Jackson left prison with scarcely a cent to his name, but that didn't seem important to him; he was free and alive, and as he looked back at the past couple of months of imprisonment, he realised he had been to Hell and back and managed to cheat the Devil himself.

He had also learnt a great deal about himself. He'd never have guessed that he possessed so much strength and determination. He was glad to have these qualities as companions, and knew that he could put them to good use in the future.

He wondered about the boy he had been before his sojourn at Her Majesty's Prison; where was he now?

He ventured out into the world carrying the knapsack Raquel had sent to him weeks ago, feeling a little afraid and uncertain, but excited, too. He also found himself wondering why his father had dropped the charges against him? Could it have been the result of a nagging conscience? No, he doubted very much that his conscience had had anything to do with his decision. So why had he done it? What sort of game was Lloyd Crane playing?

Game? A game, indeed! In a flash of enlightenment, Jackson saw the truth - it had been a sick, cruel game; Lloyd had never intended to carry out the trial proceedings against his son. It had merely been a way of putting Jackson in his place while teaching him a lesson, like the ones that Lloyd had taught Jackson's mother!

The hate boiled over in him. The rage and loathing was so strong that he wanted to scream and punch something or somebody, because he knew in his heart that he was right. There was no other explanation as to why Lloyd would withdraw from the proceedings a day before the trial.

But he couldn't let himself dwell too much on any of that for the time being. There would be time to think about it later. For now, he had to find Raquel and then get his life in order. There would be plenty of time to think about revenge. He reminded himself once more that anything worth having was worth waiting for.

He took from his pocket a piece of paper that had Raquel's address. It was written in a light, elegant and flowing hand: -

Jaselle’s

It was the name of the place where Raquel lived and worked, and as it was located in the suburb of Prahran, it would take Jackson some time to get there. But he was in no rush: the walk would be kind of nice after having spent so long locked up behind bluestone walls.

"Jaselle's," he said, aloud to himself, wondering what he would find there..

It had taken a few hours to locate it, but at last he was there. Standing on the Prahran pavement, in front of Jaselle's, and from what he could see, it appeared to be a nightclub or bar.

The front was broad and inviting. There was a large, gleaming, brass canopy over the entrance, and above that hung a neon sign, which was elegantly stylised and read: Jaselle's

He too the few steps, holding onto the brass handrail, and found himself before twin glass doors. He tried the door, pushing inwards, and found it open, so he went on in and found himself in a small reception area. He pushed passed a set of swinging double doors and entered into the main area of the club via another flight of stairs that led up to a bar area..

The immediate area was decked out in claret coloured carpet. There were brass railings and fixtures everywhere the eye looked. The walls were painted a deep, claret colour, with dark grey trimming. Black and white 'art' photographs of male and female nudes, as well as photographs of famous figures and celebrities hung on the walls in black enamel or silver frames. There were also a number of life-sized, faux-marble statues; once again, they were predominantly nudes, including replicas of Michelangelo’s 'David', Rodin’s ‘The Thinker' and numerous others.

Towards the rear of the venue he spotted a large dance floor, paneled in hard, plastic tiles and multi-leveled. He guessed that they came to life, flashing vivid green, blue, yellow and red lights. Above the dance floor was a spider web of lighting rigs hanging from the ceiling. There were all manner of fixtures; some on turrets that probably spun about radiating a dizzying kaleidoscope of colours and through looking up at the lighting rig, Jackson realised that there was another level to the club directly above him, with a mezzanine area that overlooked the dance floor.

Aside from the main dance floor, there was the DJ's control booth, which towered above the dance floor, seemingly supported by two statues of classical Greek influence – two nude men, covered in gold gilt, bearing the weight of the booth upon their broad shoulders.

There was a second and much longer bar located on the dance floor level. The wall behind it was covered with black, smoky mirrors, and the entire structure was covered in still more mirrors. There were shelves upon shelves of exotic looking bottles of alcohol and fancy drinking glasses.

A lone barman, a young man clad in a tight white T -shirt, was behind the counter, moving about at as casual pace, and checking the refrigerators for stock oblivious to Jackson’s presence in the venue as he hummed a Madonna tune while he worked.

Jackson noticed a stage that was behind the dance floor, equal with the uppermost level of the dance floor. Deep red crushed velvet curtains with gold embroidered stitching and tassels were drawn across the stage. He could faintly hear movement and female chattering and shrill giggles from behind the curtains.

He crossed the dead dance floor, making his way towards the stage. There was a set of steps on either side, complete with more brass handrails. He climbed up and disappeared into the wings.

He found a group of about a dozen or so people darting about, jammering to one another, appearing not to notice the youth. Amongst all the commotion, there was an elderly woman about five feet from where Jackson stood, her back to him. She seemed to be reprimanding, quite sternly, a group of four young women, who were dressed in exotic attire; spangles, feathers and G-strings, ornate headwear, and chain mail skirts.

The eyes of a couple of the girls rose above the old woman's head and caught Jackson's gaze. They smiled at him pleasantly, and he offered a shy grin, feeling his face redden a little.

They were dancers, he guessed; chorus girls, he went on. At worst – they were strippers, and he had to wonder once more what it was that Raquel did at the establishment.

