“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I’m sitting on the front porch in one of the tattered rocking chairs looking over the landscape of the prison.

My curiosity has gotten the best of me, and I’ve been wondering something ever since Smoke left.

“That was a question,” Rage says. She turns the page of the bridal magazine she’s reading and makes a face of disgust. She rolls her eyes and closes the magazine, tossing it on top of a tall pile stacked next to her. She reaches in her bag and pulls out another, opening it and making the same face at the very first page.

“You’re very literal,” I observe.

“And Smoke was right. You’re very question-ey,” Rage gives up on the magazine, shoving it aside. She sits up in her chair and folds her feet underneath her body. “So what’s this mystical question you’ve got for me? Spoiler alert, I don’t do horoscopes.”

“How do you know Smoke?”

“It’s a tale as old as time,” she says with a sigh. “You might even say a song as old as rhyme.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re Beauty and the Beast?” I ask with a laugh.

Rage wrinkles her nose. “No, why?”

“Uh, no reason.”

Rage pauses to think. “I guess you can say that Smoke is the Mr. Miyagi to my Karate Kid, but I haven’t seen him in a long while.”

“What happened?” I ask.

Rage lifts her hand, examining her nails. “All was not well in the dojo.”

“So you guys have never…” I don’t know why I’m asking, but even I realize the question comes off as jealous when there’s no way that’s possible. Curious. That’s all I am. It’s human nature to be curious of those around you and right now those around me are Rage and Smoke.

It’s as simple as that.

“THAT is a lot more complicated. We’ve never felt that way about each other, but some shit went down where we were forced to…” she makes a finger in the hole gesture with her hands. “At gunpoint,” she adds.

I don’t know what I was expecting but THAT certainly wasn’t it.

“He felt guilty and took off. Today is the first time I’ve seen him in years.”

“Smoke felt guilty?” I ask, taken aback. I didn’t think he was capable of guilt.”

“Don’t get it twisted. That man is capable of much more than you or he even knows,” Rage answers cryptically.

She reaches behind her back, pulling out the dagger she’d thrown at me earlier. The one with the shiny crystal handle. She fiddles with it, rotating it in her hand, pressing the pad of her index finger against the tip, testing its sharpness.

“You know,” she starts. “I see the way he looks at you. A couple of years back, shit, even a year back I would never have seen it or recognized what it was. Even if I did it would only be an observation, something to mimic while I’m on a job and have to pretend to feel the same way everyone else does.” Rage spins the handle of the blade on the table between us. “But I saw it today. He looks at you like he wants to…”

“I don’t know what you think you saw—”

Rage cuts me off. “You’re a smart girl, Frankie. I can tell. But you might be more clueless to what people are feeling than I ever was because Smoke looks at you like he wants to stick a flag in you and claim you for the homeland.”

I raise my eyebrows in question.

Rage rolls hers. “I’ve been watching these emotional movies lately. It’s this therapy thing my parents want me to try. The stake a claim thing is from Far and Away with Tom Cruise. He goes out West and…” She stops. “Never mind. I’ve probably got it all wrong anyway.”

Rage looks down to the blade in her hands.

Feeling the need to lift whatever burden is sitting on her shoulders I tell her. “I like that movie.”

After a few moments of silence Rage turns to me. “Be honest. What’s your story? How did you end up Smoke’s captive?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He told me his side. I want to hear your side.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I care about Smoke, and I need to know if I should bury you in the prison yard before he gets back,” she says.

My eyes widen.

She rolls hers. “Don’t worry, I’d totally tell him you offed yourself so he wouldn’t blame me. We’d still be buds.”

“Good to know?” I say. It comes out like a question.

There’s no doubt in my mind it’s the truth but she says it so casually, like she’s planning what to eat for dinner or talking about the weather.

I know Rage’s loyalty lies with Smoke, I don’t know if I can trust her. Actually, I know I can’t trust her.

I tell her everything anyway.

Well, ALMOST everything.

I tell her about my father and how he was negligent toward me after my mother died. About taking a false name and re-enrolling in high school to avoid the fallout from my father’s bullshit. The abduction. Smoke. Smoke. SMOKE.

I toss one truth after another at her like clothes on a laundry heap until there’s a huge pile between us to be sorted.

“Well, that was…educational,” Rage says, twisting the end of her ponytail in her hand. She pulls up her legs and sits cross-legged on the rocking chair. “But I guessed it.”

“Guessed what?” I ask.

“He named the bacon,” she whispers.

I’m not sure if she’s talking to herself or to me.

“Huh?”

“Think of Smoke like a pig farmer,” Rage starts to explain. I have no idea where she’s going with this.

“Let me guess. Am I the pig in this scenario?” I ask, pointing at my chest.

She nods. “Yes, for this metaphor anyway. Smoke, or anyone who does what we do, are pig farmers and pig farmers don’t name their pigs, they don’t treat them like pets because they’re not. They might be walking around breathing, but they’re food. You don’t cuddle and play with food. You don’t tie pretty bows around your food’s neck.” She holds out her hands, palms up, and shrugs. “You don’t name the bacon.”

“And you think Smoke did?”

Rage nods. “Oh, Smoke’s a pig namer alright. Never thought I would say that about him. But if he isn’t careful, then soon he’ll be a pig…” Rage pauses and presses her lips together. A burst of laughter escapes, and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“A pig fucker?” I barely get the word out.

Rage and I look at each other, and we’re lost to laughter until our stomachs ache and our eyes tear. It feels so good to laugh that once I start I can’t seem to stop.

I’ve got a death sentence looming over my head. I’ve been abducted by a killer, and I’m sitting across from another who just compared me to a pig being lead to slaughter.

And I’m laughing.

“I will say this though,” Rage says, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her back straightens as she looks me in the eye. Her expression grows serious. Her smile falls. “There’s a lot more to us monsters than we let on.”

I look out over the prison. “I think I’m beginning to understand that.”

“So, what’s your next plan of action?” She asks, clapping her hands together.

“What makes you think I have one?” I pull my knees up to my chest.

Rage stares at me for a long moment, then flashes me a knowing smile. “Nothing makes me think you don’t. But, whatever it is, you better get moving on it. And soon.”

“Why is that?” I ask, curiously.

Rage sighs. “Because, if I know Smoke, you have a lot less time than you think.”