Golden Gate to Hell

[Tiara]

It was hard for Alex to imagine Connie needing anybody to defend her. Her shot that took down that giant mutant would go down in Lost Boys history, and word of what she had done would spread though the cluchie community like wildfire. Alex was kind of bummed he wasn't there to see it. 

But other emotions flickered just beneath the surface: jealousy and kinship. Jealousy that she had someone else out there for her, and a knowing kinship that came from loosing your family. 

<Allleexannderr! Let your mama out, baby. Please!>
<Shut up! I did what I had to do! Leave me alone...>

A shiver ran up Alex's spine as he shook the memories from his brain. It had been so long since he had thought about his mother, about her last days, how tormented she was. The past was the past, and that was how he wanted to keep it. 

Connie's turn of conversation snapped him out of his train of thought. Her questions felt fresh, and he was glad for the shift. 
"All the way to the valley, huh?" He felt his chest inflate with pride a little bit. "Did you guys hear that?" He shouted over the bustling activity at the card table. "Connie says we're famous!"

"Damn straight!" Marky and Jacob say simultaneously. Wes and Peter fist bump.
 
With a goofy grin, Alex turned back to Connie. "We are the reason the whole city isn't turned. The cluchies pay us in food or whatever they can, and we keep the mutants at bay."

Alex's eyes flickered over to Peter. With a nod of his head, Alex told Connie, "Peter lived in an old school we protected with his mother before he became a Lost Boy." He lowered his voice, and leaned close to Connie. Alex could feel the heat radiating off her skin. "Last time we went to collect there, his mother knew she was turning into a maggot, and sold him to us."

[cat.]

Connie looked over to the boy Alex was talking about. He was pale, arms with thin cords of muscle just beginning to wrap around them, with bright eyes and an alert demeanor. His mother had turned as he was sold to live here... she felt her face soften. Sold. He couldn't have been more than twelve years old, and that was stretching it. Alex hadn't mentioned if he had a father. She already knew why he didn't--the kid's dad was gone. Whether turned, died before the infection, or killed in war, the boy was here now, alone, with no mother or father, brother or sister, friend, or familiar figure of any sort.

Alex's boisterous, frivolous manner was off-putting once she was faced with the reality of the situation. He seemed to look at his life as a sort of superficial game. Connie felt herself become slightly disgusted. She was the only girl here... she had paid no price to sell herself for the sake of safety. She was lucky to be alive. She studied the boy again, who was half-attentively fiddling around with gun parts while he participated in a game of cards with the others, jumping every so often with his eyes darting around when another player would slam the table to let him know it was his turn. He was barely out of childhood, still pliant. and Johnny, sitting next to him, was a grown man, hardened and rough-skinned. As she looked around the table at the men of the Rock, the boy's future looked more and bleak.

<He's just a kid... how is he holding it together?>

She took a look at Alex again, who was still grinning half-heartidly. Her brows furrowed together a bit. He was smiling among all this... still, the empathy when she had talked of Robert had been real. His behavior may be off-putting, and possibly downright frightening when she got to thinking about it, but if the boy he pointed out had been through that much at that age, there was no telling what all the other men on the Rock had been through and had to see.

<There's a lot of things that people haven't told me on this island. I shouldn't judge.>

She turned her full face up to Alex, but kept her eyes on the boy.

“What was his price?”

[Tiara]

Alex's smile faltered as he saw Connie's disgust clearly displayed upon her tanned face. Had he said something wrong? he wondered. On one hand, he wanted to Connie to like him. Having her here on the Rock, felt fresh and exciting. There was a buzz of electricity coursing through the stale air, and he could almost taste it.

On the other hand, he felt betrayed. Who was this- this scrawny girl- to be invited in to his brotherhood, with open arms at that. Wilde's interest in her was a slap in the face for Alex, who was used to being golden in Wilde's eyes.

"What was his price?" Connie asked, steely.

Alex had lost his grin. He narrowed his eyes, and raised his eyebrows. "I ordered Jacob to shoot her."

 "So you killed a boy's mother in exchange for his labor in killing... whatever's out there? In the name of safety?"

