Weeks had gone by since Raquel's release from Pentoville Prison; a period wherein time had been manacled to stringent routine and the infernal bleating of bells and sirens. For Jackson, the past weeks had only meant that he was still alive.

Bubba’s visits had become almost nightly and with each visit, Jackson felt himself being pushed closer and closer to the black brink where he would finally break - the knife had become an obsession with him. When he had time, he would spend it grinding the knife back and forth against the wall in his cell.

There was one other thing that he was aware of, and that was his trial date. It was looming closer.

Raquel had sent him a letter a few days previously to inform Jackson that he had hired him a new and superior lawyer, and that he had nothing to worry about; he would be free at last. But Jackson was somewhat doubtful. He believed that his father would make sure that he never got out. His father was determined to win.

On one of the many nights that Bubba found his way to Jackson cell, they lay in the cot, Bubba having spent himself, and then he confided to him plans of escape from the prison.

"Jackson, my pretty child," he said as he brushed at the hair on the boy's forehead. 'There's something I want to tell you."

Jackson said nothing. He merely felt the pressure of his knotted stomach, and his bowels tighten with disgust.

"Me and a few of the others have something going down. An escape," he said, and then he went on to elaborate.

There were to be five inmates involved in the venture: Bubba, the Delvicchio brothers, and Niko D'Angelo and Stan Blake, the latter two men being the payroll robbers that the now deceased Spider had betrayed to the federal police after he had heard them discussing the location of the cash from their last robbery.

Niko and Blake were serving time for their latest armed hold-up, believing the $800,000 dollars, from a previous job, was safely hidden away and would be waiting when they got out. That was, until Spider’s treachery cost them the lot.

The escape would take place during broad daylight. This alone surprised Jackson, but he was further amazed as he learnt the details of the audacious plan; it would begin twenty minutes into recreation period. Bubba and the other men would be in his cell, while in the boiler room three explosive devices would be set off. They would be placed there on the preceding day by bogus plumbers - men hired by, and loyal to, Bubba.

The explosions would be extremely powerful.. Ambulances would be summoned to the prison to take those inmates suffering injuries to the hospital.

One of the ambulances was to be occupied by some of Bubba’s underlings. Bubba, the Delvicchio brothers, Niko and Blake, would get into the ambulance amongst the confusion. It would speed out of the prison and on to freedom. Forged identity papers awaited them once they got to a safe house. Each would go separately onto new lives.

It sounded quite simple and it would probably work, Jackson concluded. But he had to wonder as to why Bubba was sharing this with him. He inquired upon this.

"Because I want you to come with me, my pretty child. I want you with me, and 1'11 take care of you. We'll live well. You'll have whatever you want...”

'Until you become tired of me,' Jackson thought to himself cynically, and tried to imagine what it would be like to spend the rest of his life as Bubba’s rent boy. He could not imagine it.

"Well, what do you think?" Bubba asked him.

“I’ll think about it," Jackson said wistfully, turning his back to Bubba and feigning sleep. But his mind continued ticking over, analysing the situation from every possible angle.

He convinced himself that Bubba would not escape. He would make sure Bubba would live out the rest of his miserable days in prison, stuck with the particularly horrible and humiliating revenge that Jackson had planned for him. He would never forget Jackson Crane.

Two days later and something unexpected occurred. It was to be the deciding factor in Bubba’s fate, and in away, Jackson's too.

Jackson was called to the Governor's office.

He walked, escorted by a guard, to the Governor's office with his heart pounding in terror as a million things flashed through his mind: ’What had he done wrong? Had they had conducted a cell search and found the knife that he'd hidden in his mattress? Or maybe it was going to be about Spider's death?’ He felt sick with fear and apprehension as he was taken in to face the governor of Pentoville Prison.

Martin Ross, a middle aged man with sparse ginger hair and bland, blue eyes, sat behind his desk, smoking a cigarette while reading a spread of official looking documents in front of him. Initially he ignored Jackson, who stood, trembling slightly, in front of his wide, wood desk.

At last Ross looked up at the youth. He studied him quietly, then reclined back in his chair in an imperious fashion.

"Crane?"

"Yes, sir?" he said hoarsely, his vocal cords almost failing.

"Pack your things. You 're being released this afternoon. I am to inform you that all charges brought against you have been formally withdrawn. Do you understand?" Ross asked in a patronising manner.

Jackson blinked stupidly.

"Do you understand?" he asked again, sounding annoyed.

Oh yes, he understood! He was going to be let out -to be free! But he showed no joy. Instead, he felt a cog click into place in his head. It was time.

