Lincoln was pacing, his shoulders hunched, his face a changing palette of frustration and concern. Michael’s heavily hooded eyes follow him around the room, his head resting tentatively against the wall; his hands as ever tucked inside his pockets. He turned his face to the window as a movement outside the house catches his eyes. His hands leap out of his pocket and part the horizontal blinds with a quick twist. Seconds later, three short raps on the door stop Lincoln in his tracks.

Michael nods, “He’s back” then he sighs and for a moment closes his eyes and with his head still resting on the cool shadowed wall he raises his face to the ceiling gulping slightly. He moves away from the wall, gently stepping into the centre of the room, his hands now free, but they feel awkward and he plunges them back into his pockets as his brother moves to the door.

Lincoln darts a snatched look at LJ asleep on the sofa before carefully unhooking the latch and opening the door. A short grey haired man enters clutching a file of papers, he checks around the room and then moves hesitantly forward away from the door.

Lincoln closes and locks the door, and rushes towards him barely containing his patience
“Well ? you were gonna call, what happened to the call?

“Lincoln, Michael,” he nods in both their directions and then takes in LG still asleep on the sofa. He places a large file of papers on the table pushing aside some empty takeaway containers.

“We have an offer, several offers in fact and they’re pretty remarkable as far as I’m concerned.” He pauses waiting for a reaction from the brothers; the lawyer gets nothing just guarded stares
“Gentleman I’ve spent years fighting the inadequacies of our legal system and yet I’ve never seen a pack of card collapse so easily. I sense the heavy hand of the new resident of the Oval office at work here, he and his people are getting down deep and dirty with the federal lawyers. There was hardly a door that wasn’t already opened up, incredible,,,” his voice trailed off as he smiled to himself.

“What then?…Just tell us,” Lincolns impatience already breaking through the thin veneer of his control.

Turning to face the elder brother the lawyer continued
“They’ve agreed a full exoneration and compensation for wrongful imprisonment on the murder charges for you Lincoln“ and pausing slightly his smiling face betraying his next words “and they will look the other way on the break out and all the minor misdemeanours committed in the last few weeks to stay free. As from now you’re a free and then adding mischievously “ and rather wealthy man Mr Burrows.”

Lincoln shuddered with relief, and almost fell onto the table his arms gripping the sides, bracing himself, his eyes tightly shut. Michael moved quickly across the room and placed his hands carefully on his brother’s shoulders, smiling and breathing deeply, they reach for each other and hug silently, completing it with playful slaps on each others back. Lincoln’s eyes fall on the still sleeping boy on the sofa and immediately turns back to the lawyer.
“And LJ? “

“Again all charges dropped, some compensation but they argue he’s spent just a few weeks in custody and had never started serving his sentence. He’s also a free man as from now.”

There was something in the choice of words that made Michael turn and face him straightening slowly. His hands move back to his pockets his smile fading into a deep stare, then slowly all emotion washes off his face.
The lawyer had noticed this and his voice deepens and slows, and there is a look of growing resignation on his face as he continues.
“All charges connected with the VP and company conspiracy will disappear, it sits well with the sense of ‘fairness’ the new administration want to promote. He smiles as if the explanation was enough, then hesitantly he continues

“However ..”
At this Michael sighs deeply and stares down at his feet. Almost as if he can peer beyond the leather and see the maimed foot, the strange space where two of his toes should be. He notes how he can still surprise himself at the oddness of his own body. He starts to smile knowing what he’s about to hear, knowing this was always going to happen throughout those months of planning and the weeks of implementing inside the walls of Fox River.

The lawyer faltered seeing Michael’s face but Lincoln was now right in his face and was uttering the question that Michael already knew the answer to.

“And Michael? What are they gonna give him?”

“I’m sorry his case is different” looking away from the angry stare of Lincoln

“Whadya mean different? He saved me, he saved them for christsakes, they would have killed an innocent man!“ He was shouting now, barely concealed rage set across his face

The lawyer had been expecting this, and his reply was studied,
“Its different because Michael committed a real crime, fired a real gun in a real bank with real people lying terrified on the floor around him. His motives for that , we all know now were of the highest, but they do not make his crime less real. It’s a matter of justice”
“Justice!” snorted Lincoln, his face now just inches away from the lawyers calm demeanour
“Justice” repeated the lawyer and stepped back.

Lincoln looked over at his brother who was standing eerily quiet, but he caught the brief look of hopelessness deep inside those eyes. Michaels lips were pursed his breathing was rapid and shallow as he seemed to be fighting an internal panic.
“OK OK so maybe not exoneration but a reprieve, time off his sentence? Something…. they gotta give him, … us something! The guys a hero! “

Michael had turned away from the two men, his hands clutched each other behind his head, his elbows squeezing, his eyes closed, he sighed again. Nodding his head slowly from side to side he wondered why he’s disappointed, had he really thought there would be any other end to this? He knew the outcome was always going to be the same, he was going back, there was no such thing as a happy ending.

The lawyers tone had become more businesslike .
“Lincoln, its not just a matter of overlooking the Armed robbery, Michael could also be facing charges for several related crimes inside Fox River including breaking out 6 other criminals when he freed you. I’ve seen a list of potential charges and just for starters they have…, he paused and moved to the table and opened the papers scanning down a short list on the top paper.

“Damaging state property
Theft
Aiding and abetting the escape of state prisoners
Assault
And it finishes with murder 1 on two counts.”

“Murder? “ Lincoln half gasped this out and Michael spun round his eyes staring incomprehensively
The lawyer continued to read the paper, unaware of the mounting incomprehension on both the brothers faces.
“Maytag – a fellow prisoner, and Robert Tyler … ….a Correctional officer. Papers have been filed by the DA in Chicago to say Michael’s the prime suspect in both those murders.”

Michael slumped into the chair next to the table, his face in his hands, this wasn’t sounding good. He shook his head, this couldn’t be happening.

Lincoln however was smiling and shaking his head and in an almost relieved voice replied
“Jesus they’re clutching at straws, neither of those were down to Michael and they know it. They’re not real. “ They even charged someone else for Bob, why the changes now? WHY?”

Michael couldn’t stop the images racing into his head, Maytag, so much blood, his need for that stupid bolt, would it have happened if he hadn’t needed that bolt…then Bob, the shock at finding him tied to his bunk when he returned to the cell, again so much blood and then not protecting him properly, he should have taken him to safety like he did the doc, he started the riot, he was to blame wasn’t he? He closed his eyes slowly shaking his head. Yes he was responsible and it was only right he paid the price.

The lawyer lowered his head and again scanned the paper, they have a signed statements from several inmates saying they witnessed Michael stab Maytag during a disturbance on the wing and later attack and kill Bob during the riot, they’re working now on collecting more statements, on building a case. I guess the Warden wants to clear up these murders for his own reputation, even if the escape itself will always be on his record.

Lincoln stormed over to the paper, checking the names and laughed,
“These are all the Ayrian guys, they started the problems, T bag’s cronies.
They’re just trying to get even for T Bag not making it through the escape, Jesus, T bag shanked the CO himself.”

The lawyer was still studying the paperwork,
“You may be right Mr Burrows, we may be able to fight these and win some of them. However they will want some blood, they need to show the public that no matter what, crime doesn’t pay and their pound of flesh is going to come from Michael, I’m afraid. All we’re into now is damage limitation, we’ll plea bargain, and hope they drop the more serious charges and see what we come out with.”
He hesitated as he watched Michael lean forward in the chair, his hands clasped together his thumb slowly rubbing against the part of the tattoo visible below his cuff.
Then his voice brightened slightly
“ The good news is this case is about as high profile as it can get, so we have the best law firms in the State desperate to get in on this. Michael won’t want for legal help far beyond anything I can contribute.”
“Hey we’re grateful you’re helping” Lincoln mumbled
The older man smiled.” Veronica was one of my staff, I helped train her, she shouldn’t have died, but that was probably the one death too many in all of this, all I had to do was present the information she and Nick and found, everything unravelled from her work. That’s why you’re now free and they’re talking with us rather than trying to gun you both down.”

The silence that followed showed they were all thinking of Veronica and the other victims in this mess.

“And the bad news?”…again Michael had not been slow in picking up the intonation in his voice.
The lawyer turned to face the younger brother, his voice slow and deliberate
“No negotiations until you’re in custody.”
Lincoln had moved over to his brother, his hand now laying gently on his shoulder then gripping the back of his neck, the lawyer was startled by this show of tenderness from a man who had been portrayed as a very dangerous man to America over these last few weeks.
Michael half smiled as he listened to his fate….
“And they want a very public display of the arrest, He hesitated now and he knew the words that followed would seem harsh and cruel, he just hoped they realised they weren’t his, he was just the messenger.
“ they need you in chains, shackled for everyone to see , they need their news stories, their sound bytes and internet images. They made that clear, ..very clear to me. “

“No, I will not let that happen!” growled Lincoln, turning to face his brother
“We can fight this, Michael can stay hidden, Mexico, Panama “
Kneeling down by him he grasped Michaels face in his hands imploring him to look at him as he continued. “I can get you there, the money, you can disappear, open that damn Dive shop” his voice dropping with the desperation .
Michael ignored Lincolns desperately voiced plans and turning back to the lawyer asked in a low soft voice

“When and how?”

The lawyer seemed relieved that Michael was remaining unemotional, he watched as Lincoln, his head lowered into his hands went silent.

“They made it crystal clear, you hand yourself in immediately and publicly, if you cooperate they will take this into account when your sentence is re-negotiated. “the lawyer continued
Lincoln groaned
“No bro, I can’t let you do this”
Michael stood up and breathed deeply he tuned to his brother
“Lincoln, you’re safe now and LJ finally gets another chance at having a Dad,” he glanced over to the crumpled body on the sofa,, His voice dropped and they almost missed what he said next.
Closing his eyes, he raised his face to the ceiling “I can’t keep on running, I just want to climb back into my old life, my old skin”, he smiled as he thought of the tattoo forever obliterating his old skin. Then lowering his gaze he fixed on his brother “that can’t happen until this is truly finished. “
“No…”Lincoln almost cried out this last word and in a huge outburst of pent up anger swept the legal papers off the table and onto the floor.
Then a quieter “no…”full of sadness and guilt ….

tbc

The next day

Mahone straightened his cuffs and with a small half smile to his team walked out into the sunshine, stepping quickly down the stone steps outside the FBI offices in downtown Chicago. He glanced up as he reached the bottom and noticed for the first time the myriad of news vans parked along the bottom of the steps . All the Chicago stations were there but so were the Nationals, he wondered if the numbers meant it was a slow day for news or the allure of the Fox River 8 story was still strong. Crews busied themselves with last minute arrangements for the hastily arranged press conference.

A producer and newsreader were blowing on hot cups of coffee
“Any idea what the breaking news here? I thought the trail had gone cold several weeks ago?”
The other shrugged their shoulders, blowing away some of the froth from her drink before sipping and grimacing
“Guess they just want to keep us all interested. Wonder why we’re out here though, why can’t we use their press room, the coffee’s better in there as well.”
They both smiled then turned as a cab drew up against the sidewalk twenty yards down from the steps. Suddenly the steps and street was filled with police their guns drawn, FBI men flooded from the building as well, their jackets and weapons making it absolutely clear who they were and that they meant business.
“What’s happening?” asked the puzzled newsreader, as the journalists both turned towards the taxi.
A man was getting out of the taxi, he was wearing a dark coloured suit, he looked like any business man, except he carried no papers or case. The woman journalist noticed instead his long slender fingers as he slowly moved away from the cab and raised both his hands into the air.

“Isn’t that… ?” she asked, then with sudden realisation she clicked into work mode physically pulled her cameraman around who was filming the law enforcement officers on the steps and started her broadcast.
“The mastermind of the Fox River breakout, Michael Scofield has just appeared at the FBI building and seems to be about to give himself up…….Yes we can confirm this is breaking news Michael Scofield, leader and mastermind behind the Fox River breakout and brother of the recently exonerated Lincoln Burrows appears to be handing himself in…." Behind her everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as more and more police arrived and the crews became aware of what was happening.

Michael moved several more steps away from the cab and then smiled, he turned around slowly in an eerie replay of his original arrest at the bank, taking in the slowed traffic in the street, the TV vans and crews and the phalanx of police and FBI agents, an assortment of guns trained on him. Someone shouted
“Get down Scofield”
He slowly went down on one knee then the other, his arms still raised to the sky.
He looked up and met the stare of Mahone who was motionless at the bottom of the stone steps, and stared back, still with a half smile on his face.
Then they descended on him, pushing him roughly to the pavement, his face hit the ground and he turned his head to carry on staring at Mahone. He was cuffed with plastic ties, his arms pulled tightly behind him. Then he was hauled roughly up to his knees. He stared around, a slight shake of the head, a look of puzzlement on his face. There were at least 30 guns trained on him. His eyes flickered as flashbulbs reflected of his face from the banks of press now circling the FBI teams. He couldn’t help thinking this was overkill, but he guessed being ‘America’s most wanted ‘ meant the cops were taking any chances and there was surely a little playing up to the cameras going on here. ….and then an arm was reaching down to him and pulling him almost gently up to standing.
Mahone whispered to him,
“Scofield, I’m ending this circus right now” and turning him slowly pushed his way through the encircling cops and media and walked slowly up the steps with him.

At the top Michael turned and caught one last look at the news crews, photographers and police and turned to face Mahone before he was surrounded once again by armed officers..
“Thank you”

Mahone turned to him,
“I been wanting to meet you for quite a while, Michael, lets go talk.”

Processing

Mahone turned and guided Michael in front of him and through the doors into the building.
Michael’s eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom at first, then gradually he realised he was in a small glass lobby … a security area separated from the main reception by a single glass wall. A short hum and part of the glass wall opened and several men approached him; their automatic weapons were slung over their shoulders as they reached out for him.
Mahone finally let go of Michael when two of them moved either side and grabbed his arms.

“Take him downstairs and process him , and “ his voice hardening “get it right, there is a room full of very expensive suits upstairs waiting to represent our Mr Scofield we don’t want them getting excited because you messed up his rights. I want him back for questioning in one hour”
Michael turned to stare at Mahone one more time before his view was blocked by several more FBI agents surrounding him, the larger officer on his left growled “move it Scofield” and roughly pulled him towards a bank of elevators off to the side.

Mahone turned around and left the building again to face the media. They were probably already writing the story of how America was a much safer place now Michael Scofield was on his way back to prison. Mahone sighed, it was crap but it was also his job....

