Convicted of the one goddamn murder I didn't do. I wonder who did kill
the tram operator? Probably Cardinale, the loser... even he couldn't fail
with an unconscious target.
Question is, why am I here? Why am I alive? Which old man is pulling my
strings? I have lots of time to work on these thoughts.
Six years. Parole in three.
Yeah, right.
The door opens, and two men walk in. I recognize the first one... Leo
Glynn. Tough. Sharp. But I can see it in his posture, in his
eyes... tired. Trying to hold things together, and losing a little more
every day.
The second one looks like a nerd. His first words prove he is a nerd.
"Alex, my name is Tim MacManus. I run Emerald City. Life in Oz is not
pleasant. But follow the rules, and you will do just fine."
I'm gonna run rings around this fool.
Apparently the meeting's over, and I'm led to my new home. Emerald City.
I'm not in Kansas anymore.
It doesn't take long for me to realize the dangers. I'm not even in my pod
before I see a guard being attended to, bloody pulp where his eyes used to
be. I can still hear the unearthly howls of the prisoner... Alvarez, I
think... as he's dragged to solitary.
They call it "The Hole" here. I think I'd prefer to be there than here. In
my pod. With Nikolai Stanislofsky.
Probably MacManus's fucking idea, to make me more "comfortable." If the man
doesn't shut up...
A week has gone by. I've thought about Mulder 762 times. There have
been 3 murders, 5 assaults, and one drag queen performance.
The murder right after the performance was entertaining, at least. Who
wants to see a 140-pound man lip-synch to Debbie Gibson, anyway?
Strangely enough, I'm still alive. Not that I've made any enemies. Laid
low, surveyed the cellblock. Learned who the dangerous people were, and
why.
Simon Adebisi. Vern Schillinger. Ryan O'Reilly. Chris Keller. Everyone
else is manageable.
Stanislofsky is growing on me. Still talks far too much, but he's a canny
bastard. And when he puts that mouth to other purposes, I almost forget
Mulder for a while...
Another day, another plate of crap for lunch.
However, two very exciting events occur. First, I get to watch Adebisi take
down two rivals easily. The pot of boiling water was a very nice touch.
The second event? I get my very own murder attempt!
I snap the bastard's neck before he can do more than put a shallow cut in my
arm, but I don't recognize him. He's not with the Aryans, Italians,
Hispanics, or Blacks. So who set him on me?
I scan the room, seeing nothing more than shock and grudging respect on the
inmate's faces.
Keller just smirks at me. Bastard. But that's how he always looks. He's
not the one. And while Adebisi just brutally took out his drug rivals, he
doesn't strike me as a man who "multitasks." Not him.
Which leaves Schillinger and O'Reilly. Wonderful.
I ponder my dilemma, not even paying attention as the guards escort me to
the Hole.
The Hole isn't so bad.
Sure, I'm naked, cold, and bored. But I'm alive. And I'm planning.
I've ruled out O'Reilly. He's mean, smart, and perverse enough to plot my
death, but he has nothing to gain by it. O'Reilly doesn't do anything
that's not to his own advantage. And he's too busy plotting to kill
Nikolai. If Nikolai doesn't kill him first. They've been engaged in a
subtle battle of wills from before I arrived in Oz. If O'Reilly was gay,
those two would be hot and heavy. Instead, one of them will be dead.
My money's on O'Reilly. Nikolai's crafty, but Ryan is crafty and insane.
I wonder if Nikolai will still be alive when I get out of here? And what
the hell do I do about Schillinger?
I'm starting to hate this place.
It's only been a day, and I feel the walls closing in.
Thoughts of Mulder aren't helping. I keep alternating between beating him
to death and fucking him to death.
Fucking bastard. All I did was keep the asshole alive.
Alvarez isn't helping. I can hear his screams from down the hall. He's
been here for over a week now.
It's worse when he sobs.
How long does this place take to break a man?
As I expected, upon my return to Emerald City, I have a new podmate.
Chris Keller.
Who the hell have I pissed off?
Apparently I missed World War Three during my two-day sojourn at the Hole.
Schillinger now has my spot in the Hole, Beecher is in the hospital ward
with broken arms and legs, and Keller is staring at me with what can only be
called sociopathic tendencies. I've decided I miss the old smoking bastard.
I throw my belongings on the lower bunk after removing the small yellow
object on my mattress.
A rubber ducky. Fabulous. An O'Reilly mind-fuck. Only one way to deal
with this.
Every head in Oz turns to my direction as I laugh.
And laugh.
Loudly.
Derisively.
Stepping out of the pod, I toss the offending plastic to O' Reilly, playing
chess in the common area below.
Time to make the punk sweat. Now I'm happy that Nikolai was so talkative;
he may not have made the connection, but I did...
"O'Reilly, you need a bath more than I do. I can smell you from here. If
you're nice, maybe Dr. Nathan will wash your back... or maybe Claire Howell
will wash your front."