A muscle flexed in Alex's jaw. No one had ever questioned the Lost Boys before, let alone their ethics and morals! Who did she think she was? A heroine in a musty, rotting paperback novel? This wasn't the fucking twentieth century.

"If I would have let her go, the disease would have fucked her brain, and she would have transmitted the disease to Peter, if not the whole building." His eyes bore into Connie like lasers. "It would have made more work for us, and life is shitty enough as it is without more mutants running around."

Beneath his taught skin, Alex's muscles tensed. They were ready for a fight, his pulse pounding in his veins. He wanted nothing more than for Connie to give him them invitation to prove to her how right what the Lost Boys did was.

[cat.]

Connie felt the hair stand up on her arms as Alex quietly spoke, feeling both hostility and fright. She realized that this place was different than anywhere she had ever been before.

She felt a strange feeling in her gut. Alex wasn't an emotionless killer--he had shown her kindness beforehand, and now that death was in the discussion, he was gravely serious, and angered at her questioning his morality. But something she had said or done had changed him during their talk, and she was scared of whatever he was--she knew she had struck the match and now was feeling the fire. She saw his veins beneath the skin on his hands, engorged with heat from adrenaline.

All the time he was speaking, she looked at Johnny, who looked back to her, then Alex, then back to her, his eyes locked with hers.

And then to his cards again.

At least someone had witnessed Alex being vehement. Now, Connie felt like he was only stable person in the entire place that she knew of, since she had just picked Alex off the list. The rest of the men, she decided, she didn't exactly care for. Wilde was just creepy, Reese was a horny, egotistical jerk, Alex had turned from a kindhearted listener into an irritated lecturer, and Peter, broke her heart just by looking at him. Even though he had only spoken a few words since she had arrived, Johnny had maintained an oddly professional exterior that she found comforting and uniquely sexy. Alex, while he had a jawline that could cut steel, and a tongue that could make a killer cry, was just too volatile for her liking. Now, he had gotten quite close to her, as if to corner her against nothing at all. She looked down and saw that there was a little less than a foot between them.

In a small panic, she looked to the spot where she had woken up in the corner. Her pack was there, wrapped in a blanket, with a lumpy, stained pillow and her gun. Her gun.

<As long as he doesn't hit me, I'm fine. I have a gun. I'm fine. I took down a giant today. I can take on him. As long as he doesn't hit me.>

She felt reassured, though her muscles were still tensed to the point where they were locked. She hoped for a diversion in Alex's attention. It was her first day here, and even though Wilde had an odd fascination with her radio and her as well, she wasn't risking getting kicked off and cast back out into the storm, which was still raging on, though night was falling.

<Just give me anything.>

[Tiara]

Thunder boomed, and reverberated around the Rock. Alex felt electirc, the storm brewing inside his chest as it raged outside. His thoughts and emotions crashed around his skull like the choppy, white water of the bay slapping the rocky shore of Alcatraz. Connie's silence felt like the final judgement. 

<Fuck you, too, Bitch.> 

Suddenly there was a high pitched cheer. "I won! I really won!" Reese jumped to his feet, his rusted folding chair falling over behind him. He did a strange victory dance that involved squawking like a chicken and flapping his 'wings'. "Suck my dick, you losers!" 
Reese climbed on top of the table, scattering playing cards and loot, and began to give an award speech. "We all knew this day would come," he said, gazing fondly off into the distance. "The day when I, Reese Hayes, would defeat you shitheads, and be king of poker. Bow at my feet, my loyal minions, and genuflect to your new king!"

He jumped off the table top, and pranced over to Alex and Connie. He tried to get them to join in his cheer. "As king, I'm going to need a queen..." He wiggled his orange caterpillar eyebrows at Connie, grabbing her hand in his grimy paw. "Would you do me the honor, my dear, sexy Connie?" He bent on one knee and kissed the back of her hand. 

"Lay off, Reese," Johnny said in a gruff voice. He placed a hand on Reese's shoulder. He took stock of Alex's angry expression, and Connie's unease. "Why don't you an Alex go check the moorings on the boats. We don't want to loose them in the storm."

