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[ Mercutio17 & Tortoise] We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes;;

T

TortoiseShell

Star
Joined
Dec 21, 2009
  • A body was sprawled out on the bed, still warm yet motionless and stiff. A young woman, perhaps in her early thirties, appeared to be at complete peace, a hint of a smile fixated on the delicate, doll like hands. She looked like an angel, giving a false sense of purity with her long sandy hair spread across the pillow, a white dress matching her skin, and the chipped polish on the frail hand that clung to an empty bottle of prescription medicine.

    The body was flawless, had it not been for the finger marks on forearms, thighs, neck and, underneath the fabric, on the full breasts and stomach. Yellow, black and purple bruises decorated the smooth butter like skin, alternating with occasional burns â?? mainly cigarette.

    â??Mommy, Mommy, heâ??s coming,â? a shrill, infantile voice filled the room. A small girl, aged perhaps ten, ran over toward the room. â??Heâ??s not happy, Mommy, he says the kitchen isnâ??t clean,â? she exclaimed, terror clear in the voice.

    She entered the room and ran up to the bed, nudging the woman. Suddenly, the terror filling her expression increased, along with an inexorable pain. â??Mommy?â? The child whispered in a hushed voice, nudging her mother. It didnâ??t take long for the tears to begin rolling down her cheeks in two streaks, the nudges growing harder. â??No, Mommy, please, wake up,â? she continued, fearfully glancing at the shadow that made its way down the hallway, stumbling with every step.

    â??You dirty slut,â? hissed a voice, approaching the crowded although clean bedroom. The child rested next to her mother in a quest for protection, the tiny hands clenching around the chilly shoulders. â??Mommy,â? the child wept, dragging out the word. â??What the hell are you doing?â? He continued, entering the room.

    The rage in the pair of frosty blue eyes, the drunken expressionâ?¦ â??No!â? Screamed the childâ?¦

    A pair of large blue eyes darted open, cold sweat forming on their ownerâ??s forehead. A small, delicate hand with cleanly cut nails came to rest on the forehead, an ample bosom shifting and falling in irregular movements. Those blue eyes were as light as the sky on the sunny day, tainted with streaks of yellow next to the irisâ??s edge. Holding a perfect almond shape and surrounded with long, thick eyelashes that gave them a stormy aspect, they mesmerized and drew in. It wasnâ??t, however, their most striking propriety. No, it was the tremendous hollowness, emptiness and ice in them that at the same time hypnotized and terrified dozens. Some said those eyes looked straight into oneâ??s soul, others refused to look into them.

    Panting softly, a woman sat up, brushing the long messy strands of light blonde hair away from the porcelain skin, tainted by nothing but a few light, hardly noticeable freckles. The womanâ??s face was that of an angel â?? soft, delicate, graces with full pink lips that looked as though they were made for kissing and a purity of a sinless creature. Just like her motherâ??s. The reality was as far from the illusion as the South Pole was from the North.
    On the thin, slender body hung an orange suit, loose everywhere other than the chest. She was a small woman, seemingly inoffensive due to the frail curves â?? not a hint of fat was apparent anywhere, her muscles slightly visible on her abs, her toned legs and her rear. It was the only hint to her love for exercise. The suit did not look like it belonged, or perhaps the woman didnâ??t. In the dim light of a solitary confinement cell, she was like a snake surrounded by tigers. Truth was, however, that the snake was far more dangerous in its ways than the simple minded tigers, remarkable in nothing but their brute strength.

    The solitary confinement was not intended to be solitary, either. The empty gaze trailed to the empty bunk on the other side, glee briefly filling them up. The man sent to her cell was a pedophile, having raped and killed several children, simply to avoid having them talk to their parents. A local priest, sick and twisted to the core. To say that his fate mattered to the authorities would be a lie, just as saying that they thought for a second that he would last longer than a day was.