The lobby was pretty full and people had to step to one side to let the group of agents and their prisoner through. Michael heard several whispered “Michael Scofield “and “that’s him” and couldn’t help but smile when one young woman pulled out her cell phone from her bag and brazenly took his picture as he was marched past her.
The elevator doors opened and as he stepped in he felt his suit jacket was pulling uncomfortably, he desperately wanted to unbutton it and relieve the tension of his arms behind his back, but sighed and realised he was no longer able to do anything he wanted. He felt a low pull in his stomach as he realised again how it felt to be a ‘prisoner’
He turned when he reached the back wall of the elevator and then took another small step back as it continued to fill with police officers and FBI agents. Finally once the eighth man had squeezed in the door closed. Michael smiled, his and Linc’s escapade at the Court House elevator had obviously caused this over reaction. What did they really think he would do with his hands tied behind his back? There followed a strange silence, several officers shuffled their feet,finally one of the officers holding Michael lost his patience “press the goddam button someone”
Several hands then reached for the floor button and the elevator started. Michael looked ahead, there were 5 men standing less than a foot from him on all sides, their eyes never leaving his face, their hands nervously gripping their automatic rifles. He blushed at this infringement of his personal space, then remembered this was one of the things he’d first noticed at Fox River, the bulls knew just how close to get to intimidate you. This was beginning to feel very familiar and he sighed as he acknowledged another piece of his dignity was being stripped away.

They travelled down four floors; the engineer in him working out it was probably one of many sub basement levels. He’d heard many government buildings were like icebergs, the public only saw the ‘tip’ and that most of the interesting parts were well underground away from bombs and prying eyes. He half wondered if he’d ever work on that kind of project, his security clearance request would be kinda interesting.He couldn't help but smile.

These thoughts came to an abrupt end as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, his bodyguards slowly filtered out and he was finally allowed to step forward into a bright corridor. They herded him into a smallish room, four of the officers joining him, the others peeling off at the door. It had a table but no chairs, no windows and an unnaturally bright light. The reason for the brightness became obvious as Michael scanned the end wall. Horizontal lines were painted on it at 3inch intervals starting at 4ft and carrying on past 7ft, a height chart, the bright light illuminated them.

Another man entered the room and slowly and carefully read him his rights, then turning to one of the officers said,
“You heard Mahone you have less than an hour to process him, his lawyers are already whinging so sort it.”

His plastic tie was clipped off and he rubbed his wrists slowly, looking around he met just hard stares. One officer stepped forward and handed him a bundle of clothes including a set of orange overalls and a pair of white pumps.
“.Change “, Michael looked around, and responded with “ Here?”. The officer smirked
“Yep here. What do you expect your own changing room?”
Michael took off his jacket and slowly undid his tie, he looked around and finding no alternative he folded them both on the table.
He unbuttoned his shirt, pulling out the hem from his pants and then slipping the crisp blue shirt off and again self consciously folded the shirt on to the top of his jacket. He shivered slightly, but wasn’t sure if it was because of the coldness of the room or the stares from the officers as they caught sight of his tattoo.
He undid his belt slipping it out of the waist loops and started rolling it up. He placed it purposefully on the table and couldn’t help noticing as it slowly uncoiled itself. He half reached out for it again as he desperately wanted to roll it up again, to make it neat, to please him aesthetically but hesitated, inhibited by the watchfulness of the four officers.
He leant down to unfasten his shoes and then stood up and slipped out of them and his socks. Standing up he rolled his socks together and slipped the ball into one of his shoes which he also placed on the table. The floor was concrete and cold and he flexed his toes.He noticed one of the officers staring at his left foot and he sighed.

The officers were still less than 3 feet from him, he realised they were not going to move back or make this any more comfortable for him. He put his hands momentarily on his hips and turned his head to look at all of them, then sighed and shrugging his shoulders he unbuttoned his pants and as quickly as he could he slipped them down and stepped out of them.

He reached for the overalls but a hand came out to stop him.
“Everything Scofield”, nodding to his boxers.
Michael was sure this humiliation had some purpose, he just couldn’t see what at this point, but he was not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much he hated this.
Michael pursed his lips, and then pushed his grey cotton boxers down over his hips and onto the floor. He reached for the overalls and was relieved when a pair of white boxers were revealed between the folds. He grabbed them and slipped them on followed quickly by the t shirt and finally the overalls. Everything was a little too loose and smelled of bleach. Michael started to fold his pants but was sharply told “leave them” as one of the officers handed him the white pumps. Michael leant against the table and pulled them onto his feet, unlike the clothes they were too small and he grimaced when he managed to squeeze them on feeling self conscious about his maimed left foot.

The clink and rattle told him what was coming next, cuffs, waist and leg chains. Two guards knelt down to attach them to his ankles and around his waist. He had known they would be used, it was protocol after all to make any con in transit wear them but these were heavier than the ones at Fox River and they allowed him even less movement. He leant against the table again once they were on , testing how far he could move his hands and arms. Not far…. inches, and he guessed he would be able to do little more than shuffle in the leg chains. He smiled inwardly remembering what Linc had said as they made their goodbyes this morning.
“It will be Ok Mikey, they know you’re not dangerous, hell, most know you should be free, they’ll treat you fine and we’ll get you out within days, maybe hours…”
Linc would be going ape now if he could see him….Michael thought

The officers stood back, almost as if they were admiring their handiwork, then one pulled him roughly towards the wall and the waiting camera. He was handed a board with his name crudely chalked onto it and the date and pushed against the wall.
“Hold the board up” he was commanded, and he tried but the chains restricted his upward movements and the card was no higher than his waist. Once the pictures were taken, a small fingerprinting kit was brought out and placed on the table. His prints were taken and a quick mouth swab completed the processing. Michael was sure he was supposed to give permission for a DNA test but accepted this further humiliation with resignation.

The officer who had taken charge in the elevator had been leaning over the table writing on a piece of paper, he pushed it towards Michael, a list of his possessions and gruffly said “sign for everything Scofield, and then you’re all nice and neat for the guys upstairs”
Michael picked up the pen with difficulty and quickly signed the paper.

The whole process had taken less than 10 minutes, but in that time he had gone from being Michael Scofield, brother, uncle, friend and engineer to less than nothing. Michael knew it was not just his clothes he would leave bundled up on the table, it was his identity, his dignity and his humanity. Now he was just a con…..again.

Chapter 4 – Men in Suits

The journey back in the elevator was less crowded, apparently Michael Scofield, shackled at wrists and ankles only required four armed guards for escort. It stopped at the fifth floor and surrounded by the blank faced entourage and struggling with the short chain linking his ankles he hobbled down a long corridor with a series of closed doors on each side. He was pulled back roughly at the third door and one of the guards unlocked it and pushed him inside. He swallowed and suppressed a scowl, he knew better than to antagonise those responsible for his ‘well-being’ no matter how casually they treated him. He was already remembering the lessons learned in those few weeks at Fox River.

The room wasn’t large but there was space for a solid looking table and several metal chairs. There were no windows, the light came from recessed panels in the ceiling that cast harsh shadows across one wall. Michael was shoved in the back towards the chair at the end of the table nearest the door. He half stumbled towards it, then recovering his balance turned and offered his wrists to the guard for the chains to be unlocked. The guard nodded his head slowly, and taking his elbow pulled him down onto the chair.
“They have to stay on” muttered the elder guard who had remained by the door, the other two guards had not joined them in the room.

When he was sitting the first guard then squatted down and taking a further chain from his belt ran it through a small ring embedded on the floor by the chair. Michael turned his head and watched closely as the chain was then threaded through his ankle chain and back to the ring. He realised with growing surprise they were actually chaining him to the floor. His LLI kicked in and he started estimating the length of the bolts securing the ring through the to the floor underneath: wondering if the bolt was attached to a concrete beam or just the floor panels: calculating the pre tensile strength of the steel bolt and the breaking strain of the linked chain: he shook his head to try and stop these thought processes but his final thought was on how shoddy the work was by adding the ring after the cheap carpet had been laid . It was an afterthought, he hoped it hadn’t been added just for him….. The guard stood back up, satisfied Michael was now going nowhere and left the room. The older guard walked over to the corner and leaned back against the wall.

Michael’s movements were now severely limited, he could only just raise his hands onto the table, he nudged his chair closer to the table gaining a precious few inches of movement. He sighed and scanned the room. He first noticed the camera, on a small mount, high in the corner of the room. He turned and found a second one behind him, understanding this would guarantee visual cover for every inch of the room. Finally his eyes came to rest on the large mirror stretching across the far wall. He knew instantly it was two way and that behind it would be a viewing room. He wondered if there were people watching him now, Mahone possibly? He stared into the mirror, could he see shadows? He narrowed his gaze and decided he could see nothing but his reflection and that of the guard behind him.

He turned to the guard and in a neutral tone as he could manage asked quietly
“Could I have a drink of water boss?”

The guard shrugged
“I’m not allowed to leave you,” and then stared ahead as if the exchange hadn’t taken place.
Michael sighed again and turned back to the table and started to tap his fingers quickly on the table.

Mahone continued to stare into the room at Michael. He held the file containing all the information his team had pulled together on Scofield down by his side. He stepped forward and raised his fingers to the glass and started to softly tap unconsciously mirroring Michael’s movements on the table. Then he turned quickly away and left the room, silently passing the three suited gentlemen in the corridor.

The door opened and the lawyers entered, All three proffered hands and smiles. Michael tried to stand but was pulled back by the chains and he mumbled an apology. The team leader recovered from his initial embarrassment at finding his client so heavily restrained and sat quickly down across from Michael. The second lawyer busied himself setting up a small laptop on the table and the third opened an impressive leather bound note book, Michael noticed he took out an expensive fountain pen with a small flourish and a half smile escaped his lips.

Michael sat back and surveyed the men; they exuded confidence, class and money. They were young, successful professionals and obviously doing very well indeed, they were in fact, him…4 months ago and he realised how sad this thought made him….he then wondered exactly how expensive they were going to be and who was paying, but before he could worry too much his thoughts were interrupted

“Mr Scofield , our firm Austen Trollop and Bennett have been hired to assist you through the negotiations with the DA and to represent you in your hearing before Judge Heller. Your previous lawyer has passed all the paperwork over to us yesterday.

Michael wasn’t sure if it was the man’s voice, or that he was now actually looking at him properly for the first time but he began to realise he knew the guy
“Don’t I know you? Aren’t you?……errr Alan, no Adam ….Adam S……”

“Adam Sinclair” the man helpfully finished for him “and yes, we were at college together.” Michael smiled then added
“We were in the same dorm, in fact didn’t you throw up in my waste paper bin in our second year?”
Adam blushed
“I couldn’t hold my drink back then”

One of his colleagues smirked and Michael guessed he still couldn’t…

“Well I wish I could say its nice to meet you again Adam but …”and he raised his cuffed hands slightly …”as you can see its not an ideal situation here for me.”

Adam smiled back
“Michael, it’s a pleasure to be able to help you, we were all very excited when we got this chance to work on such an …” he paused, searching for the word…”interesting challenge. Its incredibly high profile for us all.”

“I’m just beginning to realise that” added Michael his voice dropping almost imperceptibly
He sat forward slightly, his shoulders hunched, he wasn’t unhappy that he knew his attorney but he wasn’t sure why he now felt uneasy. Perhaps he had never really thought at how compartmentalised his life had become.
His job, his loft, his colleagues his life of relative privilege had been kept so separate from his brother’s life, and more recently from his all consuming plan to save Linc.
He had stopped inviting back friends to his loft almost a year ago as he buried himself into his research. After all, he couldn’t risk them seeing the company plans on his wall or documents blue tacked to his windows. He knew it would seem weird, obsessive, hell, he even thought it was weird for chrissake!
He’d stopped going to the gym when his growing tattoos became impossible to hide without long sleeve shirts and he’d stopped going out in the evenings as he felt guilty for not working on the details of the plan.
Weekends were spent making trips out, scouting locations for the later elements of the escape..
The plan had become his life and he had welcomed it, it had filled so many voids in his life that the façade of being a young professional success had failed to do for years.
But what he now felt was a kind of lingering embarrassment. Now the two halves of his life had crashed together in this room. He was sitting here with his peers, with people he used to be like, but he was there as a prisoner, his lurid orange jumpsuit and chains making it clear he was no longer one of them. Did he sense their embarrassment for him? Or was it pity? He gulped and turned his face again to the large mirror. His skin prickled and he turned back to Adam.

“So what happens now….?”

“Well we have a two phased attack” started Adam.
“Firstly, negotiate our way through your current rap sheet losing everything we can, and those we can’t move, bargain down to less serious charges. We’ve already had a preliminary meeting with the DA’s team and were optimistic that they will give up the homicide charges without a fight.”

Michael nodded silently this sounded like good planning.

“Secondly we do our best to influence the people who will decide on your sentence, the judge, the Governor, and because of the unique circumstances in this case, the Oval office. “ Adam paused, as if for affect and Michael interjected.

“How do you influence them? “
Adam smiled.
“Our strongest weapon is public opinion, Matt here, is monitoring the public conscience on your case. “
Matt looked up from his screen and smiled and took this as his cue.

“We’re already getting movement on all sites, and that’s just a couple of hours from the news of your brother’s and nephew’s exoneration, their websites are humming, activity is up 300% in the last hour alone”

“Wait what do you mean …their websites? Linc never even figured out how to access porn!” Michael exclaimed

Matt sighed “ I understand you’ve not been in circulation for several months, but the web has become a key player in moulding public reaction. Your brother’s case was picked up by the usual ‘Anti death penalty ‘sites after his final appeal failed. When you escaped…” he paused and smiled “ so spectacularly, hundreds of small websites set up to track your progress all very supportive of Linc and yourself. The forums shared pictures and speculation as to where you all were and were responsible for starting many email campaigns to free Lincoln. “
He drew a breath and continued
“As you can imagine, since the announcement late last night of the conspiracy being cracked and your brothers innocence, they’ve now gone mad. Many are now turning their focus onto your case. I’m expecting another huge jump in activity now the reports of your surrender have broken in the media. I have to say Mr Scofield that you seem to be focusing the energies of a growing minority of the female online population. Apparently you’re officially the ‘hottest’ felon in the country right now. I’m tempted to ride this and use your official site to run a daily blog from you” .

“Official site?” Michael wasn’t sure he was hearing properly
“ Yes, well we’ve not completed the design it yet but it will linked from our office site and include all the factual information of your case, where and how people can write to ask for clemency and links through to Lincolns case and the conspiracy. We’ll add photos to humanise the whole thing of course. This is one of the most interesting aspects of your case, my speciality is tracking and managing public response to cases that impact public morality.”

“Pictures?” Michael was still reacting to his earlier sentences and finding this all a bit hard to take in. He wasn’t sure if Matt was a lawyer or a publicist or a strange hybrid of the two.

“Well we only have your police shot and one from Fox River to work with at the moment, we could do with a few prior to the robbery especially if we are to placate your female support.” Matt smiled not realising how surreal this was all sounding to Michael. “Do you want to see some of the sites?”.. Adam shook his head “ perhaps next time Matt”

Michael shook his head then raising his hands as far as he could manage with the chains rubbed briefly against his forehead.

“So, what are my chances, Adam?”

Adam leaned back and placed his hands together carefully on the table. Breathing out slowly.
“Michael I ‘m just not sure yet how this will play out. The parameter of outcomes is clear, he moved his left hand to the left, it starts with a full pardon for all crimes, probably from state or presidential level, then he moved his right hand to the right slowly, to…..Well if they dig their heels in and we assume you face the standard sentences for the charges we cant lose, possibly 20 years…..pausing “ maybe 25 max.”

