He couldn't find Grim anywhere that night, even though it was the night he had promised them they would talk. Caleb went to the showers and began removing his prison garb and ventured in. The heavy steam quickly filled the showers and the heavy pouring of the rain against the ceramic floors sounded like a smattering of a million tiny marbles per second. He chose a showerhead nearest the back wall. The water came out hot, and soon he was engulfed in rising steam as well.

"Caleb," he heard someone whisper, too dangerously close for comfort. It caused him to reflexively ball his fist in anticipation of a fight.

"Grim?" he called, trying to leer over his shoulder to find a face to attach to the voice. In the gray mist, he found not more than a pair of soft, glowing eyes.

"Speak softly. They're listening, always." He drew nearer. "I wanted to answer your question. Do you still have your light?"

"Yes."

"But, are you afraid of dying?"

"I don't know. But I'm not ready to. Not here."

"If you have the courage, then don't give up. Live, Caleb."

"What if I don't? What if I realize that I belong here."

"You don't. Your story's not done here. Neither is hers."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your light. She is with you always. If you have the courage, if you're not afraid, avail yourself to the caress of Death, and you will have your escape."

"Wait, so you want me to kill myself? That's poetic and all, but I thought you meant an actual..."

"A near-fatal injury, Caleb, sustained right about here, any higher and death will be certain," he muttered, as his sly fingertips snuck around Caleb's waist to outline the spot on his belly. It made Caleb shiver.

"You're ticklish?"

"No!" a blushing Caleb growled. "So what do I have to do?"

"Whatever you do, make sure it's in clear view of the guards, preferably at lunchtime. And whatever you do, just make sure you don't miss that spot. If done correctly, you will bleed profusely, but will recover. If you miss, you'll die before they can get you to a hospital. Oh and one last thing. That phone of yours should come in handy. Is there anyone on the outside you can send a coded message to? Nothing too obvious that the guards would be able to decipher, but something that person could figure out. You'll need to set a rendezvous point."

"Yeah, I know someone."

"Good."

Caleb gulped. "How should I know this would even work?"

"What choice do you really have? Stay here, and you're already dead."

He knew he was right.

"This was the plan I devised for myself and my beloved. I've been working on it for a long time. But since he doesn't have a use for it, I guess it might as well be you. Have courage, Caleb. And good luck. If you can just make it to the outside, there are some people who will make sure you get away clean."

"Hey, Grim!" he called into the steam.

But he was already gone.

Caleb sat in his cell that night staring at the shank Grim had given him. He had the plan that he would fake a mental breakdown in the middle of the lunchroom. He'd cry out "I can't take it anymore!" holding the shank high above his head so everyone could see it. Then he would thrust it through his belly, through the spot he was told to hit and not miss.

Time after time, he let the toothbrush plunge, always with a force that waned with his conviction. Caleb was sweating, with tears of anxiety and terror beginning to well up in his eyes. He had one chance. He doubted he would be able to do it on the first take. And, even if he did, the chance that he'd miss in the heat of the moment, sent Caleb shaking in his bones.

The feeling would not subside even as he sat there the next day at lunch, with his food tray in front of him as he sweat through his clothes. His head was whirling, his pupils eyeing every detail in the room until it all swirled together into one dizzying mosaic. He fumbled in his pocket for the toothbrush. It was now or never. With tears in his eyes, he cursed himself one last time.

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMORE!" he screamed, exploding from his seat to everyone's surprise. But to Caleb's surprise, they weren't looking at him, but behind him at the mammoth standing directly behind Caleb, once with a food tray in his hands, now lamenting its crash to the floor thanks to Caleb not looking to see if anyone was behind him before his outburst.

A cold sensation seized Caleb by throat as he turned to see what had made the crowded cafeteria go deathly silence. Towering above him was none other than Big Horace, one of the most powerful men in prison garb. Caleb's heart plummeted.

"That was very rude of you, sir," the surprisingly soft-spoken Big Horace murmured, in the tone of gentle giant. "What is it that can't take anymore? Common courtesy?"

Caleb stumbled backward, nearly falling over himself as he awaited his demise: death by slit throat, not by Big Horace, who carried too much clout to do much of the dirty work himself anymore, but possibly one of his many cronies, waiting in the shadows to lunge out and snatch him before the guards even had a chance. Such was their way of operating. The guards would only step in if there was a confrontation, but as big as Big Horace was, he was never aggressive. Instead, he had a signal.

Caleb wanted to puke. Between watching for Big Horace's execution signal, and the rows and rows of possible assassins, he thought it very likely that he would faint before he got the chance to see his final moments. Maybe that was the universe's final act of mercy upon him. At once, everything went black.