    Surely enough, the unspoken expectations were met and the male was discovered in the showers, his blood having long swam down the drain, his testicles stuffed into his mouth, cut off with a plastic knife that lay next to him. The culprit was never found, although the investigation was far from extensive. The prison was in many ways similar to Guantanamo Bay. There was no real attention paid to it by the government, all those who had no rights sent to the establishment which was just about as safe as the Fort Knox.

    Quinn Muriel was the establishmentâ??s most notorious possession. The woman, despite her small size, had the wits of a fox, the cruelty of a shark and inspired fear in the large men. From her first days in the establishment she gained notoriety, all men avoiding her at all costs despite their desire to, as they said, â??fuck her brains outâ??. Things were ruled out during her first day when a man almost lost his most prized possession in an attempt to carry out his desires.

    From there on, she was treated with a quiet respect and left to her own means. She wasnâ??t much of a peopleâ??s person â?? most men were far too stupid to understand her, not to mention their minds were so easy to screw with that she didnâ??t bother. Instead, she turned to books and planning. There was no way she would carry out her life sentence, with no possibility of parole. She lucked out, being caught in a state without the capital punishment. It was quite a wonder, as well. At the age of twenty six, she took close to fifty lives according to the press, although in truth most bodies hadnâ??t been found yet. They would only be found after her death, or at least parts of them would.

    For most of her life, the young girl lived through her fatherâ??s abuse. At first, it had been beatings â?? whenever under influence, he would hurt her, never apologize for it later. Then, years later, as she began developing, he decided that she was quite to his taste, or perhaps was it because she looked like her mother, only with his eyes. Living through torture, she one day lucked out when her father was killed in an accident. The only thing she regretted was not being able to have taken his life.

    Following his death, she snapped. He killed her mother â?? although indirectly, violated his daughter, yet not a single policeman dropped by. People like him had to be punished, and authorities were not to be relied upon, she came to discover at a young age. If you want something done, do it yourself, was her motto.

    Stretching out, she stood up, walking around the cell. Following a death in which she was suspected, she was kept locked up without the possibility to leave even for the hour outside. The only thing she was still getting â?? thankfully, was a shower every day. From the way they were treated, it was a wonder that authorities bothered to buy razors, although the electronic thing couldnâ??t hurt anyone. She was thankful for that much.

    Shifting about, she returned to her seat, studying the walls with the smirk of a Cheshire cat. Every inch of her wall was covered in newspapersâ?? articles, highlighted and read over and over again. They were from the time where she was unknown to the world, when the police believed that there were many serial killers operating throughout the country. Her name, quite obviously, didnâ??t figure on any of them. Despite that fact, she felt quite flattered that she managed to mislead so many for so long. Nine years passed since blood first touched her hands, only six months ago they caught her.

    She liked to believe that it was because she allowed them to. Leaning down, she picked up a book, completely absorbed by the words on the pages. The book had nothing to do with crime, making her seem like a person eager to learn human psychology. She listened to the silence, hearing steps cut through the silence. She was informed that someone new was going to come in, and she could hardly wait to inspect him, see if he deserved to live. The fact that they chose to place him in her cell certainly suggested that he didnâ??t.
    [/list:u]
 
Gerry Linden drug his feet as he walked the long corridors of the prison for the first time. Everything about it was uncomfortable to him- the chains on his legs and arms, the coveralls, the vaguely fitted shoes- not to mention the brutishness of the guards. Gerry had been in the custody of the prison system for almost a year now, but he was nowhere near getting used to it.

It had all started eleven months ago when he was at work. Gerry Linden had been an executive at a prominent insurance company on the east coast. He had a family- a wife and two children. He made ends meet and always had a little bit extra to spend on his family. But all that had changed now. The company Gerry worked for had been approached/threatened by a local gang who wanted to use their insurance to commit fraud and cash in on the payments. Gerry, being the local vice president, had been put in charge in dealing with these thugs, whom he obviously refused. Even after a tense face to face meeting with the gang's leader, Gerry stood firm that his company would not be involved.