Michael gasped then sighed “no” His eyes filled, his breath shortened this was far worse than anything he had imagined…those numbers terrified him, he could feel panic rising and his lips dried.

He turned again to the guard and said “any chance of that water now?”

“Michael I’m sure we wouldn’t be looking at the worse case here, that would assume no clemency for the original robbery, the breakout, the assaults and I just don’t think the authorities will want to appear that cruel. I’m sure their requirement for ‘justice’ will be appeased by a token sentence. After all your continued incarceration will be problematical wherever you are sent. The DOC may well hope you’re pardoned and don’t end up their problem. …again.”

Michael tried to smile but he was still trying to digest the fact that he could face 20 years back in jail. He clenched his teeth and hands, forcing himself to calm down, stay focused.

“So when is the hearing?”

“Initial session in court tomorrow, you will be held here by the Feds until then, then tomorrow night and after at a local facility until the full court date has been set, that’s bound to take a few weeks. Once the charges are settled on, the DA will need to build their case, witnesses called etc.” Adam stated

“What witnesses? “Asked Michael,
Adam shrugged; “depends on the final charges, but assume they keep the assaults while escaping charges- that I understand involved several Fox River staff” They will certainly be called.
He stopped and checked for the first time the file in front of him
Henry Pope, Tim Cleary - An orderly in the Psych ward, Brad Bellick a CO

Michael nodded, this was a list he’d made in his head many times over the last few weeks, the guilt would not go away.

“We’re pleading for equity of treatment on all the charges after you escaped. They are on shaky ground pushing those when they’ve already pardoned Lincoln for the same crimes.

We will have to give them all we can on your escape plan though Michael, the DOC want chapter and verse, so they may want to call anyone who may have been negligent , and assisted your escape, possibly one of the medical staff?”

Sara….he means Sara…. Michaels thoughts raced and he nervously brushed his lips with the tip of his tongue.
“What if….what if I can’t cooperate? Michael’s question hung in the air for several moments……
Adam looked at him strangely,
“I can’t imagine why that would happen, we have to have something on the table if we are going to talk down those years for you Michael.”
Michael seemed to be processing details several minutes after he heard them, and he was struggling with this unusual, for him, time slip
“You said local facility….will that be Fox River?” Michael stared at him, willing him to mouth the negative.

“We’ve already petitioned for temporary incarceration at an alternative facility. The DOC are happy enough, most of the senior personal at Fox River have moved on but its felt by all parties its best you don’t go back there. I suspect it will be Statesville for the next few weeks.”
Michael was visibly relieved, he knew what terrors he would face if he went back and he also knew the three men in the room with him now , could never even start to comprehend them.

They spent the next half hour talking through the various charges he could face and Michael being advised on how to deal with the upcoming interrogation from Mahone. Then movement at the door and suddenly he was now sitting across from the man who had been relentlessly chasing him for the past few months.
And he still hadn’t got that water………..

tbc

Chapter 5
The interrogation


Mahone had been followed into the room by another agent who busied himself setting up a twin tape recorder at one end of the table. Mahone gave what seemed to be a nervous smile to the lawyers and then turned to stare at Michael. Several minutes lapsed with both sides remaining silent. He let out a sigh of exasperation as the agent puzzled over where to plug the tape deck in, finally sending him off to a chair in the far corner once the decks green light showed it was on.

He coughed, clearing his throat and then announced

“I have to advise you that the interviews today except for those governed by client /lawyer privileges will be filmed, he gestured at the camera behind Michael, and taped. Copies of both will be made available to your legal team in the normal way. I understand that you have agreed to fully cooperate with us in the investigation of the escape and my team will go through that in detail this afternoon.”
Michael glanced at Sinclair his face giving nothing away.
Mahone continued
“Full plans of the prison will be available by then and we expect you to take us through the escape route and other security weaknesses at Fox River in detail. “
Michael inwardly digested the statement ‘other security weaknesses’…did he mean Sara?

Mahone paused then in a understated voice
“That’s not why I’m here now though.” He was staring into the middle distance, his voice slowing, “I have to write the why and wherefores of this escape, tally the deaths , the injured, those terrorised by the ‘Fox River 8’ “

Mahone took his glasses off and started to swing them slowly in his hand.
He turned to look at Michael

“How’s your conscience Michael? “ Michael was silent for several seconds meeting Mahone’s look full on.

“How’s yours? Seems to me some of those deaths were down to you” Michael replied in a clear voice

Adam Sinclair leaned forward as if to whisper something in Michael’s ears but Michael ignored him and shifted back in his chair, bringing his cuffed hands up onto the chest.’ Regretting the movement the instant the chain scraped through the ring in the floor.

Mahone smiled,” Yes, they were Michael and that’s what happens to fugitives who refuse to come quietly. I was just doing my job.”

Michael sneered but remained silent in reply.
Mahone pulled the file he had brought with him closer to him and took out a sheet.

“Why was t bag on the team Michael?”

Michael had been staring at his hands but without raising his head looked up at the FBI agent

“Sorry?”
” Oh …. I think you heard me, I want to know why someone who was only trying to liberate his wrongly accused and about to be executed brother would include in the escape team the scum that is Mr Theodore Bagwell. Murderer, rapist and much more, “
At that Mahone pushed a piece of paper over to Michael turning it so he could read it. “You ever seen his rap sheet?”
Michael ignored the document, his eyes remained fixed on Mahone.

After several seconds of silence Mahone interjected

“For the benefit of the tape please note Scofield has refused to answer.”

Sinclair reached forward again but Michael just nodded no and moved back in the chair again.

The Agent continued,
“Why did you dig the tunnel in the guards room? It would appear given the timing of the escape you all exited from the back of your cell in the block? Surely it wasn’t just a place to stash Bellick?”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed, he leant forward and calmly started talking

“We were planning to break out from that room, that would have allowed Lincoln to be in the right place at the right time and give us longer before the next count. However one of the team told Bellick about the tunnel, he found it and Westmoreland tied him up. The escape had to be brought forward and we started from the cell and that’s why I had to go to plan B for getting Lincoln to the infirmary.”

“Plan B, that’s the one where you threatened Henry Pope with a shank, tied him up, and then knocked him unconscious right?” Mahone’s sarcastic tone was lost on no one

Michaels gaze dropped to the floor and he nervously rubbed the cuff of his overall with his thumb.

“Yes, and I wish there had been another way.”

“I’m sure you do Michael but I’m just as sure that my report on your escape will not be entitled ‘The end justifies the means…’”

Michael scowled at him and concentrated on rubbing a non-existent mark off the cuff.

“Did you find DB Coopers money? We found the hole in the garage, was the money there, are you planning on being very rich when you finally get out of prison Michael?”

Michael again remained silent, Sinclair this time tried to smooth over his clients reluctance to answer. This clearly wasn’t how he had planned the 'cooperative discussions' to go.
“I’m not clear what that has to do with the escape Agent Mahone? I’m sure my client will be more helpful on details regarding the escape, rather than unconnected incidents.”

“I wonder if Charles Westmoreland would have thought they were ‘unconnected ‘ Mr Sinclair. We would ask him of course, but he bled out on the infirmary floor the night of the escape, didn’t he Michael? Wasn’t that why you extended an invitation to him, because he was D B Cooper?
Again near silence, in which the only noise was three lawyers shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.

“For the tapes benefit Mr Scofield again refuses to answer.”

Michael couldn’t see where these questions were going; they were all over the place. Some were so easy, just plain facts about the plan, but Mahone kept throwing in the tough ones, ones he really didn’t want to answer. He’d also noticed something creeping in now behind Mahone’s voice. Something he thought he could just detect. Was it anger, anger at Michael? Then he realised what it was and smiled, Mahone was pissed it had ended like this, Michael handing himself in, it robbed Mahone the chance to solve it , find him, capture him. Michael had filled in the blank puzzles in the crossword for him, he’d robbed Mahone of that final satisfaction of showing how clever he could be.
Michael now felt he could handle the questions, his eyes darkened and hardened, he could do this.

“You escaped over a week after Lincoln’s original execution date, what happened? Without the new evidence Lincoln would have fried while you were still digging, not such a great plan huh, what happened Michael?”

Another easy one, this was getting predictable thought Michael,
“The original escape was planned a week earlier, for the night before the execution, we got as far as the room below the infirmary, however the DOC facilities team replaced a pipe I’d spent a month corroding in the afternoon before the escape. We had to backtrack and I had to amend the plan.”

Mahone raised his eyebrows at this, hmmm,
“Well be sure to include all routes, all plans when you talk with the guys this afternoon.”

“How did you find Fibonacci?”
Another easy question, perhaps Mahone’s given up trying to trap him, Michael answered smoothly.
“Far too easily for someone in the Witness Protection scheme and running from the mafia. I tracked down which sheriff was guarding him, then using the phone company and intercepting a duplicate bill I found the numbers he was calling from, reverse traced them and yes…it was that easy.”

Michael relaxed again, this stuff was fine, and this was hurting no one

“How did you get the Dr to help you? “
Michael skin chilled instantly, he was conscious that he mustn’t react badly now. Mahone knew this was one of the tricky questions; Michael had to act as if it was one of the easier ones…

“She was a good Doctor, she did my daily injections, patched me up a few times too.”
Mahone’s smile hardened

“Come on Michael, you and I both know you’re not a diabetic, the doctor was poisoning you slowly. She can’t have done the right checks on you”
“She didn’t know that, “ shouted Michael, anger flaring in his eyes,

Damn, he’d taken the bait, he had to calm down, he had to act as if Sara was nothing more than a duped prison employee. Even as that thought crossed his mind he sighed, perhaps that’s all she was, was he trying to protect something that had never existed?

“She did more than provide medical assistance didn’t she Michael
You and her were quite an item if we are to believe the nurse”

“She’s seeing more there, than there was, I had to see the doctor every day, we chatted, and I tried to flirt with her, yes, but she wasn’t having any of it.”

“So what made her change her mind Michael, what made her unlock the door for you on the night of the escape?”

Here it was, his chance to make some good out of this.

“She didn’t unlock the door,”

Then who did?

“I did, I had a key, “

“Oh and where did this key come from”
Michael lifted his head and glared at Mahone
“Tweener took it from an orderly, I made a copy and I returned it before the day was out.” He ended his statement on a smile.

Mahone ignored the smile but looking away added
“How convenient that Tweener is no longer here to corroborate that story Scofield, “

“Well that’s down to you Mr Mahone isn’t it ” countered Michael icily.
There were a few more questions but Michael knew Mahone’s heart was no longer in it.
The interrogation ended and the tape turned off.

Mahone left without another word and Michael was taken back to the holding cell. His lunch was a sandwich, its plastic container proving quite a challenge since no one had bothered to unchain or uncuff him. Tearing into the plastic with his teeth had managed to deposit half of the tuna sandwich on the floor of the cell. Michael sighed, typical.

The afternoon passed quickly, only Adam remained from his legal team but three agents talked through the plan asking for clarification on routes, panels, doors, grates, until Michael felt drained of the plan, his plan.

When he was explaining the relevance of the tattoo and the blueprints, they asked him to show them. So for the first time that day he was uncuffed and unchained and he slipped down the sleeves of his overall and pulled the white t-shirt over his head.
He explained how the plans were inside the design, and how they allowed him to navigate the drains and passageways. He traced some of the key drains with his fingers. They shook their heads in amazement and as Michael stood in that cold austere room, bare from the waist up, he wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or proud of their undisguised admiration.

The agents finally left, only Adam remained behind.
“Well that was quite a day, you did OK Michael, “
“Thanks, you’re not worried about some of the questions I didn’t answer?”
Adam shrugged, “I think that was Mahone playing with us, you’ve been nothing but helpful this afternoon. I’m sure we will have a productive discussion with the DA's team later today.”
Michael sighed and leaned back in his chair, pulling against the chains.

Adam looked down at the hardware,
“ They really mean business with those don’t they”
Michael smiled, “they’re not too bad, you kind of get used to them after a while”
Adam shook his head. “ Michael I hope you don’t mind, but this all seems crazy, you’re the furthest thing from a criminal I’ve met, yet I’ve seen your ‘rap sheet’ I feel like we’ve just had a business meeting and we should pack up now and go down the nearest bar for a drink”
Michael smiled “ Maybe one day we can Adam, and soon if you’re as good as you reckon!” he added jokingly
“We’ll just have to make sure it’s a bar with decent sized bins…”
Adam laughed
“We certainly will Michael”, he stood up reached for one of Michael’s hands and shook it.
“See you tomorrow Michael” and left the room.
Michael was alone for just a few seconds until the room seemed to fill with his escorts. He looked up and his smile faded, replaced instantly by an emotionless mask.


tbc

Chapter 6

The Holding Cell

Back in the holding cell, Michael sat down slowly on the edge of the padded shelf that served as a bed in the small room. There was no window, just a strong white light diffused from some flat fixture in the ceiling. He was beginning to lose his sense of time and for someone like Michael that was a dangerously scary state to be in. He rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands together, his thumbs rubbing over each other, the touch somehow comforting him. Michael lived his life by the clock, he’d always been like this. Before the robbery, his personal life was scheduled to the hour, his work life often to even smaller time slots. Then in Fox River time became an integral part of the plan, run by the time of a cons daily existence, tier time, PI time, infirmary time, food time, sleep time, count time every part of the day parcelled up.
And then there was his second hidden life inside Fox River, ruled by the tightly defined time he could find for planning, digging, manipulating. Together these two parallel lives occupied his days and nights filling the void.

Now he had nothing, no plan, no manipulation time, no tier time, no infirmary time…..no Sara…. , just him and a small empty room and no idea as to what happens next or more importantly when it would happen. For Michael this lack of control was unbearable.

Suddenly the door opened and a guard came in with a small tray.
“Supper Scofield” He put the tray on the floor and then unhooked the cuffs from the waist chain and finally unlocked them.
“Thanks” whispered Michael as he rubbed his wrists.
The guard threw him a plastic spoon and muttered
“Bang on the door when you’re finished.”
“Sure boss”
He picked up the tray and sat back on the shelf, the tray balanced precariously on his lap.
Congealed lasagne he guessed, he lifted what could have been a flap of pasta with the spoon, and grimaced, was it pasta or a melted part of the plastic package? He took a mouthful and was only mildly surprised to find he couldn’t actually decide but if pushed he was gonna vote with the plastic…

Ten minutes later and with only a few more spoonfuls eaten he stood by the door and banged on it.