"Yes, sir," he said in an even tone.

The governor went onto to tell him that he would be released almost immediately, probably within a couple of hours, once all the necessary paper work had been completed. He then dismissed the youth.

Returned to his cell, Jackson allowed himself a moment to smile. His body felt like jelly, and he almost swayed as he let himself relax a little. He was going to be free!

His feelings of rage and hatred returned soon enough, reminding him that he had yet to leave his mark on Bubba. And then? Then he would be free to pursue his main goal: destroy Lloyd Crane.

Bubba lay on his bunk, alone in his cell, his mind on thoughts concerning the approaching escape, which was now but mere days away. But he also thought of Jackson and his feelings for him; his deep and unquenchable need for him.

If his escape plan proved to be successful, and he knew it would be, he base his empire somewhere new. He thought Asia had possibilities, and he had a lot of contacts over. But it would all mean so much more to him if Jackson were beside him.

On the tail end of that thought, Bubba noticed that Jackson was standing in the doorway to his cell looking at Bubba with those startling grey eyes. The two regarded one another in a moment of silence.

Jackson's heart was punching heavily against the inside of his chest. His head felt tight and disconnected from the rest of his body. He had one hand buried deep in a pocket. His lips broke into a ghost of a smile.

"I've come about my decision," he began, "about the escape."

Bubba waited, not uttering a word.

"I'll go with you," Jackson told him. The look of exhilaration in the man's eyes disgusted him.

"Good. I'm pleased," he said nodding, his face beaming with arrogance.

"I thought you would be," said Jackson. He went over to Bubba’s cot and took the man by one, porky, sweaty hand, and gently urged him up and onto his feet. "I want to please you," he said, with that almost imperceptible curling of the lips.

Bubba thought he understood the boy's meaning so he went and closed the cell door, that they might have total privacy. Then he went back to the youth.

Jackson fumbled a little as he undid the buttons of Bubba’s shirt, always maintaining eye contact with the man. How he loathed him! How he hated every breath that man took.

With the shirt buttons undone, he slipped it off Bubba’s bulky frame, letting his fingers glide over Bubba’s flesh in a titillating manner, enjoying seeing the pleasure in Bubba’s expression.

Jackson reached down and undid the button and zip of Bubba’s pants, feeling the man's hard cock beneath his hand. Bubba’s pants slipped over his mighty hips and onto the ground. Jackson the slowly lowered himself down, kneeling before his groin, and Bubba bent his head back, closing his eyes in marvelous anticipation, waiting for those soft, moist lips to swallow the glowering heat of his sex.

The youth took Bubba tenderly in his hand, and Bubba moaned with the pleasure of the touch; so sweet it was, Bubba thought to himself.

Jackson's free hand brought out the sharpened knife from his pocket. He glanced at its blade, then at the fat, engorged penis of the man who had fouled him.

His grip on Bubba’s member tightened and with the swiftness of a Death Adder, he slashed at the penis, severing it from Bubba’s body in a hot, explosive burst of blood that spattered the youth's face.

Bubba did not scream. He merely uttered a low, barely audible gasp, then stumbled back astonished, his hands cupping his groin as blood ran between his short, stubby fingers.

Jackson dropped the offensive organ onto the cell floor, blood warm and sticky on his hands.

Like a distraught child, Bubba rocked back and forth on the cot, whimpering and moaning, his hands buried in his violated crutch. His senses were beginning to swim and fade as the blanketing edge of shock and blood loss began to smother him.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Jackson staring down on him, his face smeared with Bubba’s blood.

"You always were premature, Bubba" he hissed venomously. He paused for a moment, then spat in the man’s face.

Bubba gurgled an unintelligible reply before he passed out cold.

Jackson went to the basin and methodically scrubbed the blood off his hands under the running water from the taps. He used a face washer to clean off the blood on his face and neck, and he casually dried himself on an available towel. Using a tissue, he wiped clean the knife of the blood, as well as his fingerprints, before flushing the evidence down the toilet. Finally, he tossed the weapon onto the cot, where it lay beside Bubba.

It was time to leave - he'd covered his tracks, and knew that Bubba wouldn't expose what he’d done, for no matter what, Bubba would abide by the prisoners’ system of morality; no lagging on fellow inmates.

Jackson went back to his cell. He was trembling all over, but he felt relieved, as if he'd been cleansed and disinfected at last.

He finished up the rest of his packing just as a prison officer arrived at his cell and asked him if he was ready to leave. The youth took one last, brief look around the cell, and nodded

"I'm ready," he replied.