Not even a week later Gerry was met by a dozen squad cars in front of his driveway when he came home. In a panic, he forced his way through the police line and burst into his house. What he saw brought his world crashing down. His wife lay naked on the bed with a bottle of pills next to her, and his two children, his two beautiful kids, were both face-down in the bathtub, their bodies blue. Gerry had no memory of what happened next, but apparently he was caught by police officers as he fell down, and carried outside.

At first Gerry wasn't a suspect, but then it came to light that his wife had a large insurance policy on her. Gerry tried to explain it by the obvious case of him being an insurance salesman- of course he had gotten life insurance for his wife. But when an anonymous person inquired about collecting on that policy, less than a day after his family's death, the police turned their wrath on him.

Throughout the trial Gerry and his lawyer tried to explain about the extortion and threats from the thugs, who they argued had murdered the Linden family and tried to pin it on Gerry. The prosecution however, painted another story. They proposed that Gerry murdered his wife for the insurance money, and was forced to kill his own children because they had witnessed it. Despite his appeals for innocence, Gerry had been condemned again and again in courts, until he finally just gave up.

He had been given the choice between death row or this new prison that had been set up in florida. While Gerry no longer cared much about his life, his lawyer had convinced him to take this deal and serve life in this new prison.

Now, shuffling down the halls, escorted by two guards who stood over a foot above him each, Gerry simply stared at the ground, no longer fighting what had become of his life. Abruptly, he was stopped before a cell. The guards ordered the cell door open, and Gerry was led in. Sliding his arms through the food slot at the door, the guards removed his chains and began to head back down the cell block.

Gerry could see there was someone else in the cell he was put into- a woman by the looks of it- but he didn't make eye contact. He simply sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall, and staring at his feet. He knew he wouldn't last the night anyhow.
 
The first ten minutes passed by in complete silence, disrupted by nothing other than the sound of pages flipping over. Desiree appeared to be unaware of the presence of another person, never granting him any attention. After all, they had all the time in the world. People sent to the institution all had the choice between death row and the jail. At times the woman wondered which one was better. Most people went crazy in prison, haunted by paranoia, living in constant fear.

Finally, she acknowledged him with a glance, letting out a low sigh. He wouldn’t last long, she could see it. The people who survived there were either fighters or people like her. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was not the former; she doubted that he would be the latter. Serial killers had a sort of a radar for each other – there was something in their eyes, or perhaps the way they acted, that enabled them to spot one another. It didn’t always work, yet most of the times she was dead on to tell who was innocent and who wasn’t.

She sat up, staring at him in silence for a few moments. Her gaze trailed outside, trying to figure out the time from the small window on top of the wall. They wouldn’t be let out that night again, which meant that the man in front of her had twenty four hours to live. She wasn’t completely crazy, there were only certain types of people she killed, and it wasn’t until she found out what he was in there for – and whether her hunch was right or not, that she would decide whether he got to live or not.

“You’ll die soon,” she pointed out, her voice surprisingly sweet and melodious although it held husky notes. She tilted her head to observe the man, her teeth dragging along her lip. Despite everything, she missed human contact. She needed people to fear her, which meant that fraternizing was out of the question with other inmates. Since she didn’t have a roommate, it’s been six months since she has last had a meaningful conversation with anyone; the same went for a physical relationship.

Despite her hatred toward most males, she slept with those she hated most. It was part of her MO – she got them to relax, trust her, sometimes fall asleep and then they woke up hours later or – if they were really lucky, they never woke up again.

“Why are you here? Must be something real awful,” she pointed out, deciding to probe him before figuring out what kind of games to play with him.
 
Gerry continued to sit against the wall in silence. He had both his hands on the back of his head, and was staring straight down at the ground. He heard an occasional wild howl echoing off the concrete walls of the prison and it made him wonder if the death penalty might back been better than whatever he was going to face here.

