Later that evening, Jackson found himself by the bar, feeling decidedly lost. He felt a little uncomfortable in the surrounds. He tried to remain inconspicuous, standing in a corner, watching the stage. A troupe of drag queens and male dancers were energetically dancing to a modern pop song, miming lyrics to up and coming idol and former soapie starlet, Kylie Minogue’s ‘I Should be so Lucky’, while wearing revealing costumes which cemented the illusion that they sought to cast upon their audience.

As the last dance track faded, a spotlight came up on the red velvet curtains; the dance troupe made their way off stage under the cover of gloom, while a new song echoed from the speakers; a ballad, it was a tune that Jackson found hauntingly familiar.

The red velvet curtains parted and there was overwhelming applause, as Raquel appeared on stage, microphone in hand, wearing a long dress of pale blue with splits in the sides that ran up over his hips, and a small tiara of diamonds and sapphires on his head. Raquel had put on another wig - his hair was long and a seep, rich red once again. He smiled at the audience as the music began, and broke into his song. It was the haunting ballad ’Only You’.

Jackson felt his spine shiver and tingle, from his lower back and up to the nape of his neck.

Raquel, unlike the drag artists before him, was not miming. Jackson was mesmerised by Raquel's mystically beautiful and superb rendition. He would never forget that night, when Raquel had bared his soul to the nightclub filled with virtual strangers, singing with a voice that was crystal clear and androgynous, each note ringing with sincere emotion.

At the end of the performance, Raquel received a thunderous round of applause from the audience. He smiled appreciatively before waving farewell to the audience, blowing them kisses, then disappearing behind the red velvet curtains.

Jackson caught up with his friend in the dressing room. Raquel was sitting at a mirror, taking off his tiara. All around was controlled chaos as Pearly chased around after the other performers, ensuring that all was in order.

The large dressing room was lined with vanity units along the walls and down the centre of the room, and these units were swimming with varied bottles and containers of make-up, lipsticks, eye-shadow, false eyelashes, eye pencils, wigs, foam breasts, combs and hairspray; there were sequin spangled and skimpy costumes scattered about, and a few well loved photographs stuck to some of the mirrors, plus a smattering of cans of VB beer with lipstick smeared straws in them.

Jackson went to Raquel, a broad smile on his face. Raquel saw him approaching from behind, in the reflection of the mirror.

"You were fantastic!" Jackson cried.

Raquel laughed modestly. "Thank you."

"I mean it," he said seriously. "You never said anything about being a singer before. You never said how good you were," Jackson gushed.

"Oh you’re simply too kind, Jacky love!," Raquel told him, then suggested that they go upstairs to the apartment for a drink. Jackson agreed.

Back at the suite, Raquel went immediately to the bar and poured a scotch and soda. He asked what Jackson wanted. He replied that a beer would do, so Raquel got him a bottle of Crown Lager from the bar fridge and a glass, which he duly handed over to the youth, who had made himself comfortable sitting on the floor in front of the open fire place.

"I'm so glad to have you here," Raquel said. "I'm also very proud of you," he added.

"Why?"

"Because you made it out of that place," he replied, referring to the prison. "You know, for a while there, I thought you were going to give up. I was really worried about you, what with Bubba and all that..." His voice trailed off, and Jackson looked away from him, staring into the fireplace.

"You got fairly wrapped up in your own self pity, and that's what kills you… that's what killed the DeVito kid. Remember him?"

Jackson was not able to forget him, and doubted very much that he ever would. How many times, at night, had he gone to sleep with DeVito's dead and glazed eyes staring straight through him?

"I remember," he said softly, with a tinge of something like bitterness.

Raquel had almost finished his glass of scotch. He drank a bit more, then said: “Yup… that's what kills, bunny darling; self-pity .It weakens you and eats you up, until you're empty and without strength. But you conquered it. You conquered yourself, and became so much the stronger for it. You're a survivor, bunny" Raquel said.

Jackson felt uncomfortable being the centre of Raquel's dissection of his very self. The fact that what he was saying was probably quite true didn't help matters either. He thought that Raquel was drinking too much, too quickly.

Raquel got up and fixed another scotch and soda, while Jackson had barely touched his beer. With a fresh drink, Raquel wandered over to the piano and sat down on the stool and carelessly ran his fingers along the keys. He stopped and looked over at Jackson.

'Tell me… did Bubba give you much trouble after I left?"

“Raquel… let’s not get into it. I’m fine; it was all fine… it’s over now, ok?” Jackson stated, a tough edge creeping into his voice.

