Abluvion

*****

Michael broke from the crowd and reached another far wall of Pen. He supported himself against the bitter barrier taking an exhausted lungful of dank air. He had never wished so much for a window.

“Where the fuck, can a guy get a cigarette around here,” said a hoarse infuriated voice. The man waved his arms in a dramatic gesture at the horde of other candidates, whom paid no attention to him, with a huge puff.

He arrived at the same hedge and sat haughtily on the fractured floor nearly pulling his short russet hair out in aggravation. The man went on, “I swear to God, if I don’t get a cigarette, those assholes in blue scrubs will get my foot shoved up their asses!”

Michael wiped his sweaty brow and chuckled to himself. “Hey,” the man said, directing his attention to Michael whom looked over. “What’s so funny, Blue Eyes,” the man requested irately. His own brown eyes scanned over Michael. “Hell, where did they pick you up, Models ‘R’ Us?”

He gave a weary grin at the man. “Was that a compliment?”

He rolled his eyes at Michael. “I’m pretty sure there was sarcastic emphasis in there somewhere.”

Michael relaxed, sitting down next to the man whom reacted with an indignant huff. “God, you pay attention to someone for two seconds and they cling to you like a paper clip,” the man said exasperatedly.

He grinned at the man. “What’s your name,” Michael asked.

The man shifted awkwardly and stared suspiciously at him, “Why do you want to know?”

Michael turned back to face the throng of lost faces. “I just thought that since we’re both trapped in this hellhole we could ease the tension by talking,” he murmured.

Realizing the sudden miserable visage of the younger man he elbowed him in the ribs tenderly. “This isn’t going to be like twenty questions, is it,” he said and snorted kindly.

Michael shook his head and initiated the conversation, “I’m Michael Scofield.”

“Paul Kellerman.” Short clipped and to the point, very businesslike.

“So, Paul, are you Prison or Medical?” Michael waited earnestly. Paul looked hardened, but thin, dangerous, yet ordinary. Michael was getting strange vibes.

“What the hell does that mean,” Paul inquired.

Michael gawked with a confused expression. “You’re new?”

Paul gaped at Michael as if he should already know the answer and theatrically motioned with his hands as he spoke. “Of course, I was just shoved in here a couple hours ago.”

Michael became more comfortable. “Well, at least we have one thing in common.”

Paul’s face tightened. “You’re new too?”

“Yeah. So, were you taken from a hospital or a prison,” Michael asked sympathetically.

Paul looked around at the hundreds of barely dressed men abstractedly. “Hospital, I’ve been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, you?”

“Same, I have a brain aneurysm. It’s fatal.” The air between them seemed to thicken and Michael and Paul felt a quasi-connection. Michael broke eye contact to study a chink in the cement floor.

Paul gave Michael a small grimace disguised as a smile and stared at the crack in the floor with him. “Wow, we’re fucked up. Is everyone here fucked up? You know, in the beginning I had so much hope that I would get better. I mean, I was too young to die, right? Thirty-seven,” he babbled, filling in the emptiness, “That was nothing. I’m not even middle-aged yet.” Paul stared at him even though Michael’s eyes were fixed intently on the crack. He carried on, “I started on drugs and medication and for awhile I got better. I thought maybe with this second chance it was time to have a family and,” a pause, “I met her. She was young and beautiful, too naïve for her own good. …And then I was sick again. The doctors told me I wouldn’t be able to have children,” he gave a long sigh. “I took more drugs, different drugs, alternative treatments, surgery.” Paul’s face was pinched and he stroked a hand over his face. “One day…she told me one day that she was leaving. She didn’t want to care for a husband who was ill, she was too young for that, she wanted to have children, a normal life, and she was just…done. She said she loved me, but that she was done. She couldn’t handle it. And ever since I’ve been alone. I am alone.” The last was given with such finality that Michael cringed.

What could Michael say to that? “Cunt,” he blurted.

Paul laughed. “Excuse me?”

“I said, what a cunt.”

A tiny smirk twitched at Paul’s lips. “Yeah, I guess she was.”

They sat in relative silence. The silence was placating and unusual in a bizarre way that neither Michael nor Paul could place.

A burly man with a graying beard approached them vehemently. “Hey, you two! Get the fuck off my wall,” he shouted, eyes locking with Paul’s.

Paul smiled charmingly. “Pardon, me, Mr.-,” he trailed to allow the man to fill in the blanks.

“You can call me Avocado,” was his smug reply.

“Yeah, well, ‘Avocado’,” Paul stressed the man’s name mockingly, “I think you should leave. We were here first.”

Michael looked on worriedly. Avocado was a mountain of a man and Paul and him were of average height and build, if not more slender. “No, it’s okay, Paul. Let’s just go somewhere else,” he said, tugging at Paul’s hospital gown. Michael knew when to give up.

He unexpectedly drew Avocado’s attention who leered at Michael dauntingly. “Well, what do we have here? Is this your bitch, ‘Paul’,” he questioned, stressing Paul’s name as Paul had done earlier. “You did good for a newbie. Scratch what I said before, leave him here and there’ll be no problem.”

There was a great confidence in Paul’s voice and Michael wondered if it was false bravado at a sad attempt to deter Avocado. “I don’t think so. Since he’s /my/ ‘bitch’, don’t I have some kind of claim to him?”

Avocado laughed quietly. “Not if you know what’s good for ya. Lil’ Medical like you, I’d get my sorry ass outta here.”

A depraved twinkle in Paul’s dark brown eyes caught Michael’s interest. Paul beamed at Avocado heinously and brought his face closer to the larger man’s, whispering, “You have no clue who you’re messing with do you?”

Affronted by Paul’s domineering display Avocado raised a fist to Paul’s face. “Now, listen here ya lil’-,” he was stopped in mid rant by a fierce grip on his raised fist.

Michael sat in awe of the gravely ill man’s force of muscle against Avocado’s trembling fist. Voice wavering, Michael asked the readily standing man whom was at his defense, “Who are you?”

“I’m Lack Jink’s Number One Beef Jerky Salesman.”