"Shit man," Reese muttered, "It's raining cats and dogs out there, Johnny."

"Are you made of sugar?"

"Whatever," Reese countered, turning his back on Johnny. Alex slinked off behind him, his shoulders squared, fists balled. 

[cat.]

As soon as Alex and Reese were out of earshot, Johnny looked at her. Connie felt childish, recognizing that she was feeling lighter and lighter with every passing second.

"It's Connie, correct?"
"Yes."

"Get your things," he said, motioning to the corner where all her stuff was.

She wondered why he was doing this. As far as everyone else went, nothing seemed unusual--there were a couple other men, ones she didn’t know the names of, looking annoyed at Reese's back as it walked away, and she was pretty sure she heard "fucking idiot" crop up a few times, which made a smile tug at her lips.

Connie did as she was told, though. Whether a person giving orders or speaking to her here was dangerous or not, she knew she had to play along. There was a clear hierarchy established. Her boot heels made their usual "squish" noises on the concrete floor, she was suddenly aware that she must stink. She was used to civil living, at least, as civil as you could get for the wild--washing things in the ocean or small streams she found, or just being able to wash in general. Here, there was no sign of plumbing, or anything.

When she went to pick up her pack, it felt significantly lighter. They had to be kidding. They had to be. Annoyance interrupted her newfound obedience.

"Would you like to tell me why my bag is half the weight it used to be?"

Johnny didn't look fazed by her sarcasm.

"We took your canned food, your silverware and cooking supplies, ropes, tarp, as well as your ammunition to be added to our surplus. You'll be staying with us for more than just tonight or a couple days, I'm assuming. Wilde ordered it," he added when he saw the look of disbelief on her face.

<Well, you have my food now, too, Wilde. You're good.>

Still, she felt like a fool. Johny picked up her blanket and pillow, as well as her gun. He handed the rifle to her, and motioned for her to walk with him towards a flight of stairs. She followed him, silent.

"No doubt, you're aware you've made an impact here just from showing up. Never mind the fact that you took down the largest maggot I've ever seen. Wilde doesn't just take in newcomers. You'll have to deal with a lot of shit from everyone here, as I saw Alex was giving you. You'll have to forgive him," he said in the same steady voice he always seemed to use, "he's always been rough around the edges. Give him a week or so, and he should let up."

Connie didn't tell him that Alex had been talking about Peter and his mother. Instead, she let her eyes wander. It was darker, now that they were up a flight of stairs. The same stench of mildew she had smelled going down to Wilde's office Voices wafted up and she let the human presence below and in front of her comfort her. She realized with a surge of relief that she would be getting some time alone to herself--he was leading her to her cell.

[/font]

[Tiara]

The wind howled, and rain whipped and stung Alex's face. He grit his teeth, his hair plastered to his head. The rain did nothing to cool his temper. To add salt to his wound, Reese had taken the rain slicker. Now his thin shirt with a joke he didn't quite remember on the front was plastered to his chest, defining his muscles. 

"Dude," Reese remarked, "I think I have a better chance at Connie than you do now." He smiled wickedly, a glint in his azure eyes. 
"You have more luck getting a seal to fuck you, Reese." Alex's retort was more bitter than Wilde's black rainwater coffee. 

Reese kicked at a puddle, and the muddy water splashed all over Alex. "You need to get laid, dude. For a price, I'm sure there's someone who would let you stick it in her, and ignore your amazing attitude." 

"I do not need one of your prostitutes to get laid. Just mind your own business. You have no clue what Connie and I were talking about."

The two Lost Boys reached the loading dock. The boats rocked wildly in the surf. From their vantage point, everything looked fine. Reese leaned against the concrete wall of the salley port, and crossed his arms. 

"So sue me for looking out for my friend."

Something in Alex snapped. "I don't need your fucking help!" In the blink of an eye, his fist connected with Reese's cheek. Alex cradled his hand, and Reese looked at him in shock. 

Reese lunged and gripped Alex's shirt in his fists. "What the fuck, man? What did I do to you?"