The guard opened up
“Stand back from the door Scofield”
Michael took two steps back
“Gotta cuff you again”, he said almost apologetically
Michael sighed and held out his hands. The silent guard hooked them back to the waist chain and then picked up the tray, Michael took his chance
“What time is it?”
The guard checked his watch
“7pm” and left banging the cell door behind him, the lock clicking into pace. ,
“Thanks” Michael sighed into the closed door.
He leaned back against the wall next to the door. His head banging gently against it, his eyes closed to the moment. Only 7pm, hours to kill. He hobbled back to the bed sitting up with his back to the wall and brought his knees up.
He looked around the room; it was grey, bland, featureless, the floor and walls merged together. His eyes moved to the wall above the bed, it was smooth grey concrete. Then looking closer he notices what appeared to be words, no not words…..names, they were names, scratched into the surface. They were very faint, and he leaned closer, his fingers gliding over the wall, he could feel the names. Michael struggled to read the scrawling letters but was grateful for the distraction. Pez? Peter? Maniche, Bob, faceless names who at some point had run parallel lives to Michael. He moved to read some more names higher up, pleased to have something to do but without warning the light blinked off throwing him into instant darkness. Michael let out a deep breath and sank back onto his heals. Great, barely 7pm, and nothing to do now but think and hope for sleep.


Sometime later…….
The light blinked on and within seconds Michael was awake, screwing his eyes up against its harshness. He turned his head to the side, scanning the whole of the small room, then sighed remembering where he was with pained resignation.
He instinctively lifted his wrist to check the time then realised two things that disturbed him.
Firstly he had no watch; secondly his hands were still cuffed. That at least explained why he ached so much, he’d slept fully chained, he wondered if that was a planned security procedure or if the guys here had simply forgot. He hoped it was the latter, as despite what he had told Sinclair, the chains were beginning to bug him.

He sat up, dropped his legs over the side and rubbed his forehead with his hands. Then standing and stretching he moved towards the cell door and shouted.
“Hey, anyone there?”

Silence
He wondered what time it was, maybe they had turned the light on just to mess with him; maybe it was still the middle of the night?
Several minutes later he heard footsteps and then a voice.
“Step away from the door Scofield.”
He moved back to the bed and the door opened.
He could only see the guard at first but he noticed a man behind him, then he recognised him, it was his lawyer, Sinclair
Adam turned to the guard and thanked him then walked briskly into the cell, his left hand half hidden behind him..
“Morning Michael,”
“Morning Adam” Michael responded, relieved that his internal time clock had got it right.

“I’ve brought you breakfast” and bringing his arm to the front with a flourish presented him with a large cup of frothy starbucks coffee and a wrapped Danish balancing precariously on top of the Styrofoam cup.
Michael beamed,
“You’re my hero” he went to grab them, and then hesitated
“Is this OK Can I have it?” looking at the guard

Adam smiled wickedly,” I’m sure they’re fine with it, if not I will tell them how displeased I am that my client has been shackled all night, contravening current regulations on prisoners detained in holding cells outside state facilities” the end of the sentence was in a raised voice and directed straight at the guard. He had the decency to look embarrassed and mumbled,
“The coffee’s fine.”
“I thought it would be, now please uncuff my client.” The guard quickly released Michael from the chains and cuffs, and then left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Michael let out a deep sigh,
“Thanks…again”, then sat down on the bed, placing the coffee carefully by his feet and started to devour the Danish.
“So what’s the plan Adam?”

“The hearing is this afternoon at 2pm, same Judge who sentenced you for the original robbery, which is good, well great actually, because reading her notes from the trial she’d been very reluctant to impose a long custodial sentence back then. She may soften more now she understands the unusual background to your case.

“She mmmummffhh” Michael mumbled through a mouth of pastry

“Michael?”

“Sorry, god this tastes good, I meant to say, she said I showed malice in firing the gun.”
“She may have said that in the court Michael, but her notes suggests she wanted to be more lenient towards you. I still think she’s open to reviewing the sentence” replied Adam matter-of-factly.

“Have you petitioned for Statesville?” Michael enquired, licking a stray fleck of pastry from his bottom lip.

“Yes, and that’s not going to be a problem, the DOC are as keen as anyone to keep you away from Fox River. The new warden there felt it would be too much of a security risk, especially since they’re months off putting right all the security breaches this investigation will uncover. “

Michael had finished the Danish and reaching down took a sip of the coffee, then looking up he sought Adams eyes as he asked the question that worried him the most.

“And the charges?”

Adams eyes were smiling

“Good news, the DA’s office have dropped the homicide charges and aiding and abetting the escape of other felons. They’re sticking on your own escape charge and the two assaults committed during the escape.”
“Pope and the ward orderly?” Michael asked warily
“Those are the ones” Adam started to explain “The escape charge could normally expect a sentence of up to ten years, and possibly three years each for the two assaults.

Michael was already doing the math, and not liking the answer.

Sixteen years?

Adam rocked his head from side to side as he drew his breath through his teeth
“Theoretically a possibility, yes, however we would petition for the charges to run concurrently, not consecutively with that of your original sentence for robbery which would bring them down to a maximum of ten years, half that with parole.”

Michael still wasn’t smiling, although it was about what he had thought. Five years, compared with the five weeks he’d spent at Fox River and the physical and mental trauma of those weeks, it would feel like eternity.

Adam saw Michael’s face drop and smiled to reassure him.
“That’s just the beginning though, we factor time in there for cooperation on the escape investigation, and then the special issues in the case. Toss in a direct appeal to the Governor and the President. The years drop off…. I’m still hopeful for something around your three- five years, less than two to serve if you’re a model prisoner.”

Michael took another gulp of the coffee, and looked at Adam hesitantly. He wanted to believe him, but he felt the first feathery flutters of panic in his stomach. He had to put his trust in Adam and his team, but he was a person who needed to control his own life, his destiny. He had been the man with the plan and god did he miss it.

He tried to quell the fears by at least sorting the practicalities of the day out,
“Will I get my own clothes back for the hearing?”

“Fraid not, Michael, you’d just better hope orange is the new black this season, since I think you’re stuck with that outfit for a while.”

Michael grimaced,
“I hope you don’t mean this exact outfit since its now been on me 24hrs and you’re the one going to have to sit next to me in the courthouse!”
Adam laughed
“I’ll make sure the grunts here, let you shower and clean up, and since I’m such an ace lawyer I’ll make sure they throw in a clean set of underwear ok?”
Michael smiled, “I daren’t think how expensive a lawyer you are!”

“Don’t worry Michael, your brother’s footing the bill, courtesy of his government compensation of course.” The mention of Lincoln prompted Michael’s next question.
“Will I be able to see my brother today, a visitation?”
Adam nodded sadly,
“I doubt it, I suspect visits will have to wait until you’re at Statesville.

He checked his watch and started moving towards the door,
“I have to go and brief the team for this afternoon, “
“Wait, can I ask you a favour please” Michael whispered
Adam smiled “Go on”
“Could I borrow your watch? At least until this afternoon? I’m going nuts not knowing the time in here.”
Adam relaxed; relieved the favour was an easy one to deliver on.
He slipped his watch off his wrist and passed it over to Michael.
“Here, glad I can help, I’ll make sure we bring a spare one to court for you this afternoon, this one may not be the best to take into prison.”
Michael looked down and realised the watch now on his wrist was a Rolex Oyster, worth thousands of pounds.
“Now I know I can’t afford you” quipped Michael his eyes brightening.
Adam pounded on the door and Michael nodded gratefully at him as the door opened and he slipped out.
The guard stepped in, grabbed the paper that had wrapped the Danish and the now empty coffee cup and left. Michael turned back to the bed, then smiled as he realised he was still uncuffed and unchained, things were looking up.

Chapter 7
In Transit

Michael was struggling with his LLI, he knew it was because he was tired and that the day’s events had left him feeling out of control. There had been simply too much time spent waiting for ‘things’ to happen to him and now his brain was trying to fill the gaps in activity with something, anything.
He counted again the number of rivets in the metal floor panel under his feet, then turned his attention to the mesh screen separating the back of the small bus from the driver’s and escort’s seats up front. The mesh was small, maybe an inch squared, he started on the math, estimating the width and height of the screen then working out how many squares there were, his brain feverishly seizing on the calculation. He rested his head on the window seconds after working out there were 2376 squares in the screen, pulling again at the chains to see if he could tease another few inches movement from them. The engine was running and he found the low vibrations in the window comforting against his head. Outside the yard at the back of the Courthouse was deserted, the only sign of life was the light on in a small office near the heavily protected metal gate which led out onto the street.

The sky was darkening as he closed his eyes and thought back over what had happened in court today.

He’s been unprepared for the circus that faced him in the Number1 court. Half of the public area had been given over to press and he must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car when he hobbled down the central aisle towards the tables in front of the judge, his chains rattling with every move, as a battery of flashlights sparked into life. He was so stunned by this media onslaught; he’d almost not noticed Lincoln and LJ sitting at the front of the court behind the defence area. They had turned together to watch him, smiling supportively at him, as Adam helped him into the chair. Michael turned again towards his brother and nephew and smiled encouragingly at them, he hoped he looked braver than he felt. Then he turned back to face the judge, straightening out the front of the collar of his overall until it lay satisfyingly flat against him.

The hearing itself had lasted barely ten minutes. Just enough time for him to confirm who he was, in what he had hoped was a strong confident voice and for the prosecution attorney to set out the proposed charges.
The two sides had then approached the judge for a short whispered discussion after which she had announced a second hearing in a month’s time. She had gone on to explain that this would allow enough time for the case to be prepared for the new charges and for a review of the original robbery charges. She had added that she would also require a full psychiatric report on Michael. He had turned with a worried look on his face to Adam at this point. But Adam had just shaken his head slightly as if to tell him to relax, it wasn’t a big thing.

He had been asked to stand and she advised him that he was to be detained at the Statesville facility until the next hearing.

And that had been that.

He had been helped up by Adam and with a guard on each side had turned to start his long walk back to the exit. As he had passed by Lincoln, his brother had reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder. His touch had made him turn to face Linc, their eyes had met conveying silent thoughts between them.
We love you Michael, stay brave, it will be over eventually………… Thanks for being here Linc, I miss you both, I love you both,
He’d lost himself for a few seconds, and had been aware of nothing but his brother’s hand gripping his shoulder. This image had set off another flurry of flashlights as the media recognised the picture that would grace the covers of hundreds of newspapers and websites the next day, many captioned with ‘Brotherly love’. Michael turned and continued his stilted walk out of the court. The media then turned their attention to Lincoln and LJ but after a few hastily shared words with Adam they strode out the Court ignoring all pleas for interviews.

Now several hours later, Michael was waiting on the bus that would take him to his next home from home, Statesville Penitentiary.

He checked his new watch, a simple digital effort with a handy illuminated screen, and silently thanked Adam again for remembering. It was 8pm, hours after the transits to the prisons normally left.

He chewed his bottom lip then turning his head towards the driver who had been sitting playing with his cell phone for the last twenty two minutes, asked
“Are we setting off soon, boss?

The guy turned around quickly, as if he had forgotten Michael was even there.

“Not sure, we need the paperwork and another two escorts given the security requirements for transporting you. Plus they didn’t want us stuck in the commuter traffic, but that will have eased over an hour ago.”

As he spoke the bus lurched slightly as another escort climbed on the footplate and leaned over to the driver. They were talking very quietly and Michael strained to hear their words.

What he caught was 48hr lockdown……., need further orders,…….. damn paperwork

“Is there a problem?”He asked the driver as the escort left the bus again and disappeared into the office.

The driver turned around and sighed.
“There’s been a major disturbance at Statesville, three out of the four wings are on 48hr lockdown and the warden has put a freeze on all admissions until Monday. We’re just finding out where to take you now.”

Michael’s mouth opened in horror, panic leapt up and overwhelmed him.
“I can’t go to Statesville tonight?
“No way I’m afraid”
“Will the Feds take me back? Asked Michael hopefully
The driver nodded his head,
“No, you’re now a problem for the DOC.” The drivers face softened slightly as he saw the look on Michaels face.
“Hey don’t worry, there’s a few more places, it’s just a matter of paperwork and timing. We’re all off shift in two hours so you have to be somewhere else by then.”

Michael dropped his head into his hands and smoothed them back over his cropped hair until the chains stopped him.
Ten minutes later he felt the bus dip again and looked up to see an escort climb into the front seat and one open the slide door across from him and move into the seat opposite him, both were armed. The guard leaned forward and checked the chain leading from Michael’s leg chains to the anchor point on the floor of the bus, sitting back with a satisfied smile when he realised they were fine.
We’re all set back here, prisoner restrained” he barked

“Where to gentlemen? “enquired the driver
“Fox River” replied the escort up front.
Michael’s head jerked up
“No wait, I’m not supposed to go back there, the judge said so”
The escort looked back over his shoulder,
“Not that it’s got anything to do with you, con, but the paperwork I’ve got here says you’re going to Fox River. It’s the only place that can take you tonight with so little notice.”
“Then I need to talk to my lawyer now “demanded Michael his voice loud but shaky.
The escort again turned around,
“No chance, make the call tomorrow from Fox River, you’re not getting off this bus now until you get there.”
He turned back to the driver,
“Put your foot down I’m supposed to be off shift by 10pm, it’s an hour’s drive at least and the guys at Fox River have already bitched about having to deal with a late arrival.”

Michael lifted his hands to his face breathing in slowly, he pressed them in hard trying to block out the new thoughts rising up to overwhelm him. He was going back to Fox River, and he had less than an hour to prepare himself mentally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bus made good time once it left the congested streets in the downtown area. Soon the skyline diminished behind them and Michael became uncomfortably aware of how close to Joliet and Fox River they now were.

Ten minutes later and they turned into English street, the driver switched on the CB radio and in a low understated voice
“Court transit now ten minutes away from Fox River, one prisoner, two escorts on board. “The response was loud, and staccato but inaudible to Michael in the back of the bus. Too soon and they were driving by the high exterior wall of Fox River itself, the guard tower now visible by it's lighted windows and the small searchlights kept permanently on.
Michael shifted in his seat and looked away, visions of blueprints, and plans spiked into his brain and he closed his eyes determined to blank out these thoughts and memories for as long as he could.

The bus turned into the main entrance and waited whilst the large mesh gates rolled back slowly. The bus moved forward another twenty feet so it was now equidistant between the two sets of guarded gates and pulled to a stop.
The guard across from Michael fidgeted with his weapon and the second escort jumped out of the cab clutching Michael’s transit papers.

Michael stared at back of the driver's head, not daring to turn to look out of the window, waiting until the last possible moment to accept he was back. A sense of hopelessness had drifted over him the closer they got to the prison and now surrounded by the walls he had planned and schemed to escape just a few weeks ago he gave into a feeling of utter desperation.

They waited for seven minutes, Michael timing them relentlessly,then the escort climbed back on the bus and glanced back at him before starting a low murmuring conversation with the driver. Something he said made the driver also turn back to stare at Michael and at this he gulped and finally looked out through the window at the activity in the enclosed entrance.

There were at least five CO’s huddled together on the left side of the bus. He recognised a couple of them; they occasionally looked up to the bus but made no acknowledgment of Michael.

Finally the first gate opened again and a car drove in and stopped behind the bus. A man, in his early forties climbed out and walked towards the group of CO’s .They all visibly straightened when they saw the man who to Michael’s surprise was wearing evening dress.
He took the papers from the escort and quickly glanced up towards Michael on the bus. Their eyes met briefly before the man gave a few short orders then walked up to the second set of gates and through them briskly as they rolled open.

