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It was a fucked up idea to begin with. But Nathan had ultimately had little say when Sam and Rafe came up with the plan about how Vargas could smuggle Nathan into the old prison section without raising any suspicion. Starting a brawl to get the appropriate punishment had been Sam's idea. However, Rafe had gone so far in his deliberations that Nathan would certainly survive a short period in solitary before Vargas would take him out for further punishment and lead him into the prison's catacombs. And in the end, Rafe had indeed convinced Sam that Vargas only needed enough bribe money to keep Nathan's time in the isolation cell to a minimum. Reluctantly, but reassured, Sam had then given in. Nathan had sat there silently; he knew that his doubts would remain unnoticed. So he gave in to his big brother.
In the beginning everything had gone according to plan. Nathan had dutifully started a brawl in the prison yard. Something that hardly any of the inmates expected. Nathan was thinner and missed a few inches in height compared Sam, he didn't seem as well-trained and strong as his older brother. All in all, no threat. However, none of the other prisoners could have guessed that fighting was more or less a core competence of Nathan. Until he was five years old, he had painfully learned not to show the desired reaction to beatings. No flinching. No cries of pain. No groaning. No tears. But merely the instinctive protection of those body parts that would have been fatally affected by his father's blows. Sam had once dared to stand between his little brother and his father as Nathan lay curled up on the floor, his head protected by his hands. Daniel Morgan had struck so violently that Sam had flown against the coffee table and then lay there motionless.
It was only at the orphanage that Nathan began to fight back. He and Sam were easy victims for the other boys. Their father was a well-known drunkard who had driven his wife to suicide at the end of the day and then left his sons to the state. "Hey, Morgan. How long before your dad meets your mom in hell?" Even if the nuns tried to convince him otherwise, it was Bobby Campbell's own fault that Nathan gave him a black eye. Cassandra Morgan would never go to hell. His mother had seen no other way out, she was helplessly exposed to her addicted husband with her mental illness and two small children. But God would never allow her to be denied the entry to heaven. Never. And if Bobby disagreed, he had to bear the consequences. Nathan didn't care that Bobby was older and bigger and stronger. His pent-up rage and grief had helped him knock the older boy to the ground and then land a well-aimed punch in his frightened face before Sam had managed to pull his little brother away.
After escaping from the orphanage, the brothers had perfected the ability to defend themselves. They did not always have a roof over their heads and Sam did not always manage to stay awake through the night to protect his little brother. More than once they were surprised in their sleep by someone trying to steal their few belongings. And not always was this someone alone, sometimes Sam and Nathan had to fight their way against a small gang literally to the point where they could flee. Sam rather threw himself right into a brawl, while Nathan became more and more tactical as time went on. He looked for weaknesses in his opponents, provoked them into neglecting their cover, and in doing so, placed efficient hits. By the time Sully had taken him under his wing, his mentor had been horrified that he could no longer teach Nathan much when it came to defending himself with his fists. The kid's only 15, he thought, shaking his head.
However, Nathan had made a bold choice regarding his opponent for the prison yard brawl. Gustavo, of all people, the most popular inmate. Gustavo was so popular among the inmates that he had built up a group of followers to protect him, he rarely got his hands dirty. Nathan had had a heated debate with Sam, his big brother had been strictly against Nathan starting a brawl with such a popular inmate.
******
"It's suicide, Nathan!" Sam paced back and forth angrily in their shared cell, his hands playing with an invisible cigarette.
Nathan sat on his cot and calmly met his brother's agitated gaze. "I'm only gonna have one fight here, and it's gonna be one fight only so Vargas has no choice but to throw me into solitary.”
Sam interrupted his agitated walk and stopped in front of Nathan. "They'll throw anybody into solitary who picks a fight."
Nathan sighed. "But Vargas needs an obvious reason to take me to the catacombs afterwards." They had learned beforehand how feared this place was among the inmates. The prison guards used the corridors to chastise less cooperative inmates. At least that's the way Vargas put it. But Sam and Nathan knew what Vargas meant by that: When the guards were bored, they would pick inmates to beat them up in the catacombs using the truncheon ... A nice change in the apparently boring daily routine. The perfect job for people with sadistic dispositions.
"The only way to get to the old prison section is through the catacombs. A little disagreement with Gustavo is the best option. I don't want to have to fight more than once. And being thrown into solitary more than once." Nathan had to bite his lip. His response had been rougher than he had intended.
Sam sat down next to him on the cot. I know I'm asking a lot of you, little brother. But you're the better climber, so I need you to get up to the tower and search Burnes' cell. We're doing this for Mum! We're a big step closer to Avery's treasure. He put his arm around Nathan's shoulders. "Take care of yourself, little brother."
Nathan smiled weakly.