Raquel sighed, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Jacky… so sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“There's nothing for you to feel sorry about," Jackson said to him. "Besides, Bubba got what he deserved."

Raquel's voice died in his throat and an unintentional shiver coursed through him. The statement had escaped Jackson's lips with a chilling, biting finality that didn't have any business coming from one so young and seemingly so innocent to behold.

In the glow of the firelight, Jackson's beautiful and angular face was partially hidden in the darkness the room was bathed in. His high cheek bones burned golden, his eyes shone and flickered with the reflected flames from the open fire, dancing on the twin grey ponds of his smoky, storm cloud coloured eyes. He was an icicle on fire, and he momentarily unnerved Raquel.

"What do you mean, bunny darling?" he asked, his voice unsteady, as he tried to smile naturally at him.

Jackson's eyes met with Raquel's and bore right through them, as if clawing their way into Raquel's darkest heart, seeking to scorch away his soul with the intense iciness of his penetrating gaze.

"It doesn't matter. But he'll never forget me, that's for sure." It was all Jackson was prepared to tell him. Jackson’s expression was blank, as if he had no feelings of his own, but the fire continued to rage on in those extraordinary eyes, feeding on a hatred planted deep in his soul.

Deciding to let the matter slide for the moment, Raquel's hands glided across the keys of the baby grand piano, tinkling out the piece of music that Jackson recognised as what Raquel had been playing earlier that day when he had arrived at the apartment. He asked him what it was called.

"It's called 'Claire de Lune'. It's by Debussy. It's one of my favourite pieces;” he said, and his voice took on a far away quality, as if he were thinking back to times long since passed.

Jackson stretched out on the floor, lying on his back and listened to the soothing notes. When Raquel had finished playing, Jackson – still on the floor, asked softly for him to play it once more… he didn’t notice the wet tears that had gathered in Raquel’s eyes.

“Sure, Jacky… anything for you,” Raquel replied, and so played the piece once more.

Jackson awoke early the next morning from a sleep fraught with suspicion. Although freed from the physical structure of the prison, he was still shackled to its dark memories and the mental bells that clanged in his head, telling him when to rise from bed, when to shower, when to have breakfast, when to breathe.

He vaguely recalled waking during the night, experiencing the disturbing sensation of not knowing exactly where he was. At first he'd thought he was back in his cell and that Bubba was about to pay him one of his visits. But he shook off the rising grip of fear, coming to realise that he was safe, sleeping in the clean and comfortable bed in the second bedroom of Raquel's apartment.

He made himself breakfast, preparing it in the modernly designed kitchenette. He sat down and ate his toast and drank his tea, watching an early morning breakfast-chat show on television.

He'd only been sitting for a brief time when the door to the hall opened. Raquel walked in, beaming Jackson a smile. He was surprised to see that Raquel was already up and about, for he had assumed that he was still in bed.

They said their good mornings, and Raquel asked how he had slept. Jackson lied and said that he had slept very well, but Raquel's simile seem to suggest that he suspected he was being less than truthful, as he, too, had taken sometime in adjusting to the freedom of life outside of prison.

"I've got some good news for you," Raquel said. Jackson asked what it was.

“Well, you've got a job, if you want it -here, as a barman. I've just been talking to Old Jas. She suggested it herself,” he said.

"That's fantastic,” he cried, grateful to have something to keep him active, and it was also a chance to get some money. “And I promise that I'll start paying board...”

Raquel wouldn't hear of it, insisting that he would not take a cent from him for as long as he stayed in the apartment. "And don't you think that this means you have to go out and look for somewhere else to live. You can stay here for as long as you like.”

Jackson bowed his head, grinning crookedly, feeling a little humbled. "Raquel, you've been so good to me. But maybe I should move out. I mean, I don't want you to get mixed up in whatever lays ahead...”

Raquel sighed, smiling and shaking his head. "I think at my age, I can take care of myself. Thanks for the concern anyway. I'll stand by you, Jacky, no matter what happens," he promised.

Jackson warned him that he may live to regret uttering those words, but Raquel seemed nonplussed.

"You're the best friend I've ever had, you know that?" Jackson told him. 'Thank you, for everything that you've done for me."

'That goes both ways, Jacky," Raquel told him.

They looked at each other, smiling, and a little embarrassed. Jackson broke the moment by asking when he could start work. Raquel told him he could start that very night if he wanted to. Jackson was keen to involve himself in something in piecing together his life, so he agreed.

