out.
Jonsten passed out, giving the other inmates a break from his delirious screaming. Mercifully, he didn't have to be awake as Spade's meaty hands closed around his neck, and with a single quick jerk, snapped his spinal cord.
The only prisoners who actually witnessed the episode were those on the eighth and ninth levels and, of course, Allander. He lay on his bed, watching Spade's exertions with a mixture of amusement and contempt. The inmates on the lower levels realized something was wrong only as the blood made its way down, dripping from the ends of Jonsten's fingers through the floor bars. A few of them cackled and cheered, licking the blood gleefully from their fingers, remembering the flavor and the hot scent.
Spade settled down on his bed. Lying back, he opened a book and began to read as Jonsten's arm swung lazily overhead.
Chapter 5
Jonsten's death came on Allander's tenth day in the Tower. Prior to that time, Allander had been largely ignored by Spade, who had been too preoccupied with the cell above to notice him. Shortly after the incident, the guards had arrived to view the scene. They reprimanded Spade, showering him with obscenities and turning a hose on him. Spade merely laughed and flexed in the water's spray. 'Whatcha gonna do, put me in prison?' he taunted.
After the guards cleared Jonsten's mangled body from his cell (the warden decided to leave 11B vacant for the duration of Spade's sentence), Spade focused on the small, shivering prisoner across the Hole.
'So… you're the clown boy. We heard about you. Heard you all in the news and on the TV. I remember that. Young boy gettin' fucked in the ass, and not even in prison. We were waiting for you though.'
Allander said nothing, remaining collected and distant.
'Let me ask you, child. You glad you don't live upstairs from me?' Spade tilted his head back, indicating the bars, which were still caked with blood and hair despite the hosing. 'Guess I'm not too good a neighbor.' He laughed his deep, booming laugh and climbed into bed.
Allander awoke to a tapping on his forehead. His hands moved over his face in a rush and he realized it was wet. He looked through the ceiling and saw Claude Rivers standing directly above him, his legs slightly spread so Allander was gazing up at his crotch.
Claude held his shirt, which he had doused in the toilet. He twisted it, forearms cording with muscles, bringing down another slow series of drops on Allander's head. Allander stood up, rubbing his forehead. It was sore, as if the water had worn a groove in it.
Claude watched him with interest, but said nothing. Allander crossed his unit to the vents. Overhead, Claude slowly shadowed his movement. He paused, wringing his shirt again, bringing a few plump drops down on Allander's head. Allander looked up at him, but no change of expression flickered over Claude's face. His eyes were light and wide, like holes through his head. When Allander went back to his bed, Claude did not follow.
Allander fell back into an uneasy sleep. When he jerked awake later, it was pitch black. He sat up in his cot quickly, glancing through the bars of the ceiling, but it seemed Claude was asleep.
The Hatch was open and the noises of the guards on duty drifted in. It was a moonless night and Allander peered around his cell, trying to adjust to the lack of light. He had the sense that something was in the cell with him, something was watching him. Finally, his night vision eased into effect, and he could see Spade's enormous meat-cleaver hands around the cell bars.
Allander sat up and stared across the Hole at Spade's cell. Spade's eyes slowly emerged from the darkness, then his white teeth flashed in a smile and Allander sensed a reflection from his skull. In that faint light, Spade looked as if he was made of only two hands and a floating head; the rest of his body faded into the black cell.
His voice came low and he articulated each word fully, playing with it in his mouth before releasing it to the air. 'Welcome back, my child. Welcome to the cage. At first I didn't think you belonged here. But now I've seen you sleep and I know. I know you do. No one in here sleeps, and it's not the sound, it's not the-' he gestured grandly-'ambiance. And it sure as hell's not our consciences. You see, those of us in the Tower, we 'Boat Pokey boys,' we're different. We've seen too much to sleep. We know too much to sleep. What do you know, my child? What do you see?'
'Nothing,' Allander said. 'I don't see anything.'
'BULLSHIT!' Spade boomed. The word echoed through the Tower. No one yelled for him to shut up, and the lapping water outside filled the silence. His voice dropped back to its deep whisper. 'I see you turning and rolling and panting, and it's not from jackin' off. What do you see in your dreams, my child? What do you see in your heart of hearts?'
Allander remained quiet.
'Is it the clowns? The ones you're always drawing? There?' He pointed at Allander's drawing. Allander glanced over at it, amazed that Spade could make it out through the darkness.
In the drawing, an enormous clown loomed over the horizon of what appeared to be a medieval castle on a hill. The clown had dismantled one of the castle's towers and held it menacingly in its spidery fingers. Its long fingernails were wrapped around the tower, and a small maiden, hanging from a window, shrieked for help. The clown had a large, painted grin on its face. Its expression was that of a fat child about to indulge in an ice cream cone. The artwork was spectacular; the intricate details betrayed the labored minutes Allander had spent hovering over the paper.
'No,' he replied.
Spade drew air in loudly through his teeth. 'Clowns to the left of me, rapists to my right, here I am, stuck in the Tower with ya'll.' He laughed. 'Tell me, my child, why are you too good to talk to the rest of us murderers and molesters?'
Allander did not reply.
'I know your story. We all know your story. You're probably the most famous one in here. All the attention you got in court because of your-what'd the judge call it? — 'environmental conditioning'?' He sounded out the syllables of 'environmental,' making it sound like en-vi-ron-mental.
'But you proved them wrong, didn't you, child? When you look inside, you know, you know like we all know. You know that even if you missed your childhood'-he paused, searching for the right word-'honeymoon, you know you'd still be a twisted, sick motherfucker. Now don't you?'
'How should I presume?' Allander chuckled softly, as if to himself, running his hands through his hair. He lifted his head, and for the first time, Spade caught a glimpse of what was behind his eyes. It made even him draw back, ever so slightly.
Allander continued quietly, but his voice warbled as if under great strain. 'You think you can measure the range, the depth of my sickness?' He shook his head slightly. 'I don't think you want to walk that landscape.' His eyes darted back and forth, flashing over Spade's face, trying to gain entrance to his mind. He pried at it through Spade's eyes, his nose, his mouth.
'You wish what? You wish to explore the common bonds we share as outsiders in our society?' He waved an arm in the air for emphasis, his voice drenched in sarcasm. 'Well, then, that much we have in common. Hooray for your insightfulness. But I'm afraid that's where our similarities end. You're a beast who beats the walls of its prison, but what would you do if you were free? What heights, pray tell, are you just waiting to scale?' Allander shook his head, making sounds of disappointment deep in his throat. 'I must confess, darling, I find you a bit tiresome.'
Spade's upper lip withdrew disdainfully from his teeth, and he scowled as his fury bubbled to the surface. 'YOU MOTHERFUCKER! DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM? WHO THE FUCK YOU'RE TALKING TO?'
Allander remained completely still. 'Evidently not.'
Spade inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling like a mountain in an earthquake. 'I owned faggots like you on the outside. In the slammer, I bent men twice your size over the bathroom sink and fucked them. Because you're protected from me by this'-he motioned to the bars around him-'you think you can step up to me. You know, you know better.'
Allander paused and gestured with his eyes, indicating the space above Spade's head. 'I'm afraid I don't have
