -that he didn't want to witness what he was about to do. He waited patiently for Bubba to speak.

"Get down here," he urged, huskily.

Obediently, Jackson jumped down from his cot, but went no nearer to him-

"Step closer," he ordered, his eyes riveted on the youth, his voice rising with excitement.

Once more, Jackson did as he was told, drawing closer to the barrel shaped man, thinking how much he despised the man; how he loathed him, and how much he wanted to rip those blazing black eyes from his sockets and force them down his own throat! He wanted to kick Bubba in the balls so hard that they'd shoot up through his abdomen lodge themselves in his gut and explode!

Jackson's stomach muscles tightened and throbbed, fed on the mixture of rage and revulsion. He kept it under control by reminding himself of what his aims were; by seeing his major goal, and telling himself that he had to fulfil the minor goals, along the way, to secure that which was most vital to him -the one thing which drove him onward ...revenge ...revenge ...revenge!

Bubba’s clammy palm cupped Jackson's face. He brushed his cheek and caressed his still bruised neck.

"So pretty, so pretty," he murmured, evil eagerness gripping him as he stared into the boy's eyes. 'Take off your clothes," he instructed him.

Jackson stepped back a little without a word of protest, and began unbuttoning his shirt at a casual pace. Bubba watched him, growing more and more aroused.

Jackson slipped it off and tossed it carelessly onto the bunk. He undid the button of his jeans and unzipped them. He let them slide down over his hips and legs.

Bubba let out a soft sigh. But at that point they were interrupted. A prison officer barged into the cell, taking in the picture of the near naked youth and Bubba without even looking even mildly surprised.

Jackson pulled up his jeans and looked at him, while Bubba aimed a displeased looked in the officer's direction.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, smiling faintly. "I've come for Crane. The Governor has given you permission to see Stoppard in the infirmary," he explained to the boy.

Jackson's face brightened. "Raquel's here?" He cried as he quickly did up his pants and put on his shirt, thinking to himself that the officer bearing the good news couldn't have brought it at a better time.

It may have been delayed this time, but next time he would not be so lucky, and Bubba was quick to point this out to him as Jackson was about to leave. He grabbed the youth's arm and pulled him close spittle flying from Bubba’s lips, as he said to the boy: "We'll finish up later."

Jackson gently reclaimed his arm and walked away with the officer.

The infirmary that he was taken to was a stark and grisly place. The beds were only marginally better than the ones in the regular cells, but the place did smell a little better, even if it was reminiscent of a hospital.

Raquel lay in one of the beds in the room of age yellowed walls. When he saw him approaching, he gave a cheery smile. Jackson returned it, hoping that it gave no hint to the very real coldness and lack of humor that was growing within him.

As he made his way to his friend's bed, he noted that there were another four inmates in other beds, all nursing serious looking injuries; broken arms and legs in plaster; a face partially obscured in bandages and scarred with surgical stitches, and another in a neck brace, his face black with bruises.

Jackson stood at Raquel's bedside and looked down at his friend.

"Oh God, it's so good to see you, darling," Raquel said joyfully, clasping his friend's hand.

Jackson smiled. "I was getting worried about you. When the screws wouldn't tell me or any of us how you were doing, I really got scared that you weren't going to be coming back ...not that this is the sort of place anyone would want to rush back to, but you know what I mean..." he said awkwardly.

"Yes, I know what you mean," he said, nodding. "But as you can see, I'm fine."

"No thanks to me," he muttered.

"Hey, don't say that! It wasn't your fault. It's just one of those things," he shrugged, dismissing it. Then he said that he'd heard that Spider had he'd hung himself.

Jackson nodded once, as his mind replayed to him the way that Spider had really died.

"How are things anyway?" Raquel asked, his eyes searching Jackson's, but the boy avoided meeting Raquel's gaze directly.

"Same as usual," he said blandly. "When did you get brought back here anyway?"

Raquel explained that he'd been returned to the prison early that morning, and had been hounding the governor ever since, asking that Jackson be sent to visit him. Finally, Raquel had got Dr. Blair to put in a word for him as well, and the governor had consented, probably mainly to shut Raquel up."... And boy am I glad for the company, and to see that you're alright," he concluded.

"I'm doing fine. Don't worry about me. You just get yourself better," he said, touched by his friend's concern. He noted the long scar that ran down Raquel's throat, deep into his hidden cleavage, and the black, thick stitching that held the flesh together.

Raquel noticed the point of his gaze and smiled. "It takes a bit more than a couple of razors in a bar of soap to do me in," he laughed. "It's not as bad as it looks - really," he stressed, as if trying to put his mind at ease.

Jackson wasn't sure that he believed him. It had certainly looked bad enough when it had happened.

He asked Raquel how many stitches there were. Raquel wasn't exactly sure, but said it was somewhere around one hundred and twenty, and told him that the doctor had said that they could probably be taken out in a few days' time. Then Raquel asked Jackson about Bubba.