He was aware that his cellmate was talking to him, but he made no reply. From what he had heard it was foolish to talk about one's crimes in prison, especially when it had involved children. Killing one's own wife was one thing, but killing your own children crossed a line that even the most hardened criminals were bound to find repulsive. And judging by the kind of criminals that this jail housed, Gerry figured they wouldn't even think twice about killing him. His own cellmate had already affirmed this- her first words to him being "You'll die soon."

How had it come to this? Gerry was aware that today was saturday. He should have been out tossing a baseball with his sons, while his infant daughter played on the grass. Maybe his wife was inside making lemonade, or at the store renting a movie for the family to watch that night.

No. He had to stop thinking about these things. That world was gone. No one really cared about what had happened, so his innocence was irrelevant. Gerry told himself that he needed to start living the life that was left to him now. That meant he would soon forget the day of the week, soon forget thoughts of the outside world. It was his fate to rot in this prison for the abhorrent crimes of another. At this point there was nothing left to do besides trying to avoid being killed every day.

After thinking to himself for a while, Gerry finally lifted his head up. He stared straight ahead at the wall, could clearly see his cellmate out of the corner of his eye.

"Does it matter?" He finally replied to her question about his crimes. "I'm here, obviously I did something to deserve it." With that, he stood up and walked to the small sink that they now shared, and splashed some water on his face, attempting to clear his head.
 
The cellmate in question moved her legs back and forth, as though she was sitting on a bench at the park, not on a bunk in a cell. She quickly decided that she liked him; he had that destroyed air to him along with the ability to avoid launching into a long sob story that nobody would believe. Of course she wouldn’t point it out, he would need to learn things on his own and while she fully intended on watching him harden as time went by as well as avoiding his certain death, it was too early to let him off the hook.

After all, he was possibly a future target of hers. If so, however, it wouldn’t be right away. She would wait for him to gain confidence, assume that his life was more or less safe – as much as it could be in a similar institution, and only then she would start everything over again. Her previous prey was far too easy; it brought no satisfaction other than the knowledge that she got rid of yet another piece of human trash. It hadn’t taught the pedophile anything; that much was certain. No, she liked to play, make them realize how it felt, and only then take the life.

Just like most people in the place she had a justification for her action, although unlike others she never flaunted it. In her mind, she was a vigilante. Many innocent lives were saved with her help, while the undeserving was lost. Just like many serial killers she had followers, only her crowd was a lot wider – the abused women, their families and so forth. Of course the followers that came forth were crazy for the most part; she bore no interest toward them. Instead, she kept close the letters of the families affected by the crimes of some of the men she killed.

She considered her options in silence, deciding to go straight for the goal. A grin slowly spread across the full lips as the woman cocked her head. “I see…,” she replied slowly, watching him lean over the sink. “It’s quite a shame, don’t you find. An innocent man going to waste,” she pointed out, observing the reaction. She was good at reading people, and there were certain reactions one would expect from a person who truly was innocent in a similar setting.
 
Innocent? Gerry said to himself. Had the woman just said that? It seemed strange and out of place that in an institution such as this one such a thing as innocence would even be considered.

"None of us are innocent anymore." Gerry said flatly, returning to his seat on the floor. He had only been in prison for a few days during the trial, as he had made bail and given up his passport. Every minute seemed like three or four hours, and though he had been in this cell for less than five minutes it had already seemed like an entire day. Everything about this prison seemed so definite and final. It was definite that he would never see the world outside these gates again.

His cellmate was already giving him the creeps. He had heard about this prison when he was sentenced to it, but one really had to be here to see what kind of people it housed. Gerry had already seen to much on the way in, and now he was going to be forced to spend all of his time with this woman. She didn't seem outwardly violent, but that is what scared him. For the most part, the inmates of this prison were cold, calculated killers who knew what they were doing, and restrained themselves when it suited him. While Gerry had no idea what the rate was at which inmates killed one another, he was sure this was a statistic he didn't really want to know.

