In contrast to Ryan O’Reily, Miguel Alvarez is haunted by nobody. Keller’s not entirely sure why – the guy made his fair share of enemies, it stands to reason that at least one would stick around. But the only ghost that hovers near the spot behind the washing machines is attached to the guy who currently has Alvarez’s mouth around his cock.
“Jealous?” Keller asks Torquemada.
“Mmm. Not really.” He watches Guerra brace one hand against the wall, the other gripping the back of Alvarez’s head. “I think they’re very cute together.”
Keller laughs. “What, so you ain’t trying to get even with Guerra, then? Just here to watch him get his dick sucked?”
“What can I say? I’m a simple man.” Torquemada’s colorful shirt is drenched in red from the neck down, where Guerra’s shank had opened his throat days after he returned to Em City. The gaping wound flexes as he talks. “Sangre por sangre, anyway.” He waves a gloved hand daintily. “I’m over it.”
“Bigger man than I am.” Keller leans up against one of the machines. “You know, I always thought Alvarez was straight.”
Torquemada clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Nobody really is,” he says sagely.
“Don’t know about that.” They watch in silence for a minute or two. “Shit, he’s really going for it. Hey, you wanna test out the no fucking rule again? Maybe God’s not looking, we can get away with it.”
“You’re not my type.”
“Ouch.” Not my type either, he thinks but doesn’t say. It’s not worth saying. Ghosts can’t fuck, can’t touch. They can’t get even get hard. They can, however, get turned on – the sexual energy just gets displaced outward, on the living. He can feel the effects of his own non-existent boner on the scene in front of him, and wouldn’t be shocked if the whole reason it was happening in the first place was Torquemada’s doing.
“Jesus Christ.”
Keller glances back. “Oh, hey, Vern.”
Vern stands in the doorway of the laundry room with his arms crossed, looking at Alvarez and Guerra with disgust. “Fucking faggots.”
“Shut up, Vern. The only person in this room who hasn’t had his dick in someone’s ass is the candy cane over here.” He hears Torquemada laugh softly. Vern ignores him, doesn’t even look in his direction.
“I thought Alvarez was straight.”
“Yeah, well, nobody is, apparently. Listen,” he lowers his voice, more out of habit than actual concern for being overheard, “Schibetta wants in.”
“Schibetta? That prag? The fuck for?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. The more the better, right?” Keller glances over at Torquemada. “What about you? Feeling generous?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” His eyes are fixed on Alvarez, who swallows and stands to meet Guerra’s lips. “You boys have fun, though.”
Keller shrugs and turns back to Vern. “How many does that make?”
Vern thinks for a moment. “12, counting you and me. 13, if I can convince my boy.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope he hates you less today.” Andrew Schillinger avoids his father as much as possible. Spends a lot of time crying in the hole. Why he doesn’t just pass on already is anybody’s guess.
Vern says nothing in response, simply walks into the wall and out of Em City. Keller hates that shit. It should have been one of the perks of being a ghost, and maybe he’d get used to it over time, but for now he prefers to use the doors. Feels a little bit more human.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” he says to Torquemada as he turns to leave.
“It’s a bad idea, you know.”
Keller pauses. “What?”
Torquemada gazes at him coolly. “Your little plan. I doubt it’s going to work like you think it will.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Keller says with a snort. “Like I need relationship advice from the guy jerking off to his ex sucking cock.”
“Not jerking off,” Torquemada says dryly. He looks away. “Not my ex, either,” he mutters.
“Whatever.”
Keller casts one last look at Alvarez and Guerra. The former caresses the latter’s face, whispering something softly in Spanish.
He shakes his head.
Lucky bastards.
---
“Keller,” Hernandez greets him. Another ghost with a hole in his throat, loitering outside Rebadow’s pod. The old man looks a bit worse for wear these days – his tunneling companion is still locked away in solitary, and he somehow hasn’t been assigned a new cellmate. Oz gets to you in a number of ways, but loneliness is one of the more oppressive forces.
“El Cid.”
“You watching the freak show in there?” Hernandez shakes his head. “I always knew something was wrong with that kid.”
“Guerra always seemed alright to me.”
Hernandez doesn’t catch the sarcasm. “Talking about Alvarez.”
“Ah, right, of course. Sure.”
“Morales was a bastard, but him I could at least respect. Alvarez...” He shakes his head again. “Fucking disgrace.”
“Why ain’t you in there haunting him then?” Keller finds this all very stupid, but he supposes it makes sense. Spend your whole time in Oz trying to keep some dumb kid out of your gang, then when the guy who kills you for the gang’s leadership passes on, the kid lets the gang dissolve so he can play hide the sausage with your second in command. Gotta sting, whether you liked fags or not.
“Because that shit is disgusting. I don’t want to watch guys suck cock.”
Keller grins. “Different strokes.” He leans in. “If you know what I mean.”
Hernandez jerks away from him. “Pendejo.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, avoids looking at Keller. “Anyway, I was talking to Schibetta. If he’s in, I want in too.”
Keller whistles through his teeth. “What’s got everybody so interested in our business all of a sudden?”
“Man, like you don’t fucking know.”
Keller shrugs. “I don’t, so why don’t you explain it to me?”
Hernandez looks out over Em City for a moment before he replies. “Being in here, you got no control,” he says finally. “They take everything away. Everything that makes you a man.” He pauses. “Then when you’re dead, you got even less.”
“Right.”
Hernandez raises an eyebrow at him. “So what? You still don’t get it?”
“Not really.” He does. Waking up in Em City instead of hell should have been a relief, but all he’d felt was sinking despair. There was only one thing he could think of that would make things right, and if he doesn’t focus all his attention on it every second of every day, he’s sure he’ll go insane.
“Stay in the dark then.” Hernandez folds his arms and jerks his chin in a “move along” gesture. “Piss off, white boy.”
Keller pisses off.