[cat.]

Connie knew she shouldn't be intrigued to the extent that she was, but despite all of the horrible things that had happened that day, she felt her spirits lift when she saw the Lost Boys' cells. They were dimly lit, some with flickering bulbs, others with thick, white candles (which were unlit at the time), but all glowing with some sort of internal warmth. The lighting in the cells wasn't what lifted her spirits, though.

It was what was in them.

Each cell had a bed and a toilet, and that was it, to begin with. But as small as the cells were, the ones that were currently inhabited were decorated in a fashion that in stark comparison to Wilde's office. Where Wilde's was barren and seemingly sterile of all emotion, the Lost Boys had their living quarters teeming with personality, all shown with items that, in her mind, had no doubt been looted. She saw a small circular, swirling rug that was so ornate it must have been worth all the ammo she had ever collected, antique electric guitars propped up on equally old stands, spreads from old vintage girlie magazines, pillows covered with different materials from silk to burlap, crystal ashtrays, maps of Africa and South America, mirrors in mahogany frames, psychedelic tapestries from the sixties, clusters of letters and photographs taken with cameras (she saw some of those, too) that were pinned to the wall, trash bins that stored numerous cigarette cartons and matches, papers scratched on in pencil, splayed out over a woolen blanket, hooks that housed jackets and packs, makeshift shelves from different materials that held things like tiny cacti plants potted in broken bone china teacups, empty beer bottles, a piece of driftwood that didn't look like it came from San Francisco, books held together by makeshift ends, seashells, kitschy bobble-heads and other tourist souvenirs. Some were packed with things, covering the walls, others were less detailed, but each cell had its own vibe to it.

Johnny had noticed her open mouth and her permanently turned head.

“It's a way to cope,” he said. “As strange as it seems, making your cell yours makes it much easier to sleep in. It feels more like a home.”
“But how did you get all this--”
“Looting,” answered Johnny rather stiffly, confirming her theory. “This one's yours.”

Connie stopped and looked at her barren cell. There were the same white walls, the same bed and toilet she had seen in the other cells, but it looks sterile and sad compared to the others. She had to admit: she now wished she had brought along some things from home. She had never slept in a bed for more than a night before she was up and moving again the next morning. Now, she was probably going to be stuck here.

<I need to get my radio.>

“Thank you,” she said. “You've been very kind.”

Johnny didn’t say anything in response, but his face wasn’t hard or annoyed. He took her pack for her and put it beside her bed.

“We all wake up at around five-thirty. Breakfast is at six, and everyone is expected to be ready to head out in the boat by seven at the absolute latest. You, however,” he said, “will be combat training in the courtyard with Alex from eight until twelve. Wilde left me no further plans to give you.”

She sat down on her cot, slightly defeated. Alex? Why Alex? Not only did his superficial view of the horrendous situation that was San Francisco frighten her, but she wanted to get to know more people in the group. She certainly didn’t have an ally in Alex, and as handsome as Johnny was, and as kind as he had been toward her today (she thought with a swarm of butterflies overturning in her stomach), he really didn't seem to take sides with anyone, only survival and fairness.

“Are you sure it has to be with him?” She asked incredulously, frowning a bit.
“Wide insisted on it. Is there something wrong?”
“Well...” she trailed off. Now wasn’t the time to be picky. What was she going to say? That she didn’t like Alex enough to train with him? With how much control Wilde seemed to have here, he could have ordered her to be shot dead, and it would have been carried out on a moment’s notice. And he had her radio, her one connection to Robert.

Now wasn’t the time to be picky. Or demanding.

“No,” she said firmly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Johnny seemed to have sensed the internal, quick-thinking debate that had gone on in her head. He simply raised his eyebrows and said, “Well, if you say so. I’ll leave you here to rest up for tomorrow, but you can join everyone downstairs if you still want. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. You can come down when the bell rings, or I’ll bring it up to you if you'd like.”

There was no mention of Wilde ordering him to do that last bit, nor giving her options to keep in her cell or socialize. It was now her turn to raise her eyebrows. Johnny, Mr. Handsome Face, offering to personally bringing her dinner? She didn’t even know what they were having, and she already couldn't wait.