The elderly woman had woken up to the fact that something was distracting her audience, so she turned around sharply to discover Jackson standing behind her. She pursed her lips disapprovingly.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded angrily.

"I - I..." he floundered.

"You do realise that you are not permitted backstage, don't you? It's trespassing," she cried. "If you're here about the bar job, Robbie is up at the bar, go and pester him!” The old woman's face was pale and thin, and he concluded that she was probably much older than he'd first thought. But her vivid blue eyes were exceptionally alert and accounted for any weaknesses that she may have had physically.

Yet on closer examination, Jackson noticed that the old woman was surprisingly robust for her age; her legs were quite shapely and strong, and her arms were firm and she had unusually broad shoulders for a woman. Her hair was rich and probably quite long, but it was tied up in a severe looking bun.

Jackson was a little taken aback by the very strength of her presence and manner, and was aware of how it gave the illusion of making her appear taller than she was; indeed, she was diminutive in physical stature.

"I'm looking for a friend," he offered meekly.

"Good grief!” the old woman cried, throwing her hands up into the air. “If that’s the kind of thing you’re into, boy, then go up the road a bit, there's a park with a toilet block on your left. You can make all the friends you want there, now bugger off...!" she snapped at him.

Jackson didn't understand the remark at all, but found himself laughing, overcome by her abrupt manner. This seemed to irritate her further.

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean, my friend lives here. Raquel, Raquel de la Rose," he said.

The suspicion and annoyance dissipated, if only minutely. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place and save us all a lot of time and bother?" she cried.

"I did try to...”

"Quite," she cut him off. "Well, if it's Raquel you're looking for, then I suppose I'll take you to her.” She shooed the girls off. With this done, she strode towards a backstage door without a word, and Jackson realised he was meant to follow her.

Beyond the door was a set of stairs that took them up to the residential area.

"Oh, I'm Jackson Crane," he said by way of introduction, as they ascended the stairs together.

The old woman paused on the landing and regarded him critically. “Pearly," she said, without further comment, and continued on to the second flight of stairs. Jackson lingered back a little and shrugged to himself, determined not to be put off by her prickly manner.

At reaching the second floor, Jackson found it to be lavishly decorated with antique tables and chairs and fine old oil paintings hung on the soft, red wine coloured walls. To Jackson, it felt like a very pleasant old hotel, and he noticed that a further set of stairs at the end of the hall led up to the third floor. He wondered what was up there.

Pearly saw his speculative glance and frowned at him. She pressed on, and Jackson followed on behind her, until she came to stop at one of the oak doors. She rapped on it confidently with her liver spotted fist.

“Come on in," came a familiar voice from behind the door. Pearly gestured for him to go on in, and she was off, walking back towards the stairs.

Jackson opened the door and stepped inside the apartment. His first reaction was to name the scents that his nose detected; lilacs and roses. The suite was spotted with vases filled with roses and lilacs and decorated outrageously - it was very pink and blue.

What took his eye first was the pink velvet covered settee and matching armchairs, with pale blue satin pillows; the carpet was snow white shag pile, and the walls were pale pink with white trim. Gaily coloured oil paintings were hung on the walls, as well as a couple of black and white photographs depicting the male form. There were other objects d'art, such as sculptures and 'art deco' table lamps, and there was a baby grand piano, snow white in colour, by the large, terrace windows. And there was Raquel, sitting at it, head bowed over the keys, playing a beautiful piece of music that Jackson didn't recognise, but thought quite haunting.

He moved towards his friend at the piano. Jackson remained silent, merely enjoying listening to the wonderful music and watching his friend play the keys of the instrument so elegantly, and with such passion.

Raquel was wearing a long, flowing housecoat of pale pink satin, and it looked to Jackson that Raquel had dyed his hair white-blonde!

While still playing the piano, Raquel looked up and instantly stopped and cried out with surprise and joy.

"Jacky! Oh my bunny!" He screeched, smiling broadly and leaping up from the piano stool, rushing over to him and giving him a welcoming hug. "Oh, God, it's really you! It's so good to see you again."

"I hope you don't mind me coming here," he began.

"Don't be ridiculous! I told you to come..." He stopped dead and looked at the youth seriously. "Jackson," he started, somewhat hesitantly, "you, er ...you didn't break out of prison...?"

He laughed at his friend and shook his head, telling him to rest assured that he was quite legal. Raquel asked what the circumstances were, and how they had arose. Jackson explained that he'd been informed that Lloyd had withdrew the charges against him.

"Just like that?" Raquel queried, as they sat on the settee together.

Jackson nodded. "Yep, just like that."

"But why?"

"I'm not sure," he shrugged. "Guilty conscience, maybe..." But he didn't' think that Raquel would believe that anymore than Jackson himself, but he felt that he had made it clear enough in his tone that it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Raquel didn't push the issue, for which he was grateful.

"Hey, so tell me, what is it that you do in this place anyway?" He asked.

"Me? I'm one of the performers here. I have my very own act. Have had for a few years now,” he explained. "You’re going to come out and watch me tonight?"

"Sure, why not?" he agreed.