The escort climbed back on the bus smiling,
“Few more minutes then we’re out of here” he said to the driver, then directing him forward, added
“They want you to drive right up to that building there”, pointing at the back of what Michael knew was A wing and the entrance to the SHU.
He sat back on the seat; at least he wasn’t going straight into Gen pop, not that the SHU held any pleasant memories for him he thought sadly.

The bus drove the 100 yards to the building’s entrance and braked hard, Michael was thrown forward and put his hands out to try and stop himself. He made contact with the escort’s knee; he roughly pushed him back into the seat.
“Watch it con”
Michael knew better than to reply.

The transit chains were unlocked and still wearing the waist and ankle chains he was roughly helped down off the bus and guided through the door. They snaked through several corridors until the entourage came to a halt in front of a cell door.
“In you go” directed one of the CO’s and Michael walked into the cell. It was not empty, standing by the wall at the top of the bed was the man he’d seen earlier, still in evening dress although his black tie was now undone.

They both took a few seconds to take in the other man, they were of similar height and build, and one of them was totally overdressed for the occasion. Michael’s face was set in a mask, his insides were in turmoil but he showed nothing through his clear blue eyes.

“Scofield, my name is Peter Williams and I am the warden here. I’d hoped that we wouldn’t have to meet but it seems circumstances beyond our control make it necessary for you to spend some time with us.”

“I’m sorry if I’m an inconvenience Sir, I guess I’ve spoiled your night in several ways” as he nodded towards William’s suit. Michael replied flatly, then in a stronger voice
“However I was led to understand that the judge recommended I didn’t return here for", he paused a half smile escaping his lips" …obvious reasons and need to let my lawyer know what’s happened.”

Williams nodded his head slowly from side to side.
“Scofield, you can call them tomorrow, I intend for your temporary stay here to remain extremely low profile”, and at that he turned and looked at the CO’s present. “There is no need for anyone but a few to know you will be here for the weekend. You will remain in the SHU; there will be no mixing either planned or unplanned with any of the other prisoners. You will remain chained whilst you are here and I see no reason why you have to leave this cell until you catch the bus to Statesville on Monday. I have arranged for the doctor to visit you tonight to log your current medical condition. We want to make sure after all that you leave us in the same state you arrived tonight.”

Michael’s defences had been momentarily breached at the thought of the medical. That had always meant Sara, those treasured long appointments, where they had flirted and chatted and for a brief moment he had pretended his life wasn’t the extremely complicated mess it was. He exhaled slowly; he knew Sara no longer worked here. She’d never returned after her stint in rehab. He wondered which of the other doctors he had occasionally seen would be the one doing the examination. He also recognised that Williams was being clever, he was letting his own staff know that he was off limits whilst he was here, no socialisation meant no cons which meant any injuries found would be down to the CO’s. Michael wondered if it was a good or bad sign that Williams had felt it necessary to put them on a warning.

Williams walked past Michael slowly, then just before he left the cell he leaned back into him slightly
“Henry Pope is a friend, I hold you to blame for what happened to him.”
With those chilling words in his ears Williams left the cell and Michael’s eyes flickered briefly, his stare turning to a look if pure guilt .

Michael recognised the CO that came in to chain him securely to the holding ring in the wall. He was one of the bulls that Michael had had a reasonable relationship with on his first visit but he refused to make eye contact with Michael and left the cell without uttering a word. The door shut and the viewing panel was banged down noisily.

Michael sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hands. Seconds later the light was turned off. He sighed as he stared into the darkness acclimatising himself to the sounds of the SHU.
Then slowly he became aware of noises, almost hisses, he got up and cautiously stumbled to the door in the darkness, but the corridor was silent.
He realised the sounds were coming from the small drain in the floor. The same one he and Linc had talked through when they were in the SHU before his breakdown.
He climbed down on his knees and placed his head on the ground next to the cold grill.

He could hear a low hissing at first, several different voices all hissing. He listened for several seconds then suddenly sat up and looked down in horror at the grate. He’d worked out what they were saying. They were taunting him,

"Fishhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

"It's Fishhhhhhhhhhhh"

"Fishhhh is back " ……………Then several low laughs.

The cons in the SHU knew he was back, and if they knew, everyone would know by breakfast.


tbc

Chapter 8
Admission

They got bored eventually and the noises gradually hushed away to silence. Michael sat on the bed, his back against the wall his cuffed hands resting on his knees.
He sighed and leaned his head back against the cold wall. They’d turned the lights out almost as soon as the warden had left. Now his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom he could make out the faint glow of light creeping through the thin slit at the bottom of the cell door. It threw into a vague relief the two objects in the cell, the bed and the sink/toilet unit. He scanned the rest of the room, but it was too much of a blackness to define the other walls or where they met the ceiling. It was pointless anyway; there was nothing else to see.

Michael was a tidy person, organised in his life and habits. He abhorred mess, chaos, including his own thoughts. He sat and began to run through what had happened in the last two days, mentally filing these in a systematic way, tidying them, sorting them into good things, bad things, thoughts and memories that needed more work on them, analysing them, re-evaluating them. He’d always been like this since a child, some inner desperate need to make sense of everything around him.
But before he could really start his mental filing the light flashed on and dragged Michael back to reality.

He heard voices outside his door.
Lewis the CO was talking with another man, something about a ‘golfing sweater’ and ‘this time of night’
Michael stood up, as he heard the lock being pulled back on his cell door. Then the harsh light from the corridor flooded in and brightened his cell. He heard the second person’s response to Lewis –
“Dragged off the driving range, only half way through my basket of balls but Williams insisted this is done tonight. “

Then the man the voice belonged to, entered the cell carrying a large briefcase.

He looked up and took the chained and cuffed Michael in one quick glance.
“Mr Scofield I’m Dr Macey, I’m here to give you a medical. I don’t intend this to take long. Please strip.” His voice was grumpy, Michael thought, and the fact that he was dressed in casual trousers and a garish golfing sweater suggested he hadn’t expected to be making this particular visit.

Michael lifted up his cuffed hands
“That may be a bit difficult “
The doctor sighed and turning to Lewis
“Can we hurry this up, the range closes in an hour?”

“Sure thing doc “as Lewis moved forward and unlocked the cuffs and chain holding Michael.
Then for the second time in just over 24 hours Michael found himself stripping down to nothing in front of strangers.

The doctor turned to Lewis, handing him a small digital camera he had removed from his case.
“Lewis can you take the photos please.”
“Sure doc”
The Doctor turned to face Michael
“I have to do this from scratch, your medical notes aren’t in the infirmary, apparently the FBI still have them.” His tone was that of annoyance and directed at Michael.
Michael’s face remained blank, but his response was half playful.
“I’m sorry Doc, guess you’re the second person’s evening I’ve spoiled tonight. I could always come back tomorrow for you?” He smiled at his own joke, but the doctor looked up from the case he was searching with a puzzled look on his face. There was something about this con, he wasn’t sure what it was, but it unnerved him. He picked up a small digital recorder and turning it on, he whispered into it
“Michael Schofield, Fox River, Segregation unit, admission medical, August 12th.” Then checking his watch and sighing “10.32pm”

“Right let’s start at the top.” He donned a pair of plastic gloves, snapping them on with the same ease of movement Michael remembered from Sara’s appointments.

“Put your head down Scofield”, he checked his skull, behind his ears, neck and shoulder areas. He picked up the recorder and whispered into it
“No visible mark, abrasions, cuts or bruises. on head and shoulders. Lewis front and back shots please of head and shoulders. Upper body is completely covered including both arms in tattoos. Arms out Scofield”
Michael complied silently
He walked behind Michael, then stopped and moved in closer on seeing the scar tissue on his shoulder blade.

“Partial healing of, hmm ….probably a 3rd degree burn top of right shoulder blade.
When did this happen?”
“Couple of months ago” Michael answered flatly
“How?”
Michael remained silent,
“Patient refuses to give details”

Walking around to the front of Michael again, he noticed the remains of an old bruise across his chest and shoulder.
“Old bruising to the chest area, pattern suggests seatbelt caused marking”
He looked up at Michael
“And this?”
“3 weeks ago, the car I was in crashed.”
He moved his hand out to feel Michael’s ribs under the bruise,
“Any other damage?”
Michael breathed in at his unexpected touch,
“No just a bruise.”
The doctor squatted down, then whispered again into the recorder
“Severe lacerations on left leg, deep cut, 5 inches long on calf, slight infection,
And this?”
“Last week, running through rough ground I fell on some abandoned farm machinery.” Michael's answer was dull, mechanical. Old news
“I’ll prescribe some antibiotics for that. It’s past the point of needing a dressing but that will scar.”
Finally his eyes moved to Michael’s left foot
“Missing two left toes on left foot. Almost fully healed. When did this happen”
“2 months ago”
“Whilst you were in here?” the doc asked slightly puzzled
“Yes” Michael would not meet his gaze
“How”
Michael made it clear there would be no answer
“Patient refuses to answer…again.” The doctor sighed with exasperation. That was a horrific injury to sustain whilst in prison. He made a mental note to really study this prisoner’s file when it returned to Fox River.
“OK Lewis I need shots of the scar, the bruising, the gash on the leg and the toes in close-up, the rest I just need the pictures to show there are no other marks or injuries.”
Lewis started snapping away.
The doctor reached in and finding his stethoscope listened to Michael’s chest. Michael pushed away the memories of Sara doing the same weeks before, of the look on her face, of his thoughts at the time……
The doctor did a cursory check of his ears, throat and eyes.
Next out of the bag, came the blood pressure cuff.
This was all done wordlessly. Michael pondered on how the processes were identical to the ones Sara had gone through several times, but it all felt so different. Sara….why did he persist in thinking about her, she was gone, and if he was honest, whatever there had been between them was like mercury, he could grasp for it but his hands would probably come away empty…

Satisfied he had done a complete inventory of Michael’s wounds the doc straightened up and reached for the recorder.
“Some background Scofield, any chronic diseases, major health conditions we need to be aware of, I can double check against your original records when they get here.”
“I’m only here until Monday doc. They may not catch me up” Michael replied anxiously, hopefully.
“Oh?” He looked over to Lewis who shrugged his shoulders as if to say he didn’t really know what was going to happen to this prisoner.
“Well humour me anyway, any major health problems? “
“No” Michael answered
Lewis looked at Michael and added
“What about the shots? “
“What shots?” asked the doc
“Fish, .. I mean Scofield had daily shots from Doctor Tancredi”
“And they were?” The doctor turned to face Michael
“Insulin” replied Michael gritting his teeth
“You’re an insulin controlled diabetic, Type 1 or 2?”
“I’m not a diabetic” Michael answered unemotionally
Lewis face failed to hide the surprise
“So why would the State of Illinois be injecting you with insulin then?” enquired the Doctor.
Michael shrugged and remained silent.
“Hmm I’ll test you; last thing we want is a lawsuit against the state for inappropriate treatment”
“There’s no need I’m not a diabetic doc” Michael answered emphatically
“Let me be the judge of that Mr Scofield. When was the last time you ate?”
Michael realised it had been ages, there had been confusion at the court and he had missed lunch, then dinner as the transit plans were made.
“Breakfast” he smiled as he thought back to the coffee and Danish, Adam had brought him. Was that really only just this morning?
“Ok, well that’s good enough for fasting level.” He quickly applied a tourniquet to Michael's left arm then with great skill and speed took a blood sample, and rooted around in his bag to find a pen to mark the small phial.

“Ok, you can get dressed now.”
“Wait, he can change into our gear now” and Lewis disappeared returning almost immediately with some prison blues. Michael dressed quickly, shocked momentarily to find how familiar the prison issue clothes smelled and felt against his skin.

The doctor gathered up his equipment, turned off the recorder and closed his case. “Thanks Lewis “he quipped “I might just make it to the range; my long shot really needs some work” as he left the cell without even a backward glance to his patient.
Lewis picked up the orange overall and clothes, then remembering something, left them on the bed and turned to Michael
“Cuffs Fish, “
“Do you have to, Lewis?” asked Michael, hoping that by using his name it would humanise the interaction, after all this was the first time any of the CO’s had actually spoken to him.
“Fraid so”, Lewis replied, meeting Michael's eyes for the first time that evening. Michael sighed and held out his hands. Lewis then linked the cuffs through to the wall chain; Michael closed his eyes in frustration, turning his face away from Lewis.
Lewis checked the chains and the cuffs then picked up the overall and just before he left the cell he half turned back, “Welcome back Fish”
The door closed. Michael thought about those final words, they hadn’t sounded particularly malicious, perhaps mischievous? He didn’t know how to take it, he was just too tired. He slumped back on the bed. The light went out.

He was conscious of too many thoughts whirling around in his mind; he needed to calm these, form some kind of order, and regain control. Michael needed control over something right now. He could make some lists. They helped him, he needed something to make him ignore the panic bubbling under, fighting its way up, and pushing aside the other calmer thoughts.The panic that was whispering to him that he was back inside but this time there was no plan. no plan to think about, review, amend,adjust....nothing.
Lists, he would make the lists, an audit of where he was, first the good stuff

1. He Lincoln and LJ were all alive;- yeah that was an easy one, but not so obvious, even a few weeks ago
2. Lincoln & LJ were free and pardoned,- another easy one
3. Lincoln was going to be rich,- that was great, one less worry for the future, LJ could go to college, Linc could start again.
He was enjoying this list.
4. Hmm.. He had a good legal team,- he reconsidered this, yes, this was definitely in the good list.
5. Mahone seemed to have given up on him, - Well it looked that way, but that thought might need reviewing later, it could tentatively remain on the good list for now.
6. There had been fewer charges laid against him today than originally thought.- Only partially good since the charges were serious – assault, escape. He sat and threw this thought around a bit in his head but then decided it still belonged in the good list…
He paused, he couldn’t think of any other good stuff so before his mind became victim to the panic again he bravely started to compile the bad list. If he was doing a proper audit he needed debits and credits…he couldn’t cheat.

1. He wasn’t free – well this was always going to be a possibility, no surprise there and yes not good.
2. He was in Fox River – definitely not good, although at least it wasn’t Gen pop.
He smiled, he had suddenly thought of another one for the good list
Bellick wasn’t here any longer!
3. But neither was Sara….-and that was bad, for so many reasons
4. Henry Pope wasn’t here, -bad, the guy was a fair and just man, but also he admitted inwardly it could count as a good thing, after all he still felt incredible guilty about the night of the escape. No Pope, meant he didn’t have to face him.
He laid back on the bed, his mind now fully occupied on the list.
5. He’d pissed off the new warden and the doctor in his first hour back at Fox River , bad, and not his fault, but hey that was a common theme now in the life of Michael Scofield, master criminal…..
6. The CO’s were at best ambivalent at worse angry with him, -very, very bad. Michael knew enough about prison to know the CO’s more then anyone could make his short stay here hell.
7. Some of the cons knew who he was and that he was back, bad news, but manageable if he was going to be in the SHU until he left on Monday, after all they couldnt get to him, could they?
8. He’d not eaten since breakfast,- and his stomach underlined how bad that was by now grumbling loudly.
He’d come to the end of his bad list, or so he thought, then it hit him…oh no….
9. Someone had to tell Lincoln tomorrow that he was in Fox River,- bad, so bad, even now he could imagine the reaction and he was slightly relieved that actually he wouldn’t have to face it. Lincoln would go mad, punching a hole in the wall kinda mad that he saw so many times when they were younger….
Hmmm perhaps it’s time for Adam to earn those fees, he made a decision , he knew at that moment, that if he got his one phone call tomorrow, it would be to his lawyer; Adam would have to tell Lincoln. So definitely one for the bad list………..
With that thought, fading mercifully away, Michael finally fell asleep. Fully clothed, chained and cuffed in a dark segregation cell in Fox River. His final thought was it shouldn’t feel so familiar…….


tbc

Chapter 9
Breakfast.