Gerry stared at the cold grey walls of their cell, and wondered how he was ever going to pass time here. He imagined it was something you got used to, but for now he felt as if he was chained to a dungeon wall.
 
“Ouh, wrong answer,” Quinn retorted in dismay, shaking her head, although her tone remained light hearted and almost warm. It wasn’t completely an illusion. She loved children, had a lot of friends and even animals liked her when she was not on a killing spree. Never once did she think of harming an innocent or an animal, unlike most people locked up in the building. Some were born that way – sociopaths, completely devoid of all emotion. She, however, was steadily bended until something snapped and broke, bringing an incredible hatred toward certain men within her.

“Although I suppose I understand,” she nodded, the long eyelashes slowly battling against her skin. “Innocence is relative. The guy next door, he killed his own mother. He’s new as well, but he won’t be staying for long. Comparing to him, you’re innocent,” she explained, stretching out lazily, almost like a cat that spent too much time under the sun.

His silence was getting on her nerves, it made her curious and she disliked being curious about other humans. While on one hand she decided that he was innocent until further notice, on the other he could very well be a person similar to her. Suddenly, a thought occurred. What if they sent her to him because they wanted to get rid of her? She eyed him with suspicion, but shook it off. The guards didn’t want to harm her; she had this way of getting into their head that should have assured that much. Not to mention the fact that most still expected that one day she would let them have their way with her.

“With an attitude like this, you’ll last under twenty four hours. I’ve been in solitary for too long to let that happen,” she stated, shifting about to rest on her back, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. “So, lesson number one. Make allies,” she bit on her thumb, considering her words. “You don’t need many, just an influential one,” she added. “Silence may seem easier, but you’ll go crazy after a week.”
 
Gerry raised an eyebrow at the mention of allies. Who here did he have anything in common with, let alone a shared goal? And who would even consider protecting a man like him? Everyone else here was a killer. The most Gerry had ever killed when he backed over a neighbors cat once, years ago.

"I don't see that working out," he replied to his cellmate.

Would he really go crazy in a week without any substantial human contact? In a way, Gerry hoped she was right. No sane person could cope with this life he now had, so maybe just letting himself mentally break down wasn't a terrible idea in itself. But no, he wasn't quite that desperate yet. Better to cling on to his humanity for the time being.

Why was his cellmate giving him any advice in the first place? That alone worried Gerry. He had seen the prison specials on tv from time to time- he knew nothing was given for free in prison. You accepted a cigarette one day, and the next your ass belonged to the whole cell block. That was a relationship Gerry hoped he could avoid.

"I just want to keep my head down and do my own thing. I won't be a bother to anyone," Gerry said finally after another silence. And with that plan, Gerry hoped he could finish his life peacefully in this prison.
 
The girl picked up a book, one about criminal analysis, and flipped through the clean looking pages. There was quite a library in the place, and since most men were literate there were often new books in it. Of course it was by no means a grand place filled with ranges and ranges of books, yet between the new arrivals from the other prisoners and authorities they had at least something to do.

“Nobody ever bothers anyone; you’re neither the first to come up with that nor the last. They’ll be a bother to you,” she shrugged. “But I don’t really care what happens, the prison is full and they won’t have a choice but to give me another mate. Good luck with life,” she added, her voice holding no grudge or bitterness, especially the last part. She honestly wanted to see how well he could hold on. The people would find out about his crime somehow, there was always a leak. Then, depending on what it was his destiny would be forged.

Or perhaps he would fall prey to Grayson, one of the craziest once. She decided to warn him about that one. If he didn’t want direct help, she would weave her webs behind his back, yet there wasn’t much she could do about Grayson. Killing him wasn’t an option, she didn’t want her last hour to be taken away and getting off the hook with a crime in prison wasn’t the easiest task. “Avoid 153,” she stated after a brief silence, flipping another page.
 
Gerry wondered to himself why they gave books to the prisoners here. This place was filled with beasts and wild animals who needed no semblance of comfort or humanity. Still, being able to read might be something to fill his time, and keep him sane.