Raquel was clearly thrilled, and then reminded him that the offer to stay at the apartment remained, and he could stay on for as long as he liked. He even indicated it might be possible for Jackson to find some work in Jaselle's doing bar work, which he said paid well.

'That would be great, thanks," Jackson said. "I wouldn't mind working here one bit. I caught a look at some of the girls earlier, and a couple of them weren't bad, I'm telling you, so yeah, I reckon I could handle working here surrounded by beautiful women…Although that Pearly sure is a hard old thing...”

Raquel was chuckling to himself, then it became more robust and tears of laughter came streaming out of his eyes.

Jackson smiled, studying him, perplexed, and then found himself laughing, too, but unsure as to why. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"You!" Raquel cried, giggling. "Don't you realise? Oh, Jackson, you are such a precious little bunny!" he said, regaining control at last, while the youth waited for him to explain what he meant.

“Jacky, darling,” Raquel said, reaching over and putting an arm around his neck, drawing him in close. “Jaselle's is a gay club. The dancers and singers here are just like me - trannies and drag queens. The only straight guys here are Ted and Russ two of the bouncers."

Jackson’s eyes widened, threatening to leap out of his head. He didn't know what to say. Spontaneously, he and Raquel fell into each others' arms laughing hysterically.

When they had settled down, Jackson asked how Raquel had gone with the removal of the stitches. He explained that there was still some scarring left to heal, but he had been reassured by the doctors that it would fade in time, but until then, Raquel had been using make up to hid it for his stage performances.

"Do you, you know ...Do you strip?" he asked. “because if you want me to watch your show tonight, Raquel… well, I just don’t think I could handle watching a mate get their gear off on stage… it’d be too weird…”

Raquel laughed, shaking his head. "God no! Ugh! That’d be hideous! Who’d want to see a man in a frock strip? But h you are so delightfully naive, Jacky darling! We do drag shows here bunny, not strip shows!” Raquel gasped. "I just put on a fabulous frock or two and sing and dance with a few young and gorgeous, near naked go-go boys in the background. Wholesome family entertainment, I assure you. You know how Disneyland is ’The Happiest Place on Earth’? Yeah, well we’re just like that – only we’re ’The Gayest Place on Earth’."

Jackson reflected on this for a moment. "So those girls I saw were guys...?"

Raquel nodded. “Yep: chicks with dicks.”

Jackson gave a wry grin, shaking his head in disbelief. "Amazing, " he muttered.

Raquel agreed. "Some trannies can be more beautiful than the real thing, and what's more, not many people could pick the difference in everyday life. I guess it's because people see what they expect to see."

Jackson nodded thoughtfully. "So everyone here is a transvestite?"

"No. There are a couple of exceptions," Raquel replied. "Most of us are, but we also have a transsexual and a hermaphrodite."

Jackson said that he had never heard those words before, so Raquel set about explaining them to him. He told Jackson that a transsexual was an individual born of one gender who’d undergone a surgical procedure to change to another gender; Pearly was a transsexual, having had the surgery many years ago in Asia, at a time when it had been quite crudely performed and very dangerous, as well as illegal in most countries.

A hermaphrodite, as he told it to Jackson, was something else altogether. They were the born into the world with both sets of sex organs, and often developed breasts on reaching puberty. They were rarities; apparently only a handful being born every century.

"Who's the hermaphrodite?" he inquired.

'The proprietor of this establishment. A most wonderful lady... Jaselle," he said with a sigh.

"Jaselle?" He echoed, his eyes sparkling with wonder.

"Yes, Jaselle. But she has us call her Old Jas," Raquel said gently, his face veiled in a dream-like mist.

Jackson looked suddenly to the ceiling, thinking of the stairs that led up to the third floor. "Does she live up stairs?"

Raquel said she did, and that she was well into her eightieth year. "Poor Old Jas," he said, his voice solemn and low.

"Will I get to meet her sometime?" Jackson asked. He wanted to meet her, but he couldn't explain why. He liked the name, but that wasn't a reason. No, there was more to it than that; it was a feeling he couldn't describe.

But Raquel did not respond. He just smiled wanly and patted him on the knee. "Let's go downstairs to the dressing room; hmm? I'll introduce you to some of the 'girls'," Raquel said with a cheeky wink.

Disappointed, he agreed, but he had only given in for the moment. He was unable to shake the strange feeling that was within him - a feeling of destiny descending from above; coming to meet him head-to-head.

Always on his mind, on the broad but paradoxically thin edge between what was in the conscious and the subconscious, the name Lloyd Crane and all the negative emotions that he embodied, hovered like a dark specter.

Jackson was at last free to devote more time to thinking about his father. He could now set about thinking towards their next meeting, and this time it would go as he wanted it to. Lloyd Crane was going to be laying gasping, dying and pleading at his feet. But before this, Jackson wanted to torture him, as Lloyd had done to him.

Where exactly Jaselle fit into all this, he did not yet know, if she did at all. But his mind kept tossing the name at him again and again, and a memory from his not too distant past was squirming its way to the top of the mound, but it wasn't quite there yet; it's aim was to spur Jackson on to his greatest plan of misery and revenge.