“Scofield… Scofield… Get up, you’ve got a phone call. It’s your lawyer.”

Michael opened his eyes and tried to peer through the fog of sleep. It was Patterson, one of the CO’s, who had now turned his back on Michael and was unlocking the chain that led from his cuffs to the wall ring.

Michael was still groggy; he couldn’t believe how deeply he must have been sleeping to not notice the cell door open and the light flash on. He’d spent weeks barely sleeping at all. Before, every tiny noise would have had him alert within seconds ready to flee or fight, constantly on guard.
He rubbed his face with his fingers, trying to drive the sleep from his mind.
“What, boss?”
“Phone call, Scofield, and since it’s your lawyer we’re not allowed to tell him to call back at a more civilised time.”
Michael glanced down at his watch, 8.30am, not that early but he decided now was not a good time to disagree with a bull.
He was led out into the main SHU corridor and around the corner to where the receiver of a large old fashioned wall phone was dangling down the wall. Patterson had pushed him down onto his knees on the concrete floor by the phone, then fed the lose end of the chain through a conveniently sited ring in the wall and back onto the small padlock hanging from Michael’s waist chain. Then to Michael’s surprise he undid the cuffs, freeing his hands for the first time in over twenty-four hours. Michael eyes travelled from his freed hands to the metal ring screwed into the wall. For one brief moment Michaels thought how it reminded him of the rings fixed into walls outside shops for people to tie dog leads through. It seemed apt, chained like a dog to a wall so the CO’s could go and get on with something else. At least it gave him a little privacy as Patterson moved back round the corner towards the main group of cells.

“Michael?” a disembodied voice could be heard coming from the handset

Michael grasped for the phone, with his hand

“Hello…? Adam?”

“Ahh you’re there, I thought they may have forgotten about me. How are you?” Adam asked hesitantly.

Silence, then: “I’m in Fox River, Adam, you promised this wouldn’t happen!” Michael replied with a heavy tone of accusation.

“I know, I know, but the stuff at Statesville means that it’s chaos everywhere,” responded Adam with just a tinge of regret.

Michael sighed and leaned with one shoulder into the wall. His free hand ran through the stubble on his head several times.

“They tell me I’m stuck here until Monday? Can’t you sort it before then?” Again, his voice was hard, demanding.

“Michael, I’m not sure when we can get you moved to be honest.” Admitted Adam.

“What do you mean you’re not sure when?” he’d raised his voice and then lowered it to an angry whisper almost immediately as he remembered he was only out of sight of the bulls but probably well within hearing distant.

“Michael, the disturbance at Statesville was much worse than anyone first thought.
Three out of their four blocks have been badly damaged by fire or smoke after the riot. They had to keep two hundred cons cuffed in the gym most of the night.
Now they’re bussing them all over the state, including to Fox River.” He paused, just to make sure Michael understood the significance of this.
“They can’t hold their own prisoners; there is no way anyone else is being admitted there, probably for several weeks.”

“Weeks! Adam, I can’t wait weeks, you have to get me out of here now!”
“Michael, I wish I could. I’ve spent the last hour talking with the DOC. They say that there are no spaces anywhere, and to point out you’re lucky to have a cell at the moment.” Adam grimaced from the other end of the line; he knew this wasn’t what Michael wanted to hear. Michael slumped back against the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He clutched the phone against his ear and rested his elbow on one of his raised knees.

“So what you’re saying is I’m stuck here, possibly for weeks?”

“I’m afraid so, I was told even the warden put in a personal request for an emergency transfer for you but he was knocked back as well.”

Michael started drumming on the floor with the fingers of his free hand, physically playing out the frustration this conversation was causing. He thought back to his good stuff/bad stuff list from the night before, it was going to need a bit of editing. Then he remembered the last item on that list… Linc.

He sighed. “Adam, can you do me a favour? Can you tell my brother about this? About what’s happened?” His reluctance in asking was audible.

Adam gave a short strangled laugh. “Michael he already knows, he’s called me several times last night and this morning already. He saw the news and was worried that you’d been caught up in the riot at Statesville and made me spend half the night tracking you down. The DOC didn’t know where you were at one point as your transit papers had been updated manually at the Court and not on their database. Lincoln was not very impressed that they appeared to have lost you from their system for several hours. Michael smiled as he imagined the choice words and phrases Lincoln would have used at that point.

“Anyway I finally got confirmation this morning about six-ish that you were in Fox River. Linc wants to sue just about everyone for the mess up. But in reality there’s nothing we can do.” He added almost apologetically.

Then as if he had just occurred to him, he continued. “Where are you?”
“Huh? Fox River! Adam, are you half asleep still?” Michael asked.
“No, I mean where you were held last night?”
“Oh, I’m in the SHU. The warden is trying to keep me away from the other cons.” Then he remembered the eerie taunting from last night through the grill. “But some cons already know I’m here, unfortunately.” He added, his voice dropping to a low whisper.
Adam forced some cheerfulness into his voice, aware that his client was sounding low. “Ok, I’m going to speak with the warden to see what arrangements they can make if you have to stay there until the next hearing. I guess you want to avoid the general wings, right? In the meantime, is there anything I can get you?”

Michael breathed out slowly, thinking. “Breakfast would be good. The bulls forgot to feed me last night, and I’m not that confident they’re going to remember this morning.”

“I’ll remind the warden of his obligations, Michael,” Adam responded, a concerned edge to his voice. “Anything else?”
“A ticket out of here?” Michael added hopefully.
He could tell by Adam’s voice that he was smiling down the phone as he answered. “Well that’s something that may have to wait until the hearing, but I’ll do my best.” He paused then added; “Oh by the way, I got an email from a very excited Matt last night.”
“Matt? Michael asked.
“The guy who’s tracking the public interest in your case on the internet?”
“Oh yeah, that guy.” Michael had forgotten.
“He said that you were the second most googled person on the net as of 10pm last night.”
“Really?” Michael didn’t quite know what to make of that bit of information. All he could think to ask was: “So who was the first most googled?”

“Angeline Jolie. She’s pregnant again” Adam responded in a mock serious tone.
Michael laughed, and surprised himself at how good the physical release that it caused felt. There was silence for several seconds as Adam struggled to find a way to bring up the next topic.

“Michael, Linc wanted to call you. They refused to take it, but I know he’s desperate to visit you. He’s asked me to set up a visitation tomorrow if I can.”
“No, he can’t. He mustn’t.” Michael’s voice was hard, unequivocal.
Adam was puzzled by such a strong reaction from his client. “Why not, Michael? You might appreciate a friendly face, given your present situation.”
Again there was silence. Michael’s fingers stopped drumming on the floor and he gripped the phone with both hands, his voice a desperate whispered quietness, determined that the bulls would not hear this.

“I can’t ask him to come back here, Adam,” Michael paused, conscious that he needed Adam to understand his reluctance. “Lincoln came as near to death here as anyone can. I can’t put him through the trauma of coming back, even to see me.”

“Michael, he doesn’t think of it in that way. All he cares about is seeing you.” Then in a much softer voice he continued, “you made such a huge sacrifice for him. I think this is one way he thinks he can start to repay it.”
Michael closed his eyes and knew Adam was right. “Ok, I guess. If he’s really fine with it, can you fix it for tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, I’ll add him to your visitation list today and check with the warden. I shouldn-” He was interrupted before he could finish.

“Time’s up, Scofield.” Hollered one of the guards and Michael said:
“I gotta go, Adam.”
“Michael, the team will come out on Monday to work on your defence. Since you’re facing new charges they have to give us pretty much unlimited access to you, so expect us early ok?”
“Sure, and thanks Adam. I’m sorry you had to deal with Linc.” Michael added as an afterthought.
Adam laughed. “Hey he’s certainly making sure we earn those exorbitant fees you keep talking about. Bye Michael.”

Michael hung the phone back up and stood waiting for the bulls to move him. His hands slipped into his pockets as he was unchained and walked back into the cell.
He sighed with resignation as Patterson carefully extracted the cuffs from his belt and fastened them around his wrists, then reattached him to the wall ring on the long chain.
“Boss?”

“Yeah fish?”

“Any chance of breakfast?”

“Wasn’t sure if you were staying long enough,” he replied with a half smile. “After all, seems you tired of our hospitality a little early last time.” Michael twisted his mouth feeling awkward. Here it was, the first reference to his escape, and from Patterson no less, one of the more agreeable CO’s. He was tempted for a moment to respond to his jibe but thought better of it.

“Boss, please. I’m really hungry.”
Patterson walked out of the cell, banging the door behind him.

Twenty minutes later the hatch at the bottom of the door was opened and a tray of greyish coloured scrambled eggs and toast were unceremoniously slipped through.

Michael sighed with relief. Ok, so they weren’t planning on starving him to death. One more for the good stuff list?

tbc

Chapter 10
The Warden

The SHU was like a busy railway station for the rest of the day. Michael assumed the comings and goings were Fox River cons being returned early to Gen Pop freeing up some of the cells for the expected Statesville cons.
He’d watched the first few leave and arrive, but then one of the CO’s dropped the panel on the thickly glazed viewing window in the door and that was the end of that particular distraction. Michael wasn’t sure if it was to stop his gawking or to stop others seeing him.
If it was the latter it was already too late. One of the first SHU residents to be returned to Gen Pop had banged on Michael’s cell door as he walked past and shouted, “Hey Fish want me to say hi to A Wing for ya? They’ll be real pleased to see you back Fishhhhhh,” hissing out Michael’s nickname with pleasure. He was quickly pulled away and made his way down the corridor manhandled roughly two CO’s, still laughing.

Michael moved back to his bed and stretched out on it, his hands resting on his stomach. His fingers almost immediately began tapping away at some internal rhythm. Michael sucked his bottom lip several times and scanned the room for the hundredth time that day.
He wasn’t good at this, at just lying there. He wished he had a book or a magazine, or even pen and a paper, anything that would allow his mind to focus on something outside his current situation. His mind kept drifting back to the conversation this morning with Adam. He was stuck here until the hearing, possibly even longer, depending on how bad Statesville was. He internalised a smile when he realised for a few brief seconds he’d actually wondered which firm would get the contract for the repairs. His old life still crept up and surprised him sometimes.

He thought about the CO’s and how they felt about him being back. Had the escape made them look stupid? Would they want revenge? Or just want to re-emphasize the power balance by being bastards to him? He wondered about the consequences of this whole ‘celebrity prisoner’ angle that Matt and Adam seemed so keen on. He could understand that more people pressurising the authorities might help his sentencing but that could work to his disadvantage inside. The Warden and CO’s would want to go out of their way to show he was nothing special, just a con, the lowest of the low… and which ever way they decided to do that, it wouldn’t be good for him.
If the bulls did want revenge, they would have to get creative, the Warden had already in an oblique way warned them off anything visible on Michael… now what did that leave?

He didn’t like the direction these thoughts were going and Michael quickly sat up and moved off the bed and to the sink. He leaned forward and turned on the cold tap, running his fingers under the water then onto his face, attempting to wash the thoughts away. He turned the tap off and then something caught his eye. He dropped his head to the right, and then smiled. The fixing screws for the sink, the same kind as the ones he’d unlocked with his manmade Allen key during the escape had been filled in and completely covered over with some kind of hard resin. He checked the other side to find the same. He looked up and sighed, suddenly recalling what Sara had said to him on his very first visit to her. Something about there being “no such thing as trust inside these walls.”


Hell, even Michael could understand their caution. They knew that he’d gotten out from the back of the toilet, but why were they not taking into account the fact that he had actually given himself up this time? Surely they could see this was different?

Why were they all treating him as if he was planning to skip out over the walls again?

Before he could take these thoughts further he heard voices outside the door which opened seconds later. The Warden walked in, turned and thanked the CO with the keys, and the door was partially closed behind him.

“Scofield.”
“Warden.”
“I understand you’ve already spoken with your lawyer, so you will be aware of the situation at Statesville?”
“Yeah, I heard, seems I’m staying at Fox River for a while.” He hesitated, and then added “Sir.”
Williams heard the sir, without acknowledging it. “Well you may also know that I tried like hell to get you moved despite the current chaos. I failed, which is why I now have to make some decisions as to how we are going to accommodate you for possibly the next several months.”

He moved over to lean against the wall across from the bed, as Michael moved back to sit on the bed. This brought the long chain uncomfortable close to the Warden and he momentarily stared down at it.

”I have to admit that I haven’t had to deal with a situation like this before, despite my ten years with the DOC. You are,” he hesitated as he searched for the right words, “an interesting challenge, Scofield. You were not classified as dangerous or violent during your previous stay, in fact from what I can gather you were assaulted several times in your short stay by both cons and CO’s. You’re a successful escapee therefore obviously requiring extra surveillance, something which is difficult at the moment given the lack of space here.” As he said this, another group of prisoners were brought down the corridor and the warden briefly looked back through the open door.

“You may potentially be at risk from other prisoners if placed back in Gen Pop.
However you have rights and we have obligations that your lawyer never fails to remind me of which means you need to be somewhere that allows you access to your legal team and the usual rights to exercise, yard time and personal belongings. Your lawyer has also suggested that your ongoing psychiatric problems…”
“My what?” Michael interrupted.
The Warden had been scuffing his shoes across they grey concrete floor, but stopped and looked up. “This Low Latent Inhibition condition you have? Your defence team are stating that solitary incarceration for a prolonged time may cause actual mental harm for you.” He searched Michael’s eyes as he finished this sentence.
Michael briefly met his gaze then looked quickly down to his hands. Nervously fumbling with the cuff of his shirt, he whispered. “I don’t have a ‘mental illness.’” Williams wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince and had noticed he struggled with the last two words. Michael continued, “I’ll talk with Sinclair. I don’t want this dragged up, it’s not a problem.”
Williams shrugged. “It’s a diagnosed condition and something we have to consider once it’s brought to our attention.” He paused before continuing, “Anyway, as you can see, you don’t fit into any of our usual categories, and let us not forget the most challenging aspect of your incarceration. You still have the blueprints to my prison on your body, and until the escape investigation and official enquiry is complete and recommendations can be made, I have no idea how much of a security risk you actually are Mr Scofield.”