Dutifully, he set out to learn all that he could - which he discovered was more than he had first imagined. He had to learn how to mix the exotic drinks that the customers constantly requested, and how to pick up what they were saying above the deafening boom of the music. For someone who had never stepped behind a bar before in his life, Jackson caught on fast. As he had said to Raquel, when he wanted to, he learnt quickly.

The head barman at Jaselle's was a young man called Robbie; a good humored and outrageously flamboyant individual. He was patient and fun to work along side of, and cheerfully took Jackson under his wing.

Jackson became good friends with Robbie and all the varied and mixed-up people who worked at Jaselle's over the following weeks; from the other bar staff, to the drag queens, the male dancers, the cleaners and even the delivery men. But there remained one exception, and that was Pearly. She had something against the boy, but he could not figure out what it was.

He also discovered that there was more to the work than merely the practical stuff; it was an opportunity for him to learn so much more about people and communications; it was unintentional, at first, how he started to really observe human behavior, and make predictions based upon his observances; but then he found himself processing it, analysing the variety of patrons, even the other staff - learning from them all. To what end he was doing this, he didn't precisely know. But he was certain that it was important for his future.

Everything seemed to be going well for him. His days were productive and full and he was surrounded by people that he liked, and was sharing an apartment with his best friend. There seemed little more that he could possibly want.

He had barely given his father a thought in weeks, for he'd been kept to busy with his new job, or going shopping for new clothes; talking to Raquel about anything and everything, and then the two of them would go off exploring around the city shops, as well as those in Prahran and South Yarra - Chapel Street was undoubtedly their favourite place; and trendy and hip St. Kilda was also a regular spot they trekked to, with Raquel acting as tour guide.

In the evenings, there was work, and when Jaselle's had closed, and the last of the patrons had staggered out there were real parties to go to, many of them transpiring in Raquel's apartment - parties comprising of numerous intoxicated drag queens, gay men, fag hags and lesbians.

But some weeks later, a morning newspaper shattered all of that with its page one story. It had made him forget that he'd known happiness again. All he could remember was the prison, and his father who had put him there; it all came back to him with gut chilling clarity.

He and Raquel were sitting down to a breakfast of bacon and eggs, which Jackson had prepared. He flipped open the morning paper, Melbourne’s 'The Sun Pictorial', and his attention was immediately seized by the bleak, black headline: CRIME LORD ESCAPES!

There was a large black and white, slightly grainy picture accompanying the headlines. The heartless, piggish eyes stared out at Jackson, as if able to actually see him.

Bubba had escaped!

In fearful fascination, he devoured the article which branded the escape from Pentoville Prison as one of the most cunning and daring daylight escapes in Australian history .It went on to describe how it had been carried out - precisely as Bubba had told Jackson it would be done!

The Delvicchio brothers, however, had been recaptured soon after they'd escaped, but Bubba, Niko and Blake were still at large, and the police had little to go on as to where they might locate them.

Jackson's hands were trembling. He wondered if Bubba would come looking for him; to extract his revenge against the boy who'd violently mutilated him. He tried to reassure himself that Bubba wouldn't dare risk it. He would get as far away from the city as possible. Although it was worth remembering that Bubba wasn't a rational human being. This thought frightened him further.

When Raquel noticed the look on horror on his face and asked him what was wrong, he could not respond. He just handed the newspaper over the table to his friend.

"Dear God," Raquel said, frowning, and met Jackson's eyes, understanding why the boy was so pale. "Now try not to let this get to you. He won't be looking for you. My bet is that he'll be too busy avoiding the police and trying to get out of the country to spare you much of a thought," Raquel said, thinking logically.

Only mildly comforted, Jackson nodded mutely, and recovered the newspaper from him, to took look at it once again.

A coldness settled in his belly. He sensed that Raquel was wrong. Bubba would come searching for him, Jackson was positive. It may well take him years, but Bubba would find him, for he was a resourceful, relentless and cunning creature.

Jackson's mind replayed their final moments together, when he had cut off the man's penis. He did not regret this action. What he did regret was his failure to kill Bubba, because now he was free.

Jackson shivered slightly. There was no comfort this time when Raquel repeated his belief that Bubba would probably be trying to get out of the country, if he hadn't already.

How could he make Raquel understand the certainty of the fear that he harbored deep within his soul? How could he explain such a fear to his friend? It was a terror so powerful that it flickered and flashed with violent images of a not too distant future - almost psychic images, which disappeared when he tried to follow them to see them more clearly.

He remained mute for awhile, knowing in every part of his being that he would be confronted with Bubba again. He was not rid of the beast yet.