“You’ve had a rough day, and not a moment to yourself since you woke up” Johnny explained. “And please don't think I’m assuming things, but you really don’t seem that fond of Reese.”

She couldn’t help it: she felt her face breaking out into a smile.

“If you could bring me dinner, that would be absolutely wonderful.”

Johnny smiled ever so slightly, and gave a small nod. As she heard his footsteps waltz away, echoing in the prison, she felt like she was anywhere but. She stared at the blank ceiling, and decided that once she was able to go into the city, the first thing she was going to loot was one of those glow-in-the-dark star kits.

[Tiara]

As he shouted, Reese's spit flew up and hit Alex's face, but he didn't flinch. Reese was solid, but lazy. Alex was confident he could take him. Al pulled from his friend's grip and squared his shoulders. Anger sizzled under his skin, waiting to ignite and catch fire. Connie had thrown gasoline all over his mood; it would only take one tiny, flickering spark. 

Like a viper, ready to strike, Alex readied to hit Reese again, but Reese was quick this time, and blocked the punch. He even got his own in, straight into Alex's gut, knocking the wind from him.  Al clutched his stomach, and groaned, kneeling to the ground. Reese's was stronger than he looked, and he hadn't been prepared for him to fight back.

"Dude! What is wrong with you?" Reese pressed tenderly at his cheek, feeling for tenderness. 

Alex straightened, and frowned. Wrinkles lined his forehead, one for his pain, one for his guilt, and one for his anger. Nothing had ever bothered him so much. 

Connie's words reverberated through his head, "So you killed a boy's mother in exchange for his labor in killing... whatever's out there? In the name of safety?"

Shaking her voice from his head, Alex looked up at Reese. "Do you think what I did was wrong? What we do is wrong?"

Reese shrugged, and pushed his soaked, carrot colored hair back from his face. "Wait, what?" He squinted through the downpour at Alex. "What did you do? Is this something about Connie? I was just joking about y'all, y'know that." He laughed weakly. 

"No," Alex said. "Well, maybe." Alex tucked his hands up under his armpits, and leaned against the wall next to Reese. "She basically said we're just evil killers."

"So her shit don't stink?' Reese retorted. "And how does protecting the whole city make us evil?" Reese asked. He pressed on his cheek again. "I'm gonna bruise, dude."

"I was telling her about Peter-"

Reese cut Alex off. "Wait! Does this have anything to do with your-" Alex glared at Reese. "I mean, you-know-who?"

[cat.]

No sooner had the echos of Johnnys footsteps faded when the faint pitter-patter of new ones become louder and louder. Connie didn't want to talk to anyone; she had realized now, since sitting on the bed, just how tired she was. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound, but it kept coming. When it stopped, she opened one eye, all to find two blue ones peering at her from the doorway of her cell.

It was Peter, the little boy Alex had been talking about. Though the “doors” were merely bars, and she could see him right through them, he was still hiding part of his body and peeking out like he was hidden.
“Are you alright?” Connie mumbled.
Peter blinked and shifted his feet, still staring at her. He seemed to be torn between going into the cell and running away from it.
She propped herself up on her elbows.
“Do you need something?”
Still, nothing but stares. She decided to try a different, more direct approach.
“Why are you here?”
This seemed to strike a nerve with Peter: he turned pink in his cheeks, but he still didn't speak. If anything, he lips twisted and clamped shut in embarrassment, further determined to continue the one-sided conversation.
“Well, I’m going to take a nap,” Connie said. “If you need anything, I’m here.”
She hadn't gotten one elbow down before Peter blurted out, “You're pretty.”

She didn't feel pretty. At least, now that her looks were called to attention, she didn't. There was grime in the crevasses of her hands where her fingers bent, her hair smelled like a mix of musk and salt from the ocean air, her teeth felt fuzzy, her face was slicked with oil and dirt, and she didn't want to think about how much of a state her armpits were in.

But nonetheless, she muttered a quick “thank you,” but not before swiftly retrieving her beanie from her pack, and stuffing it over her head.