"Do you have any other books in here?" He asked his cellmate. He had heard her mention something about a certain 153, but he wasn't positive what that meant. Presumably she was talking about another prisoner, but he didn't know. Gerry wasn't exactly planning to go around and check the number of every prisoner he ever saw.

As he waited for her reply, Gerry found himself wondering more and more about his cellmate. He pictured the various hideous crimes she may have committed. He certainly didn't feel safe being locked in a room with her. He was also very curious about her motives. Gerry most definitely did not trust this woman at all, and was wary even to ask her about books.
 
The woman flipped another page, ignoring him for a good dozen minutes before finally replying. She could sense the weariness in his voice, which was perfectly fine, he had at the reasons to be afraid of her, yet there was something else in there. Something similar to disdain or perhaps superiority. She heard that tone a lot - from attorneys, new guards and people on the television.

Most of them thought that killers were brutes, sociopaths, yet that was the mere tip of the iceberg. Underwater, there were various kinds of people, all with different passions and motives. She was surprised that he hadn't began reading the articles that served almost as wallpaper in the cell, surely he heard of the killer.

At first, she wore a pathetic name - something involving a highway, simply because a few of her victims happened to live there. After a while, she was surprised to find a few journals and newspapers that called her the 'Dark Knight', a brutal impersonation of Batman. That title left once it was discovered that she was a woman, much to her dismay. She loved the movie.

"Yes," she replied patiently. "You've never killed a fly, have you?" She sat up again, crossing her arms under the ample bosom to study him inquisitively. "We're criminals, sure, but we like reading, and watching movies. When free, we went to Starbucks in the morning before going to work, read comic books and visited friends and family. All prisons have libraries, and just because this prison is intended for the sickest of all, they still have to grant us something to prevent a spike in suicides or a mutiny," she shrugged, hopeful that her explanation would at least change his cold attitude.

Of course it wasn't her first day in jail, she met one or two men like him. One went after people who raided his company, the other went after his wife's rapists. They were both shut at first, yet she was drawn to them and eventually something similar to friendship was formed. Sadly enough one died of tuberculosis and the other was freed when his attorneys found evidence proving him 'innocent'. The point was, she wouldn't go around trying to change him, nor probe him for conversation. She needed to talk to something other than a wall, a word or two per sentence she said were progress.
 
Gerry rolled his eyes ever so slightly during his cellmates lecture. He looked down on them for being killers, and here he was, looked down on for being a normal human being. He completely disagreed with almost every word she just said, but he wasn't going to argue with her. He was stuck here after all, and even if he didn't want friends, he certainly didn't want any enemies that had it out for him.

Eventually he got up off the floor and sat down on the bottom bunk. He imagined it was hers, and that she was going to yell at him for it soon, but he was tired of sitting on the floor.

Stretching out his back, Gerry finally caved and decided to be diplomatic and at least try to care about what was going on here.

"So, what are you reading?" He asked his cellmate, hoping that she would at least be a little pleased that he finally spoke to her like a human being.
 
Quinn flipped through the pages, reading every word as though her life depended on it. Her eyes were filled with vivid curiosity, filled with intelligence and eagerness to learn. She didn't have the occasion to get a PhD., although she did manage to get a Master's degree - ironically enough in criminology.

When spoke, the woman took a while to answer, it was turning into a pattern. Truth was, his condescending attitude was getting to her - quite a faux pas on his behalf. She hated people who looked down on things foreign to them.

Most people in the institution were indeed deplorable human beings, yet many had stories behind them, long downward spirals which brought them to where they were. It was heart wrenching at times. Her own story was not one of the happiest either, and the only thing she was faulty of in her mind was getting caught.

"Psychology, understanding behavior," she replied simply, looking up at him. "You should try reading it," she pointed out, her words holding a double meaning. She wished he could understand things, he was too much of an upper middle class white male, sticking to what he knew and looking down at the world.
 