“You could always let me go.” Michael looked up at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief briefly. Williams was trying really hard to not like this man and everything he had seen and heard so far was making that effort harder to justify. He stopped a smile that had started to spread across his face; he was going to remain guarded with this con for now. Henry was right though - the guy was something else.

“Well Mr Scofield. Thanks for the suggestion, but I have found a solution. It’s not ideal but actually I think you may well prefer it to anything else. Whilst you are with us - and during that time I will continue to ask for your transfer elsewhere, anywhere actually - you will be housed on B Wing.”
Michael looked puzzled for a moment, as he considered The Warden’s words, ‘B wing’ then a look of horror spread across his face, his eyes darkening with the panic that followed the horror. B wing was Death row. Nobody called it B Wing, which was why it had taken a couple of seconds for him to recognise it.
His head whipped round towards the Warden, “You’re not serious.”
“I am, and before you start shouting for your lawyer, I’ve checked this out with the legals at the DOC and we are perfectly within our rights to keep you there.”

Michael’s mouth had dropped open. He tried to compose himself, but all his brain could come up with was: “But I’m not one of them.”

Williams’s felt for the first time some sympathy for Michael as he watched the expression on his face change. He looked so young and vulnerable right now, an image that didn’t match the fact that this man was probably one of the most intelligent prisoners he’d ever met and had apparently shown incredible manipulation skills in his previous short lived time at Fox River. It was Henry Pope, who had warned him about Scofield’s skills, but he’d noticed the warning had come with a tinge of admiration in his voice. Henry had described Scofield as ‘enigmatic’, and although he had hated what this young man had done to his friend, Henry clearly didn’t hate Scofield. So perhaps that was why he found himself explaining his decision to this particular con.

“B wing, is the best solution to your, I mean our, accommodation problem. It allows for complete segregation from the Gen Pop, and unlike Ad Seg, it will also allow you solitary yard time. Yard time is hard to arrange if you remain in the SHU. You will be close to the admin area of the prison for easy access to your lawyers and the enquiry committee who will be visiting you here several times over the next few weeks. With the increased security on that block I can relax the protocols on the body restraints.” He nodded at the chains. “And you can remain uncuffed.”

Michael was still looking down at his hands, but had been digesting everything Williams had said and was also coming to the conclusion that it wasn’t actually that bad an idea.

Williams continued. “We will allow the usual personal belongings as on Gen Pop except TV or radio I’m afraid. Visitations will be unlimited for your legal team, and one friend or family member a week. These will be in the cage, needless to say, and the visitation list will be controlled by me. I will not allow a progression of journalists and media types to come through the door over the next few weeks. Your ‘celebrity’ status is not something we will help feed.”

Michael had waited until the Warden had finished and then looked up. “I appreciate you explaining your decision, Sir, but I don’t have a say in this, right?”

“Right,” replied Williams, “but knowing the reasons might help you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Your brother is visiting you, I authorised it earlier today.”
Michael breathed out slowly, Death Row. He realised he’d never really asked Linc what it was like. It was in the oldest part of the prison and he hadn’t paid it too much attention during those months of pouring over the blueprints, as the escape was never going to be using that part of the prison. He wondered for a few seconds if Williams had known that. Had people been studying the pictures of his tattoos and worked out the plans underneath the art? He knew the block was inked on him even though he’d never needed to refer to it. Did they know?

“I’ll arrange your move for tonight Scofield, I trust we will continue to have your cooperation during your stay.” Then he pulled open the door and left.

Michael thought Williams had seemed less angry than last night. Maybe it had been a very good dinner his arrival had spoiled? He wondered how good a friend he was of Pope. Then wished he’d not invited those memories back. Pope had been kind to him and he’d played him. At the end he’d hurt him and he knew it hadn’t been just the physical blow. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he would ever stop feeling the guilt.
Once Williams had left, Stoltz came in and removed Michael’s chains and cuffs. He disappeared back out of the cell and returned almost immediately with a large plastic box. “Some clothes and stuff, Fish.” He placed it on the bed then left, closing the door behind him.

Michael checked out the contents: underwear, socks, another shirt, a couple of grey T-shirts, the familiar blue prison jacket and a full set of sweats, some toothpaste, a crappy prison toothbrush, and finally a small bar of soap.

He set them out on the bed and surveyed his possessions. Well it was a start, he guessed.

Chapter 11
Visitation

They came for him at 9pm, he was ready, his box already packed. He stood motionless as they cuffed him, and then fastened the waist and ankle chains. Stolte double-checked them, and then, nodding to the other guard, marched Michael out of his cell, and out of the SHU. The moon was bright and Fox River glowed benignly in its light. They walked slowly around the outside of the block the SHU was housed in and alongside the fence that separated it from the yard. It was strangely silent except for the slight jangling of his chains. He looked back towards the block, and then up to the nearest tower. That’s when he saw him, the guard with the high-powered rifle, aiming right at him from the high viewpoint. He knew he would be in the guard’s sights until he was safely inside.

He thought back to the last time he’d been in the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle. The small red dot had danced across his chest. He had been possibly seconds from death then, and yet he had ignored it, it didn’t matter; he would deal with that problem only when she was safe. Sara. She had been so concerned that he would be shot and a small part of him had been thrilled that she had cared so much. Then Stroker had arrived and brought that moment to an end. Michael had pushed her hard towards the visitation door.

He turned back to look at the path in front of him and wondered why he kept on punishing himself by thinking about her. She was long gone, making another life for herself away from these walls. He also knew that that was one of the real reasons he hadn’t wanted to come back here. There would be too many Sara memories, and he knew they hadn’t dulled in the short time he had been away. He deserved to feel bad. He’d come into Fox River determined to manipulate her and others to make his plan work. It had ended with him letting down his guard and completely falling for the ‘good doctor’ leaving her to finish cold and judgemental towards him. Leaving him in no doubt how betrayed she had felt. Yes, he’d deserved it

They stopped outside a large metal door; ‘B Wing’ was painted in white letters above it. ‘Guess ‘Death Row’ would have looked a bit too brutal even for Fox River’ thought Michael. One of the CO’s unlocked one side of the double doors and pushed Michael in ahead of him.

Michael’s first glance was up, the large wide hall finished in a huge vaulted ceiling, one place in the prison that hadn’t suffered the ugliness of the falsely lowered ceilings. The paint was peeling on the underside of the roof but architecturally it was still impressive.
On each side of the hall were several doors - cell doors - further apart than the ones in Gen Pop, and made from solid metal, not open bars.

They walked past several of the doors; Michael noticed wooden boards attached to the walls by each door, a name was chalked onto each of them. The cons, death row cons. He realised he’d seen so very few of them, except of course for Linc. His brother had told him that some had been there for over fifteen years and yet Linc had seen them for two maybe three times in the three years he’d been there. They were like ghosts, men all sharing the same door to the segregated yard, the same shower, and the same journey backwards and forwards to the conference room for desperate meetings with tired defence lawyers. Yet they rarely came face to face with each other. Yard time was scheduled one at a time, showers the same, visits when the other doors were closed. Michael wondered how it would feel to become a ghost.

They stopped him by the door second from the end and he walked in. He kneeled as they unfastened his chains and released him from the cuffs. A second guard followed them in and placed his box on the bed then left.

Michael looked around the cell; it seemed huge in comparison to the SHU or a cell on Gen Pop. Perhaps it was the height again, the ceiling was at least twelve feet above him, finishing in a strangely vaulted brick roof covered in thick layers of prison paint. Michael looked up and couldn’t stop a smile when he realised he actually had a window as well. It was too high in the wall for him to look out of, but it was still a window. Since it was dark outside, the light filtering through the small panes was from the guard towers, but tomorrow it would be the sun. Natural light and interesting architecture; strange they saved the best for last, since those usually kept in here would see no other cells.

Stolte turned to leave, commenting as he did. “Make yourself at home, Fish,” before closing the door behind him. Michael reached for a sweatshirt; it was colder in here then the other blocks. He moved the box to the side of the bed, and then changed his mind and tried to place it under the bed. It didn’t fit. He stood their surveying the room, and decided on putting it at the end of the bed. ‘Hey I got me a nightstand,’ he thought, smiling. He sat down on the bed hesitantly, testing the hardness, the give. He lay down and frowned when he realised that it was a six-foot bed, while he was six foot one. He sat back up then leaned back against the wall. His eyes caught the graffiti on the wall to his side. Barely visible away from the bed, this close he could make out the scratched names and dates. Then he saw it, down towards the end of the bed: ‘L Burrows 2005.’ His eyes widened, had this been Linc’s cell? Had the bulls done this on purpose, or could they have forgotten in just a few months? Maybe there had been more in Stolte’s comment than just another jibe. He looked around the cell again as if for the first time. This was where his brother had spent the last two years and where, until he’d been dragged off to the SHU, he’d thought he would spend his last night on earth. He breathed out slowly. But Linc was a free man now, and he was only here because there was no other place to put him. So why was it freaking him out?

Michael had taken his watch off and placed it carefully on the box. He folded his arms behind his head and lay out on the bed. The CO’s had turned the main light off and he rubbed his eyes slowly with his fingers, fighting the tiredness that was overwhelming him. It was so quiet in the block, so unlike Gen Pop where nights were full of coughs, snores, toilets flushing and those distinct noises from behind the hanging sheets. Here he couldn’t hear the other prisoners at all, just the footsteps of the guards as they walked the corridor outside his door.

When they had brought him in he had noticed a guard sitting at a small table at the far end of the corridor, he had been reading under the glow of a small desk lamp as the main corridor lights had been dimmed. The CO had looked up briefly at Michael and the two guards as they had arrived, then returned to his book.
Michael assumed the yellow glow seeping through the bottom grill of his door was from the lamp and he found it strangely comforting. It reminded him of the orange glow from the small nightlight Linc had bought him, when as a kid the nightmares were beginning to tear him from sleep night after night. He’d loved the soft amber glow the small socket light had given off. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think about the fact he was in a cell on death row, and instead remembered the nights with the small amber light and his brother breathing softly in the bed beside him.

The next morning had passed quickly, and had started well, when he was allowed to use the shower on the wing designated for the Death Row cons. A great improvement on the communal showers in A block. He knew there was a CO standing just outside the door-less cubicle but Michael closed his eyes and imagined he was back in the bathroom of his loft as he felt the powerful jets of water pound off his back.

He was reassured when breakfast arrived without any prompt, although the grey eggs were not quite as appealing when he wasn’t starving. Then an orderly arrived with the antibiotics the Doc had promised. He waited while Michael swallowed both tablets and then washed them down with a small paper cup of water. As he left he turned, as if just remembering something.
“The doctor told me to tell you - your blood results are back you don’t have diabetes, so no shots required.”
Michael just smiled.

His next visitor was Patterson, who came in clutching some documents. “Warden says you have to complete the paperwork you missed out on when you first arrived.” He held out the clipboard and took a pen from his top pocket.
Michael sat down in his cell and completed the familiar form. Carefully filling out the next of kin details, he suddenly realised he didn’t know Linc’s new address. He would have to ask him today.
He stopped writing. He’d pushed the thoughts about Linc’s visit away all morning. He still wasn’t sure how much he was going to let him know about the arrangements inside Fox River; he knew Linc’s talent for reacting badly to things he felt threatened his family. He noticed a blank piece of paper among the pack, probably for those people who couldn’t fit the names and addresses of visitation requests onto the main form. Michael hadn’t needed it: Lincoln Burrows only required one line.

When Patterson returned, Michael passed him back the clipboard and completed form but held the pen and paper back.
“Can I keep this please, Boss? I need to write some letters and I haven’t been allowed near the commissary yet.”

Patterson looked down at the 10-cent pen and badly lined piece of paper.
“You don’t get to visit the commissary. You have to give us a list, and we get the things for you.”

“So,” Michael persisted “can I keep this to make the list then… Boss?”

Patterson again stared at the pen. ‘Was he trying to work out what part it could play in a fiendish escape plan?’ Wondered Michael.

“You can keep the pen, but it had better still look like a pen next time I check, Scofield.” Grumbled Patterson.
Michael smiled. “Gotcha, Boss.”

The CO left the cell, the door closing noisily behind him.
Michael placed his newly acquired pen and paper on the box at the top of his bed. He paused, pleased with the arrangement. ‘Works as a wardrobe, nightstand and desk. Hmm, IKEA are missing a trick here,’ he thought, and smiled.

He kept checking his watch until it read 1.55pm. Linc‘s visit was due at 2pm. Michael’s nervousness had increased, and he jumped slightly when he heard the outer block door open and seconds later footsteps sounded down to his door.

The door opened and Patterson and another guard entered.
“Visitation, Fish, and these have to go back on, ok?” He held up the cuffs and chains and Michael nodded.
He was led through an internal door he hadn’t noticed before out of B wing and into an area separated from the central lobby by a large metal gate. He turned and could see a line of visitors waiting patiently for the obligatory search and sign in procedure. He couldn’t see Lincoln. For one moment he wondered whether his brother would decide not to come. Perhaps it had been too soon for him to face his Fox River demons.
But before he could dwell on this, another gate was unlocked and he was ushered through into the enclosed area of visitation. He waited in a short corridor leading off to several cages before Patterson pointed him to the one he was to use.

He shuffled down towards the cage, but the chair on the other side of the glass and mesh screen was empty. Patterson opened the cage door telling Michael to sit. Then, realising there was no visitor, he looked up, puzzled. At the far end of the room there was a raised platform where a guard usually sat and watched the visits. Lewis was the guard on duty and he was chatting to a man whose back was facing them. Michael had started to scan the room but was feeling uncomfortable as one by one the conversations stopped at all the tables as cons and family turned to watch him. Hissed whispers, heads slowly turned towards him and Michael coloured slightly at the attention. The room fell silent and it was this that made then man chatting amicably to Lewis turn and finally realise Michael was there sitting in the cage. He smiled, and then walked confidently down the long room towards his brother.
Michael’s first thoughts as he recognised Lincoln was that he looked good, great in fact, wearing a pale blue sweater, leather jacket and a close fitting pair of jeans. He also looked younger, much younger than he had three days earlier as he left in the car with the lawyer to a new life ahead of him.
The second thing Michael noticed was that he was smiling, actually beaming, and Michael’s heart leapt to see his brother look happy for the first time in so many years. But he was not going to let that stop him saying what he knew he had to.