Now, Peter was speaking.

“How'd you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Kill that thing?”

<Fuck.>

“I... I don't remember, to be quite honest,” she said, half lying, half trying to get Peter to leave. In truth, she didn't want to remember the day's events. All she wanted to do was take a nap. She may have even skipped dinner with Johnny if it meant getting a nine hours. It then occurred to her that she was very hungry, too.

“I don't like those things. They’re creepy,” Peter said, looking slightly disappointed she couldn't answer his question. He had inched his way into the cell, and was now sitting on the edge of her toilet's rim.
“I can't imagine anyone would like them, Peter,” she said.
“You know my name?” he asked, smiling hopefully.
“Yeah... you’re the youngest one here. Alex told me about you.”
“They're training me to use a gun.”
Connie smiled wearily and nodded. Peter tried again.
“Everyone says you have a nice gun. Is that why you’re still here? Does Wilde want it? Or was it something else?”

A slight shadow had passed over his face at that last question. Connie remembered what Alex had told her about the reason Peter was here. She suddenly felt bad for trying to make him leave. She found herself rubbing her right middle finger against the inside of the index finger beside it.
“No, he, uh... he wanted something else.”

[Tiara]

NOTE: Any anti-homosexual views written below are not shared with either Cat or I.

With a sigh, Alex hung his head. He didn't want to think about her, but somewhere in the back of his mind, it clicked into place. He turned his head to look at Reese. 

"I am such a dick." 

"Yes. yes, you are," Reese answered. He punched Alex's bicep. "But you're my dick."

Alex snorted, and Reese gaped like a goldfish, trying to take back his words. 

"Wait! That wasn't what I meant!" Reese huffed. 

Alex was laughing hard now; watching Reese squirm was always entertaining. "You are such a faggot, Reese." He lunged and grabbed Reese in a headlock. Reese tried to struggle away, but failed. 

"Dude! You know that wasn't what I meant!" Reese cried again. He broke free from Alex's hold, and tried to look cool. He didn't. Reese would never look cool. He was too short, too pig nosed, his hair too orange, and his build too squat. 

"Wait until I tell Marky and Jacob about your confession." Alex smirked, and playfully ruffled Reese's hair. "Just so you know, I am never, ever butt-fucking you. Like ever."

"Shut up!" Reese moaned, his face reddening like an over ripe tomato. He tried to play it off one last time, "anyways, we both know I'm too good for you. I'm way out of your league."

Alex rolled his eyes; this was Reese. He may be a douche, but he was Alexander's best friend. And with so few people alive that would put up with Alex's shit, he guessed he was lucky to have found him. Reese could've easily have been mutant bait, and the same could be said about Alex. 

With a shrug, Alex decided, "the boats are fine. Let's go back."

The two walked back through the streaming rain to their normal lives. There would be no grudges held or words used for blackmail from this blip in time. 

"Hey!" Alex suddenly announced. "I think the rain did you some good, Reese. You kinda reek less."

"How many time do I have to tell you? It's my manly charm!"

The sound of the door slamming behind them echoed through the cavernous building as they entered. Water dripped from their clothing, puddling on the scuffed floor. Reese shock out his shaggy hair like a dog, and Alex stripped off his soaked shirt as they joined the other Lost Boys. 

Alex immediately noticed Connie was missing, as was Johnny and Peter. He shrugged it off. He was not going to let her get under his skin. 

Reese was back to reminding everyone of his win, as if they had never left, and the whole group was groaning. 

Silently, Alex slipped away, and sauntered off to his cell. Down the hall, he could hear Peter talking away, and he half listened as he began to strip his clothes off. He tried to pay the little boy no mind. 

He stood there in his hunter green, plaid boxers, and grabbed the lighter off the old steamer trunk he kept at the foot of his bed. He lit several candles of varying heights all cradled in a pile of dried wax at their bases. Next he hung his jeans over the tarnished, antique diving helmet which had been hell to carry all the way back to the Rock, to dry, and selected a record. The loud screech of trumpets playing filled the small space. 