Psychology held no interest for Gerry. "Oh, ok," he replied simply. "So is that what you do all day here? Read?" He asked her.

Gerry felt like somehow he had been slowly riling up his cellmate, making her mad at him. This obviously wasn't the greatest approach, so he was trying to be at least a little bit friendly. She had told him not talking was a bad idea, but now that he was trying conversation she didn't seem too interested.

That was the way this place was going to be, Gerry supposed, with people mad at your regardless of what you did or didn't do to them. He knew prison wasn't going to be a happy place, but Gerry hadn't expected to feel so on edge all the time.

He hoped that his cellmate would at least be a little receptive to his conversation attempt and not be outright hostile with him.
 
Quinn sat up, setting the book aside. She shrugged slowly and stood up, leaving the book on the table beside her bed. She stretched out lazily, looking down at the man. He was trying to make an effort, and she figured that she would reward him for that much, and at the same time see how well operant conditioning would work.

"Mostly, yeah," she nodded, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers. "I'm only allowed an hour outside," she pointed out without any further explanation. "Then we rotate on jobs - cooking, cleaning and stuff. And otherwise, there's a shower time," she finish, letting out a sigh.

Thinking about it made prison so much more difficult. Heck, it was unbearable. Almost inhuman. "Not the most amusing place to be, but that's life," she stated, sliding down to take a seat on the cold ground, leaning back against the bed tiredly.
 
Gerry nodded his head slowly as his cellmate described life in this hellhole. Making it a year in this place seemed like an impossible feat, let alone the rest of his life.

Seeing her sit down on the floor against the bed, Gerry felt a little bad that he might be taking his cellmate's seat and making her sit on the floor. "Is this your bed?" He asked, standing up.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea who his cellmate was. "My name is Gerry, by the way." He said to her, assuming she would introduce herself as well.

Finally starting to lose the shock of being thrown in the cell, Gerry finally realized how small this cell was, and that he was going to be in it for the vast majority of each day. He let out a sigh and he leaned against the bunk bed frame.
 
Quinn shifted slightly, enjoying the cold sensation of the floor underneath her fingertips. She shut her eyes momentarily, shaking her head. "No, I was laying on my bed five minutes ago," she pointed out, nudging the empty bunk behind her. She was about to tell him that she would have slit his throat if he had been on her bed, yet figured that it was too early for prison jokes considering his state.

She opened her eyes as he introduced himself, arching her eyebrows. "Nice to meet you," she replied, for the first time since their encounter offering him a smile. Her smile lit up her features, making her look like an incredibly good looking woman rather than a blood hungry killer.

"I'm Quinn," she finally said, dragging her teeth along her lower lip. She then studied him, curious to see whether he read the news or not - if he did, he surely knew her name.
 
Quinn...Quinn...the name was familiar to him somehow. Gerry felt like he had read it somewhere. Out of the corner of his eyes the newspaper clippings caught his eye. Now it all made sense- it had not been terribly long ago that Quinn's name had been all over the paper for her crimes.

Gerry couldn't decide if he felt better knowing who his cellmate was, or a little worse, now that he knew the violent nature of her crime, regardless of whether it was validated or not. He decided it simply best to not anger her.

"Nice to meet you too," he replied. "I guess we will get to know each other pretty well in here, huh?" he said offhand, the friendliness of his own words surprising himself. "I mean, it shouldn't be as boring with two people in the cell, I imagine."

Gerry was trying to assuage his own apprehension of being locked up in the cell by trying to bring a sense of normalcy and neighborliness to the conversation.
 
Quinn opened her eyes, studying her roommate as he watched the wall. She could see the hesitation on his face, and somehow it pleased her. His following words, however, surprised her as much as they seemed to surprise him.

At a loss of words, she chuckled, shrugging. “I suppose we don’t have much else to do,” she pointed out, brushing her fingers through the messy thick waves of blonde hair. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him yet wasn’t certain whether to ask him about it or not.