You know, I didn't think Ryan's pasty face could turn any whiter... or that
Keller's grin could get any nastier. When he spoke, I nearly jumped.
"Alex, I think I like you."
"Lights out!" Sleep isn't possible. Not with Keller in the bunk above me.
I figure my chances of surviving the night at 85 percent. O'Reilly probably
took fucking bets.
"Krycek, I know you're not sleeping. Let's fuck."
Okay, maybe 70 percent.
"Let's not, and say we did."
"Don't tell me you're straight... I could see your dick poking through
Stanislofsky's neck last week."
"I'm not straight. I'm just picky."
Fast and silent, I'm out of bed, and so is Keller. Strangely enough, he
seems pleased.
"Maybe we should just get to know each other." Evil grin.
I snort. "What's your favorite color, Keller?"
"Red. Why does Schillinger want you dead?"
That stops me cold. "I don't know... yet."
"I do."
Sadistic psycho. "And..."
"What's your favorite color, Alex?"
I can do sadistic, too. "Same as Beecher... pink."
That may not have been my best move, as my face is now intimate with the
cement wall. I'm good, he's better, and O'Reilly's no doubt laughing his
ass off.
"Want to re-think your attitude, Krycek?" Slight twist of his arm sends
shooting pains from my left arm to my shoulder.
Someday I will learn to think before I speak. If I live long enough. "You
gonna give me a matched set, like Tobias?"
I must have shocked the shit out of him, because he let me go... threw me
across the pod, yes, but I was free.
We just stared at each other... it felt like hours went by, but it was only
minutes before Keller turned, and jumped on his bunk.
An hour later, I heard the whispered question.
"Alex, you ever want someone so bad... so bad you protect them by doing
terrible things, things they will never forgive you for? Things you won't
forgive yourself for?"
Fuck. I swallow heavily. Bill Mulder, a rag doll on the bathroom floor,
pills scattered, blood oozing. Mulder, so close to being killed in his
place...
"Yeah." Then there's only weight, as Keller crushes his body atop mine.
Only friction, as we move together, hungry and hard. Only heat as our
kisses grow ever darker and deeper. All thoughts are lost, mutual angers,
pains and needs washed away briefly in the spiraling pleasure and pulsing
completion.
I fall asleep with Keller in my arms.
O'Reilly's really pissed that I'm still alive. Apparently he lost over
three grand on his various bets.
I'd be thrilled, except now the asshole has reasons to want me dead. Like
I don't have enough to deal with in Schillinger. And Keller.
Keller hasn't said a damn word to me since last night. And I need to know
what he knows about that Aryan motherfucker. I'm reasonably safe while he's
in solitary, but when he returns...
And if that's not enough, I'm on work detail. Hospital ward. I get to
clean bedpans. Sucks to be me.
For all the prisoners kept in Oz, the hospital ward only has a few patients.
Most incidents lead straight to the morgue.
Out of the 6 people in the ward, I recognize two: Cyril O'Reilly and Tobias
Beecher.
The only redeeming quality in Ryan is the obvious love he has for his
brother. Half of his crazy schemes are done to protect Cyril. With the
brain damage and the fucking drugs they dope him on, Cyril is no more than a
confused child. And the monsters here would have no regrets over fucking or
killing him.
I may have to deal with Ryan. Killing him would be safer, but
then... dammit, Cyril is what Mulder would have become had he reached
Skyland Mountain.
"Krycek?"
Startled, I turn towards the voice. Dammit, I need to focus on survival.
Not that there was any threat from that person.
Tobias Beecher. Broken arms, broken legs, broken man. Helpless. Hurting.
Keller's Mulder.
"Could I have some water, please?"
I reach over to the pitcher next to his bed. Empty. Figures.
"Lemme get a refill for you. Be right back."
"Krycek?"
"Yeah?"
You rooming with... with Chris now?"
Men. Worst fucking gossips, ever.
"Yeah."
"How... nevermind."
I bend down, looking Beecher straight in the eyes. His eyes are clear and
bright, the pain evident.
"What they did to you was horrible. It was cruel. And it was pointless.
Nothing explains it, nothing excuses it. Schillinger and Keller both. But
remember this: Schillinger did it because it made him happy. He's
probably happy still. Keller? I don't know why he did it. But I do know
he's in pain. Nothing compared to yours, Beecher. But he didn't do it for
fun."
Straightening, I take the pitcher. "Be right back with that water, Beecher.
Need anything else?"
Closed eyes, head shake 'no.' I head to the next room, and leave him with
his demons.
This time, when I heard the noise, I was prepared.
Three Aryans, one as lookout. Where the hell do the guards disappear to?
The other two are heading towards Beecher. He doesn't look surprised.
At least, not until I've shoved my palm into the first man's nose, sending
bone into his brain. He's dead before reaching the floor. The second one
turns to me, switchblade in hand. Isn't that such a cliche?