"Folks here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher; she was a red hot hoochie coocher." Cab Calloway belted. 

Alex pulled out fresh clothing, and dropped his boxers. He kicked them into the corner, and slowly dressed himself in the clean ones. He took his time, it wasn't often that you got to be alone on the Rock.

[cat.]

She saw Peter looking at her hand. She knew he couldn’t see the slight purple marking. She frowned, thinking back to Wilde. He seemed to have been looking for it, like he knew. With all the grime and dirt on her hands, it would have taken an eagle eye and previous knowledge to know it was there.

She looked back at Peter, who was still standing there, but now with his attention focused on the ground. As much as she felt bad, she needed some time alone with her thoughts.

“Say, Peter...” she felt a tugging at her heart when he looked up, hopeful. “You don’t think that I could have some time alone, could you? You could come see me right before lights out,” she added quickly, after seeing his smile begin to disappear. “I have this little story I’m working on. It’s kinda lame, but... I don’t know, I haven’t had anyone else to read what I’ve worked on, and I want you to read it and tell me what you think. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Peter nodded, his smile returning. Without saying a word, he slipped away, his footsteps so light that she didn’t hear him go.

She rolled over onto her back once again, and closed her eyes. The poor boy was soft, way too scared and nervous to face the horrible things that were lurking on the mainland. Perhaps he would grow up, harden in a matter of time. But it would be forced, and either from the pressure, a diamond would come out, or he would be crushed under the weight.

She took a steady breath, colorful figures from the light outside dancing around inside her eyelids. Music began to play down the hall, but she didn’t know where from.

<This world isn’t one for children to grow up in. Sometimes, I wish we were all dead. I get tired of having hope for myself and everything. I’m so fucking exhausted.>

[Tiara]

One thing one could always count on at the Rock was the lack of quiet. No matter day or night, the sound of laughter or fighting, worn out music, and distant conversations echo against the crumbling walls. Alex had grown used to it. Hell, he could fall asleep to a storm of gunfire at the foot of his bed.

But this night, something was different. Strains of Connie’s voice curled down the hall, between the iron bars, and settled softly in his ears. Her voice was tired, defeated, but somehow, in Alex’s ears, her voice became the only thing he noticed. Her voice didn’t sound musical, and it was hard for him to imagine her laugh tinkling like bells, but it sounded grounded, solid.

Alex pulled the pillow over his head, but couldn’t block out his feelings. He had felt something earlier, when he had been talking to Connie, and it had been easy. Then she had gotten all moral on him, made him so angry, so judged.

<But her boobs!>

He tried to shut his mind down, focus on his breathing, the sound of rain on the roof, anything, but her. It didn’t work, and he could feel it in his lower abdominal area.

It felt wrong, to think of Connie that way, his hormones urging him on, to imagine her body against his. Especially with her just down the hall, a few cells away.

Every move he made, the shift of his body, the creak of the bed, the snap of the elastic on his boxers as his hand snuck lower seemed amplified to his ears. If she heard him, or had any idea what Alex was thinking, was doing, he would rather die. She had made it clear how she thought of him, but it seems his body hadn’t quiet got the message...

[cat.]

There were still sounds drifting throughout the Alcatraz prison building. Even as Connie closed her eyes, she heard them. She focused on each one--every voice, every burst of laughter from the men downstairs, the footsteps, both heavy, light, on concrete and metal. She focused on the rain outside, the music down the hall, the sound of her own breathing, the rustle of her hair against the fabric pillow, and the bang and jangle of metal as what she could only assume was dinner was being prepared.

She had thought of Robert for so long, so incredibly long. His face from the photograph was burned into her mind, there was no losing it now. She was beginning to lose hope as the reality of the situation settled--the last place she heard from him was here, and she had encountered a pack of infected nearly the moment she entered the city. He was probably dead. Probably. She didn’t want to, but she clung to that word like it was her last chance of survival. Considering that the possibility of seeing him again was the only thing keeping her going, “probably” just might be.