“So what’s your story?” She wondered, finally deciding that it was only fair for him to tell her since he already knew hers. She tried to imagine what he could have done awful enough to end up stranded with her. Murder, that much she was certain of. Kids, women? She eyed him with a certain suspicion momentarily before reminding herself that she decided not to kill that one.
 
"My story?" Gerry repeated, "There isn't much at all to my story, other than my crime I suppose. According to the prosecution I killed my family in order to cash in on the insurance." He tells Quinn that simple sentence and leaves it at that. He makes no argument of innocence, but clearly doesn't think himself guilty, either.

Well, now it was all out in the open. There was nothing Gerry was hiding anymore, so he would either live or die according to the reactions of others at this point. Down the cellblock somewhere he heard another cell door open and then slam shut, and it sent a little shudder down his own back. Everything here was so brutal seeming, so final.

Gerry laid down on the bed that he now knew didn't belong to Quinn. He already found himself wondering how much time had passed since he had been put in his cell. Had it been fifteen minutes? Thirty? An hour? He realized for the first time how impossible telling time could be here, in this place.

With a sigh Gerry put his hands behind his head, propping himself up slightly, staring at the ceiling. It was a rough concrete, grey, and devoid of any interesting characteristics. He imagined he would be spending plenty of time staring up at it in the years to come.
 
The girl listened to his brief sentence with an increasing concern printed on her face. He put her in a difficult position. The way he spoke implied that he was innocent, yet the emptiness in his voice...She shut her eyes, a familiar flashback filling her mind. Her mother, still on the bed, with pills in her hand. Her faher, walking down the hallway...She gasped, her large eyes darting open.

"Don't tell a soul," she uttered, brushing a hand over her cool skin. "Kids and a woman...They'll kill you for that," she stated, dragging her teeth over her lower lip nervously. Her task of keeping him alive would prove to be quite difficult. However, truth was, she didn't kill innocent people and she had a plan forming in her mind for him.

He was on a life sentence, likely with no possibility of liberation. It was too early to speak of breaking out, although having an accomplice would help her out with that. The only problem was that he would probably be granted more time than her, with nobody there to protect him from trouble. She inwardly cussed, stealing a glance at the man.

"Do you know who did it?" She wondered, deciding to see how much he hated those people.
 
"Who? Some two bit thugs from the east. Albania, or Croatia, or something like that, I don't know," Gerry paused. "I don't know who exactly did it, but it was some of them I'm sure of it."

In fact, it had been a long time since he had thought about the men who killed his family. Time and time again since his arrest Gerry had thought about his children, his wife, even his own future. But the thugs who had destroyed his family had not crossed his mind for a long time. Gerry tensed his fists as he thought about them. Them- still free on the street, still killing, still stealing. Their crimes were enough to turn even him into a murderer, given the opportunity.

Then it hit him. Gerry realized that being locked up for the rest of his life for crimes he didn't commit wasn't the worst part of his life. It was the fact that he was locked up here and couldn't get revenge on these brutal thugs who had stolen away the lives of his entire innocent family.

Gerry closed his eyes bitterly and said no more. It was almost a minute before he opened them again, his wave of anger and frustration finally passing, and his fists slowly opening back up.
 
Quinn winced at his words. Thugs. She hated those - killing aimlessly, simply to show that they actually had a place in the world and could change something. None seemed to realize that the only change they brought was pain.

She hated them with passion, especially considering the fact that they were more complicated to kill, with their 'brothers' standing up for each other to create a false sense of family when really they were a group of greedy, cold blooded killers. "I know that it won't change much, but I'm sorry about your family," she offered him, sounding awfully genuine and...normal. She figured that he went through enough over the past month, and in a way she felt closer to the man next to her although he at least had the priviledge of someone knowing about the truth. At the same time she felt a strange compulsion to help him get out of there alive.

She considered her options, trying to think of a way to get them out of the prison as fast as possible. "People like that don't deserve to live," she voiced her anger, shaking her head.
 
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