******
It had been easy to provoke Gustavo to such an extent that he had landed the first punch without hesitation. However, Nathan hadn't anticipated how quickly his opponent would explode - dodging had been impossible. You idiot. Concentrate. Nathan had tried to ignore his humming skull and the burning skin on his right cheekbone. It had been clear that he would not come out of this unscathed. But then he had taken the next blow deliberately, even dropping himself against a wooden table to lull Gustavo to safety. "Esto va estar más fácil de lo esperaba, eh!" Oh, no, you son of a bitch. It's not going to be that easy.
Finally, Nathan had made it. Already after the first counterattacks, Gustavo was not so sure of himself and had to admit that this gringo knew how to fight. But still it had been close. So close that Nathan was shocked at himself, with what blind rage he could strike at a man lying on the ground who had tried to kill him only moments before. And then Vargas had finally stepped in.
On the way to the solitary, Nathan made a little check. He limped a little and could feel a heavy bruise forming on his left ribcage. Probably some cracked ribs as the icing on the cake. Nothing he hasn't had before. The laceration on his lip, a bruised nose and the bruise on his cheek - also nothing he hadn't had before. His still aching head, however, worried him a little. He couldn't need a concussion if he had to climb.
However, Nathan was sure that the ascending nausea had nothing to do with a possible concussion. Solitary. Nathan had ended up in prison more than once, despite his young age of only 23 years, but he had always been spared the isolation cell. And so the panic rose with every step they took along the long corridor. A guard was already standing in front of a cell and seemed to be waiting for them. At Vargas' command he opened the door.
Be cool. Keep your cool. Fight every instinct to run. Nathan played through his panic the way he always played through his true emotions: He gave the smartass.
"Oh, come on! How long am I supposed to be in here?" The guard shoved him in the cell. "And where's the toilet?"
Vargas didn't bat an eyelid. "You're lookin' at it. Have a good time."
"I will. Gracias!” The door closed and locked. Only a small crack of light escaped under the it. Otherwise, Nathan was surrounded by darkness.
He held his left side and slid down the wall with a soft hiss of pain. Rafe had assured him that he had offered Vargas enough money to get Nathan out of the cell as quickly as possible. "An hour. Tops, Nate." With a sigh, Nathan leaned his head against the wall and stretched his legs. Even an hour could be a small eternity in this environment. He closed his eyes and tried to count the seconds. Soon all this would be over.
3,600 Mississippis later, there was no sign of Vargas. A little over ten thousand Mississippis passed before Nathan gave up. He now noticed that the crack of light had disappeared from under the door. Apparently the lights in the hall had been turned off. He blinked and tried to focus his eyes on some point in the room, but there was just nothing there. Except crushing, absolute blackness.
Nathan carefully changed his position, holding a protective hand to his ribs. He should have known that Vargas would not get him out of that hole after only an hour. The guard simply enjoyed his position of power too much. He wondered for how long he would leave him there.
Nathan's eyes wandered restlessly through the blackness that surrounded him as he listened intently in the direction of the corridor. No guard to make a patrol. No inmate who banged on the door of the isolation cell in his desperation. Absolute silence surrounded Nathan - except for the increasing sound of his heartbeat. His pulse made itself heard more and more persistently into his consciousness and increased just as persistently in speed. Alright, Nate. Stay calm. Nathan tried to take a deep breath, but flinched as his bruised ribs protested against calm, steady breaths.
Shit. He seemed to have gotten more out of the fight with Gustavo than he realized. Nathan's hand gently ran across his stomach, but flinched in horror as it felt hardened areas. Hectically, he thought back to the fight. Of course. Gustavo had landed more than one hit against his stomach. Internal bleeding. What if he gave me fucking internal bleeding? Nathan's pulse was racing, his breathing was shallow and frantic. I could die here and no one would notice!
If he lost consciousness now, it would be over. He would just fall over and never open his eyes again. They'd eventually unlock the cell and all they'd find was his body. Because Vargas wouldn't have stuck to the deal and got him out of this miserable hole after a goddamn hour.
Nathan blinked back the tears that prickled in his eyes. So that would be the end of him. Alone. In a dark cell in a prison in Panama. Died because no one cared to make sure he wasn't hurt more seriously. And it hurt. Every breath hurt. His pulse raced so fast that he feared his heart would explode at any moment.
His hand trembled as he reached into his face to wipe away the first tears he could no longer suppress. "Ow!" He had accidentally touched the laceration under his right eye, which he had completely forgotten.
It was as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head. Nathan's mind was suddenly restored to clear thinking through the pain. Panic attack, Nate. You had a panic attack, kiddo. A shaky laugh escaped him as he carefully leaned his head against the wall and his body slowly calmed down again. His last panic attack seemed too long ago, if he could no longer recognize and contain the harbingers of it.
He carefully slid onto his side and used his right arm as a makeshift pillow. He had no choice but to count the Mississippis again. Keeping his head busy so his mind wouldn't get any funny ideas. Nathan closed his eyes. One Mississippi ... two Mississippi ...
Six hundred Mississippis later, the unimaginable had happened. Nathans’s body had given in to exhaustion and he was asleep.