"What about Bubba, Jacky?"

"Bubba?" he remarked, trying to sound innocent, almost as if he hadn't hear the name before.

"Well, has he ...has he, you know - caused you any trouble while I've been gone?"

"Raquel, stop worrying about my problems. I'm telling you, I can handle Bubba. I can handle anyone, if it comes to that;” he said confidently, and thought to himself that he might just be right.

Raquel's expression was grim, but he nodded and petted Jackson's hand like a matronly old aunt.

That night, for the first time in many nights, Jackson slept well. His mind and body needed it, for he was close to physical and emotional exhaustion. But he didn't sleep that deeply that his senses missed the unexpected sound of a key turning in the lock of his cell door.

It opened quietly and light from the corridor outside spilled in, across the floor in a rectangular path. Two figures stood in silhouette in the doorway, one tall and lean, the other short and rotund.

Jackson sat up in his cot, startled, and wiped the sleep from his eyes, wondering to himself what was going on.

One of the figures moved into the cell. It was Bubba’s burly shape, of that Jackson was now certain.

Bubba turned back to the officer. "Go," he said simply. The cell door was closed, and locked. The room became almost black.

"Now we finish what we started," Bubba said in the darkness.

Without needing to be asked, Jackson got down from his bunk and in the gloominess, faced Bubba, wearing only his jocks.

The blackness of the cell ensnared him like the clammy embrace of Bubba’s bloated arms. Bubba reached out to him, running his hands down Jackson's side, pulling down his jocks. They fell down around the boy's ankles. Bubba drew him in close, massaging his buttocks.

"Oh, feels so good..."he whispered into the boy's ear. He pushed the youth back onto Raquel's bunk.

Bubba slipped out of his dressing gown, revealing his bloated body in the dimness of the cell. He rolled Jackson onto his stomach, spreading his legs, as he lowered himself onto his body, guiding his rigid cock between the boy's buttocks.

Jackson closed his eyes, merging with the dark, concentrating on losing himself within his thoughts, being only dully aware of what Bubba was doing with his body. He told himself repeatedly not to fight, and to flow with what was happening to him, to sink into Bubba’s perversion and drown in it. Yes, drown - become lost in the swell of the comforting blackness. He need not fight it; he wanted no excuse for Bubba to hurt him ever again. He had to drown, not fight it; just wait, until he had a chance, and then, by God, Bubba and Lloyd Crane were going to suffer! They were going to pay!

At breakfast the next day, Jackson sat with Toby, Louie and Skeeta, where he ate his helping of bacon and rubbery eggs. He was quiet throughout the meal, but not unfriendly. His eyes were fixed mainly on his plate as he considered his course of action. He glanced over at Bubba, then quickly at the guards who were mulling about the inmates as they ate.

At the front of the dining hall was a prisoner in an apron attending to a trolley where used and dirty plates and utensils were returned at the end of each meal, and who also ensured that all inmates returned their cutlery. Jackson turned to Toby and Louie.

"I need a favor from you guys," he said.

Skeeta paid no attention to the threesome as they drew their heads together. He just sat at the table, his weary eyes staring beyond the bottom of his plate as he hurriedly put mouthful after mouthful into his body.

"What sort of favor?" asked Toby.

“Yeah...?" quizzed Louie.

Jackson glanced once more at the prisoner at the kitchen trolley.

"I need a distraction - a scene, and I need it when I’m standing over at the trolley, O.K.?" he asked them, praying they'd agree.

Toby nodded. "Sure, no worries," he said, wiping his large nose with his equally big hand. Louie echoed his sentiments.

Jackson thanked them, then rose from the table and made his way towards the trolley. He passed Bubba at his table on the way, but did not even take a glimpse at him, but Bubba’s eyes had tracked him hungrily before he got back to his feeding.

He got to the trolley, stacked his plate on the pile of other plates and tossed his knife and fork into a bucket. No sooner had he done this then the greatest commotion broke out in the middle of the dining hall.

An officer, standing by the trolley, jumped, startled by the fierce bellow and lost all interest in the youth, who then quickly took back his knife and secreted it in his pocket, before he turned around to feign interest in seeing what was happening.

Louie had tipped his breakfast over Toby's head, who in turn upturned the table and lunged at Louie, knocking him into another table of inmates. Instantly there was a brawl on, involving half a dozen inmates and several guards as they tried to disengage the infuriated men.

Jackson neatly skirted the altercation, making his way to the rear of the hall, watching with the other spectators as the guards gradually broke up the fight. He caught Bubba looking at him and met the fat man's gaze with hollow eyes. He thought of the knife secreted in his pocket. He turned on his heal and walked out of the dining hall.

That night, alone in his cell, Jackson sat on the floor by one of the brick walls. He held the knife that he'd stolen in his hand.

He wondered if the guards or the kitchen staff had noticed it missing? It didn't matter, he told himself, as he set about sharpening its blade by grinding its dull edge quickly and repetitively against the sheer brick wall.