I go through the usual routine. Evade the blade thrust, blow to the
stomach, conclude with a shot to the head. I leave this one alive. I'll
have questions for him, assuming he doesn't get killed for his incompetence
first.
Cyril's screaming now. He spooks the third man into running, just as the
guards show. Nice timing, guys.
Guess I'm going back to the Hole.
Then again...
MacManus is a geek, but he does want to stop the Aryan gang. Not that he's
effective at it. Now, if his sidekick Murphy was running this joint, they'd
have some results. Tough talk, tough action, plain and simple... and
effective.
Anyway, the two surviving attackers are in solitary, and I'm back in Em
City.
Everyone's looking at me. Exactly what I don't want. Notoriety leads to
problems, of which I already have too many.
At least O'Reilly's not shooting daggers at me. Seems to think they were
gonna take out Beecher and Cyril. Jeez, is there anyone here someone
doesn't want dead?
Keller's face has gone expressionless. I felt safer with psychotic glee
etched across it. Have I even been here two weeks yet?
Ryan should start taking bets again. I think my survival rate's down to 50
percent.
"Lights out."
Sleep isn't possible. Not with Keller in the bunk above me. Haven't I
heard this somewhere before?
"Krycek, I know you're not sleeping. Let's fuck."
Deja fucking vu. "Let's not, and say we did."
"Why did you stop Vern's goons?"
"I'm not str... what?"
Chuckle from above. Jerk.
"Krycek, why did you stop them from killing Beecher?"
Think, Alex. Because I felt like it? Because they would turn on me next?
"Was it because he reminds you of Molder?"
Fuck.
Silence.
"You talk in your sleep, Alex."
Double fuck. This is why I don't do sleepovers.
"You snore, too."
Fast and silent, I'm out of bed, and so is Keller. He's smirking. I'm
furious.
"You rather I let them cut him to ribbons? Finish your job?"
At least the smirk's gone. I, however, cannot breathe. Alex, you are a
slow learner.
My jaw hits the side of his bunk. The bruising will be spectacular. On the
plus side, I'm no longer blue. Fair trade.
Keller stands rigidly still, radiating tension. "Who is Molder?"
I give him the truth, and the only words that may allow me to live the
night. "Mulder. He's my Beecher."
This time he moves slowly, almost hesitantly. His right hand skims the
darkening skin on my jaw. An apology, or as close as Keller can come to
one.
"Schillinger was contacted by someone on the outside. This someone put
the hit on you. Deadline was today."
Great. "You gonna finish me off?"
The psycho grin returns. "Not in the way you're thinking."
My head hits the wall as my boxers hit the floor. There's no teasing as
Keller deep throats me, suction steady and strong, his tongue focused on the
sensitive spot just below the head. It's only mere moments before I'm
coming hard, pushing mindlessly, hand in my mouth to hold back the scream.
When I finally reopen my eyes, Keller's lying on my bunk, naked, waiting. I
relish that first blissful moment of warm contact. Right now, I'm not
thinking of Mulder, convicts, Morleys or tomorrow. I'm sinking in lips,
teeth and skin, surrendering guilt, anger and fear to this enticing sensual
overload, enjoying the coiling pleasure that explodes in overwhelming heat.
"Krycek!"
I look up from the chessboard. Officer Murphy's there, a confusion and
annoyance splayed across his face.
"Gather your belongs. You have a meeting with the Warden."
I glance at Keller across the board. He doesn't look surprised. Asshole.
I turn towards my pod, stopping only at his words.
"Goodbye, Alex. Good luck with your Molder."
I turn back towards Keller; it's my turn for a psychotic grin.
"Goodbye, Chris. Good luck with your Beecher."
Once I'm seated, Leo Glynn raises exhausted eyes to me.
"Krycek, I've just received papers authorizing your immediate release. A
presidential pardon, no less. Just who the hell are you?"
I can't tell him the truth, of course. "Warden Glynn, do you really want to
know?"
Deep sigh, downturned eyes. "No."
I can smell the goddamn Morleys before I even see the car.
"Hello, Alex."
I grit my teeth. Calm, Alex...
"Sir."
"Get in. And congratulations, you passed your tests."
As I join Spender in the back seat, the driver aims a gun at my chest.
"Tests? Plural?" "Oh, I knew you would survive something simple such as a
murder attempt with your usual aplomb. I needed to see if you could deal
with a more quiet, insidious challenge."
"Such as?"
"Such as managing Ryan O'Reilly and Chris Keller."
"I managed Ryan O'Reilly. No one manages Chris Keller."
The driver lowers the gun, turns away, and starts the car.
"That, Alex, was the final test. Now I have a job for you. There's a
computer disc I need you to obtain for me..."
I'm Not in Kansas Anymore
by Anne H
I fucking hate irony.