Her mind washed over Wilde. He was too intense, too secretive. He knew something, something. She didn’t know what it was, she didn’t want to think about it. She pushed the hopelessness of her situation to the back of her head, and tried to think of something good.

Johnny.

She hadn’t been giddy or restless in a while, not like this. She knew it was stupid, and dumb, but part of her wanted to get lost in it, forget the horrible things outside in the world, and truly drown in the feeling. It was something she would never feel when she looked at her brother. But just imagining his face nuzzled into her neck as his body dug into hers... it made her chest swell, the corners of her mouth pull out and up, and it spread a warmth in her belly that made her knees push together and her hips raise slightly off the bed, her arms splayed out, exposing her chest, ready. There was a slight rush that made it all the more enjoyable--the bars weren’t walls, and she was exposed to the world, or perhaps to a certain person who would be here any minute, carrying her dinner, catching her in the throes of this...

Then the stench of her armpits suddenly reached her nostrils.

Her eyes snapped open, and she was met with the same plastered ceiling. The same noises were there, nothing had changed, and even though the fantasy had seemed like an hour, barely thirty seconds had gone by. She sat bolt upright, arms and legs drawn in, the excitement gone, realizing how foolish she had been. No one was there to see, though, which she was secretly thankful for. She felt her face get hot, embarrassed at herself, and she grabbed her gun in a childish attempt of reassurance.

<It takes B.O. to snap out of it. Dear lord, this is pathetic. I’ve only met him today. I need to take a shower. Stupid. Robert gone, my radio gone, and I’m worrying about my armpits and fantasizing about hooking up with one of my captors. I can’t. I need to focus for tomorrow.>

Alex.

Now there was another thought. Her eyes were open and her body was more alert than it had been before, and she wondered what tomorrow was going to have in store for her. As long as she wasn’t going to stink up her cell or start touching herself, she decided it would be okay to let herself think about men for a while.

No question about it, Alex was the better looking of the two. Johnny was roughened, scarred, in a way that rugged, but Alex.... she smiled. As frightening as he was, as horrible and superficial his views on this outburst were, there was a tiny cranny of her mind that lusted over proving him wrong, throwing a knife at that dummy and having it just miss his head, the surprised look he would give her, the knowing smile she would throw right back at him, drenched in the rain. Not so much sex itself as much as a flirtatious mind game. Either way, she felt herself smiling again. Perhaps tomorrow wouldn’t be as bad as she thought.

With newfound confidence and color in her cheeks, she hoisted herself up and out of her bed, taking care to hide her gun underneath her mattress. She felt rejuvenated, transformed. If she could take on a freshly-turned maggot, what was a bunch of men smelling her B.O. to her?

<Well, well, dearies, Concetta Pizzo is going to go explore the rock.>

[Tiara]

Feeling slightly guilty about mentally using Connie’s body to get himself off, Alex quickly cleaned up the mess he’d made. His pleasure had been more exciting, knowing his thoughts were of a real girl, not some picture in a water-logged dirty magazine. The fact that she was so close, yet so far, kept Alex’s pulse racing.

It was clear that Alex was not going to catch any sleep before dinner. He was almost afraid of what he would dream of if he even managed to fall asleep. The image of what he imagined Connie’s naked body was burned behind his eyelids.

Alex tugged on a pair of faded jeans that had more holes it seemed than denim, and a flannel shirt. The barred door creaked, and flakes of rust crumbled to the ground as it groaned open. Barefoot, he exited his cell, and found himself treading softly towards Connie’s cell instead of downstairs.

He found her sitting on the narrow bed in her empty, sterile cell, eyes closed, thinking. Alex tried to convince his feet to turn around, go the other way, but they stayed firmly rooted in place. He felt awkward just watching her, and cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was froggy, and he cleared his throat. He tried again, “hey, Connie.” Connie turned to face him, and he felt tension spill off of her. Alex realized he hadn’t even considered how she felt. Here she was, stuck with them, with no way to get away, and all he’d been a dick.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I’ve acted. Sometimes I’m a real jerk, but that doesn’t give me the right to treat you like crap.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier. “I would say I was working on it, but this is the first time I’ve ever tried.”