Linc finally reached the screen and sat on the small stool.
“Michael.”
“Linc.”
“How are you?” Linc’s voice resonated with concern, his smile now a memory.
“I’m ok,” then, with hurt spiced through Michael’s words, he continued. “Why did you tell him?”
Linc sat back slightly nonplussed by his brother’s cold tone and serious face.
“Tell who, what?”
“Sinclair. You told him about, my, you know, my…”
“Your LLI?” Finished Lincoln.
“Yes, that.” Michael was almost hissing with anger now. “If I had wanted him to know about it, I would have told him.” Michael paused and seemed to gain a little bit of control over his anger. He looked up at his brother and in a softer tone said; “Geez, Linc, he’s trying to make a big thing about it. The Warden knows and pretty soon everyone in here will know and then I’ll be ‘Fish - the guy who should be in the whack shack’.”
Linc started nodding his head from side to side. “Hey, Bro, stop right there. Adam is working hard to get you freed, and we’d talked about this, even before we knew you were coming back to this shithole.” Lincoln hesitated then understanding that Michael needed more, he carried on. “He was asking if there were any medical conditions we could use to get you a softer time in Statesville. He’d said you may have to spend the time in solitary and I remembered what happened in the SHU and told him.” Lincoln glanced at Michael at this point, but his brother looked away quickly, not wanting to meet his stare or remember that night. “He wanted to know about the whole LLI thing because he thinks it may add pressure to reducing your sentence. Can’t you see Michael? It might be your ticket out of here.”
Michael was not placated, his fingers repetitively rubbing the chain between his cuffs. He didn’t look up as he replied.
“You had no right to tell him, Linc. I didn’t say you could.”
Lincoln shrugged his shoulders. “I did what I thought was best for you, Michael, just like you did, when I was the one sitting on that side of the glass. I can’t remember you giving me a choice back then - one minute you’re my successful little brother with a loft and a future, the next time I see you, is in a prison chapel listening to a god awful sermon with a room full of cons. Remind me again when I got to say no to that, huh?”
Michael looked away, his face still full of anger.
“I didn’t have a choice Linc, they were going to kill you.”
Linc leaned forward slowly his hands clenched together on his knees.
“It was so hard to walk through those doors today, Mike.”
Michael immediately responded. “Listen, Linc, I will understand if you can’t face coming here, I really would.”
“Stop with the martyr crap Michael, and listen to me.” Lincoln’s tone was hard, and determined. “It’s not because I can’t face coming back here, that somehow, it’s too painful for me to see the bulls or the cons. It’s hard because I wasn’t sure I could be strong enough to face you. To see you sitting there in chains behind the glass when I’m on this side in street clothes, and free to walk out at the end of the visit. I wasn’t sure I could be strong enough to bear that, knowing it was me that put you there.” He sighed, his voice weakening slightly. “I lost three years to this mess, Michael, but you face losing so much more. My life before all this was crap and getting crapper, hell, I couldn’t even manage three meals a day on the outside. You saved me. I know I will never ever be able to thank you enough for that, but the cost to you is so great.”
“I didn’t do it for thanks, Linc.” Michael was staring directly at his brother now, his blue eyes unwavering.
“I know, but you had so much further to fall than I did, Michael, and now I’ve got my life back and it just doesn’t mean much while you’re still on the wrong side of this cage. So I’m sorry if I told Adam about your LLI, but if it gets you out just one day earlier, that’s one day sooner I can really feel free of all this shit.” He sighed, might look like a free man, Michael, but part of me will always be with you, and that means in here.”

Michael’s eyes were now full of the tears he’d tried to stem. He looked at his brother, shaking his head.
“Lincoln this will be over. Maybe not as soon as we both hope but I will be free one day as well. It would make it much easier to bear if I know you’re out there getting on with your life, being with LJ, starting again. I can at least live through you and share in that vicariously.”
“Michael you barely survived the last time. I’m worried how it will be this time. I know some of the bulls are still pissed off about the escape.”
He turned and nodded in Lewis’s direction. “He said that some of the older CO’s are fine with it, no grudges, but the younger ones, the ones who thought Bellick was a good role model aren’t as forgiving.”
Michael shrugged. “I’ll be safe where I am, the warden has sorted that.”

“And where’s that Michael?”

Michael hesitated. Should he lie? Risk that Lewis hadn’t already told Linc?
He knew it would come out eventually. Sighing, he whispered, “I’m in B wing.”

Lincoln pushed himself off the stool and stood back. “What? Frigging death row? You’re on death row?”
His voice bellowed out the words, and Michael visibly shrunk behind the glass. “Linc shhhhh. Please, sit down.” Michael implored, nervously looking back to the guards behind him.
Lewis and a couple of the guards had stood and were now intently watching Lincoln.
Linc placed his hands on the small shelf on his side of the glass and leaned forward. It was taking a huge mental effort to lower his voice, control his anger. “And when were you going to tell me that, Michael?”
“I was going to pick a time when I hoped you would take it calmly, so probably never.” Replied Michael, shrugging his shoulders and nervously picking at his chain again.
Lincoln’s shoulders sank a little and he sat back on the stool. The rest of the room were still staring at the brothers but one by one they turned back to their own conversations.

Michael leaned in towards the glass. “Linc it’ not that bad, and it’s just until they can find another prison, remember? This way I’m off Gen Pop but still get the good stuff like yard time and private showers!”
“Stop trying to make it sound like the Hilton Michael,” his words bringing an illicit smile to Michael’s lips. But Lincoln’s anger was almost gone now. He’d watched his brother’s face as he had desperately tried to convince him that spending the next few months on death row was a good thing on the whole.

“Two minutes,” hollered a guard.
Michael suddenly realised he was running out of time. “Linc, listen. You can help me by organising some stuff. With or without LLI, I need some distractions. Can you get me some books and writing paper? That will help.”

“Sure, but what kind of books? I don’t think we have the same tastes.” Michael pulled out from his top pocket a small piece of paper. Listed on it were several books.
“Any or all of those, please.”

He turned to the guard. “Boss, can I give this to my brother?”
The guard came into the cage, read the short list of books and nodded yes, handing it back to Michael.

Michael stood and pushed the sliver of paper through the mesh at the top of the glass. As Lincoln reached out, their fingers touched briefly and both brothers smiled.

“Thanks Linc. I’ve got to go, say ‘Hi’ to LJ for me, ok?” Michael turned and followed the guard back down the corridor.

Lincoln sat there reading the list of books, looking up just in time to see Michael shuffle out of the door back into the depths of Fox River.
He stood up, and sniffed while shaking away the tears that were threatening to fall.

Tbc

The Defence

As he made his way back to his cell he wondered about Lincoln’s apparent nonchalance in being back at Fox River. He certainly hadn’t seemed worried or fearful in the visitation room. In fact, now Michael recalled the slow confident walk down the hall towards this cage he realised Linc had seemed relaxed. His chat with Lewis had also appeared friendly, although no doubt Linc had actually been pushing him for gossip on the inside.

He wasn’t sure why he was that surprised, Linc was a natural survivor in most situations, his looks usually discouraged anyone attempting aggression and he knew what social interaction was required for the kind of places he usually found himself in. It had always been Michael who’d found new people and new places uncomfortable. Fox River really was a kind of hell for him and the only thing that had navigated him through had been his plan. This had allowed him to map out which people to connect with, and having had their back stories safely tacked onto his wall had given him enough courage to make those first few contacts once he was inside.

His head dipped a little as he waited for the door to B wing to be unlocked. He was beginning to realise how different it was being back inside without his all-encompassing plan. This time he had no schedule, that terrifying time frame that had driven the escape and many times seemed impossible to fulfil. He had no predefined list of people to make contact with, and how to do it. He no longer had the one thing that had stopped him contemplating life in Fox River and what ‘doing time’ actually meant. Because the plan meant he would never be there that long. Now there was no plan, just time. Two years? Five years? He didn’t even know how long and didn’t know if he could do it.

The door opened and he was followed down the hall to his cell. The door was open and he took one step in and surveyed the mess. The bedding was crumpled up by the end wall as if someone had simply scooped up the blanket, pillows and mattress off the bed frame and just dumped them. His box of clean clothes were also upended, and the clothes strewn across the floor. His soap and toothbrush were on the floor by the sink. Half of the tube had been squeezed out into the sink. He couldn’t see the toothbrush and his precious paper and pen were also missing.

The guard who had brought him back took a quick look and in a slightly embarrassed tone -said, “Warden says your cell is to be searched daily, until your security risk is established.” He uncuffed Michael and left him, banging the door noisily behind him. Michael exhaled slowly. He should be resigned to this, he should be relieved that this was the worse that had happened so far. After all, hadn’t Linc had told him that some of the younger badges were still psyched up about the escape? No doubt one of them had volunteered to do the cell search.

He went to pick up the bedding, noting with dismay that it was damp. His sink and toilet didn’t leak, so that must have been deliberate by one of the guards. His clothes, luckily, were dry but dusty from the floor. He set the box back up by his bed and scratched his head. Where was the lid? He got down onto his knees to look in the only place left, and finally retrieved it from under the bed. Then, with a relieved smile, he spotted his piece of paper and pen which had been lying under the lid. They mustn’t have been noticed by the guard when they kicked the box over. He finally turned to the sink and cleaned up the mess there.

It had taken five minutes. He gave a small smile of satisfaction but it slipped quickly as he realised how little he actually had in life to tidy up at the moment.

He sat back onto the bed, grimacing at the damp blanket and thought about the next big problem. How was he going to pass the next few hours until dinner and then lights out? He knew that despite the predatory cons, the revengeful guards, the apathetic ones and finally a warden who would rather he wasn’t here; his worst enemy in here was going to be time itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was beginning to feel like Groundhog Day, Michael mused as he surveyed the tray of breakfast that had been slipped through the hatch the next morning. He wondered if he was going slightly mad as he was sure it was the exact same grey scrambled egg and two half slices of cold toast that he’d eaten the previous day. They looked identical, even down to the suspicious small black lump on the portion of eggs. He nudged it to the side of the plate with his plastic spoon. Then he sat silently chewing the food, noticing with slight disgust that he couldn’t differentiate between the texture of the eggs and the toast. Well Linc had been right yesterday - this wasn’t the Hilton.

He’d been told his defence team would meet with him that morning, but he had no idea what time. His breakfast had been removed with rather more than half remaining uneaten, and now he needed a new distraction. He reached over and, resting the box lid on his lap, he started making a list in the very top left of the paper. He wasn’t sure when he would get anymore and had therefore decided to painfully ration its use at the moment. The list of books for Lincoln had been a last minute thing just before he left the cell and he looked ruefully at the section missing from the bottom right of the paper, He should have used smaller handwriting. Too late now. He straightened as he finished the list, then carefully, folded and tore off the paper.
He folded it and put it into his top pocket then placed the pen and remaining paper back on the box with the lid and looked around his cell several times, his fingers drumming on the blanket.

He was still staring and drumming thirty-four minutes later when the door opened and Stolte came in carrying a set of chains. “Your lawyers are here, Scofield.” Then, nodding towards the chains, he continued. “You need these.”
Michael almost jumped off the bed. “Sure thing, Boss.” He held out his hands almost eagerly towards the CO. Stoltz busied himself with the locks, shaking his head at the apparent enthusiasm of this con to be chained.

They set off through the internal door of B wing and into the main reception and admin area of Fox River. He was then ushered into a large room he hadn’t seen before but knew it was used for lawyer meetings. Lincoln had mentioned it several times when he had met Veronica and Nick, and he knew it was there in the green and black ink somewhere.

They were already there, Adam, Matt and the other guy, looking, well, the only word he could think of was ‘pleased’ to be there. This elicited another half smile that left his lips as quickly as it had arrived. These guys must really love their work.

“Michael.” Adam stood and walked towards him, extending his hand again. Michael shrugged and pointedly looked at his manacled hands as if to say, ’Can’t really help you with that shake.’
“Adam, good to see you again,” Michael responded.

He was told to sit down by Stolte who then quickly removed his restraints. Michael was secretly pleased; he hadn’t dared to hope that he would be unrestrained outside of his cell. He looked over at Adam who was knowingly watching the CO and realised he probably had something to do with this latest development.

“Thank you,” Adam directed at Stolte, as if he had been a waiter bringing up a room service order. Stolte was taken aback by this, and, trying to regain the balance of power in the room, grumpily announced, “You have two hours.” Then left the room, locking it behind him.

“Michael, I have something for you.” Adam reached down to a brown paper bag that had been resting by the side of his chair. He passed it across the table to Michael who frowned slightly as he opened it, and then beamed. Inside was a huge paper cup of Starbucks coffee, topped with lashings of cream just visible under a steamed up plastic dome, and two danishes wrapped in a napkin.

“Wow, thanks Adam,” then he hesitated. “You sure they’re ok with this?” He nodded towards the door.
“They searched it and decided neither coffee or danishes are contraband or could aid in an escape. You’re ok, Michael, enjoy.” He smiled, “I also brought with me a printed copy of ‘Rights and Restrictions for Legal representatives on visiting clients in State facilities.’ Its forty-two pages long and they decided to just frisk the danish and let it go through rather than read the paperwork.” Adam added, smiling.

Michael laughed then carefully released the danish and coffee from the bag, taking an experimental sip immediately.
“Hey it’s still hot, this is great. You must have the CO’s running scared Adam. Remind me to ask you one day exactly how much you charge, ok?”

Adam just smiled. “Right, now we’ve sorted out breakfast-”
“My second breakfast actually, but I’m not sure the first one counts.” Michael mumbled through crumbs of pecan danish pastry.
“Well now down to business, we have a lot of ground to cover today.” Adam sifted through a pile of documents in front of him. “The charges. We only have three main ones to fight, the two assaults and the aiding and abetting escape. I’m surprised they didn’t insist on a few of the others, but perhaps they really want to make as small waves as possible when we eventually go to trial. Let’s look at the first assault, the orderly in the Psychiatric ward. It says you attacked him with a hypo full of a muscle relaxant?” Adam looked over to Michael.

He stopped chewing and licking his lips thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s about right, we had slipped in behind the other inmates, after the fire evac but he’d spotted Tweener’s overalls weren’t the right issue and stopped us. He’d then noticed that Abruzzi was in the group and came over to me to ask why.”

“Why had he approached you, Michael?”
“Well,” there was a short pause as Michael remembered that night. “I was the one wearing the guard uniform, so he figured that I was in charge.”
“Ah, and the guard uniform?”
“The jacket and hat were from Bellick.” Michael answered matter-of-factly.
“Ah ok. So you had taken the drug with you in case you needed it?”
“No, he had told me on an earlier visit that he always kept it on him as a defence against the Whack Shack inmates.”

Matt smiled. “Whack Shack?”
“The people gone J-Cat, the ones too mad to be in Gen Pop. Although, given who was in Gen Pop I always wondered about their criteria,” Michael responded calmly.

Adam was making some notes, then stopped and looked up.
“Sorry Michael, did you say earlier visit?” Michael had by now finished both danishes and was leaning forward onto the table, his hands cupping the coffee.

He took a deep breath. “Adam, I had pretty much free access through the pipes and drains to most parts of the prison for several weeks before the actual escape. I went on a reccy to the Whack Shack and had spoken to the guy before.”
Adam was puzzled. “In Bellick’s jacket? Did you have it then?”
“No in another guard’s shirt. Adam do you need this kind of detail?” Michael asked impatiently.

“I’m not sure. I’m looking for an angle to make the assault appear either less serious, or you had no other choice if you were to save your brother. I guess I’m looking for absence of malice.”
“OK well yes to the last two. I didn’t have a choice, and there was no malice intended. It was probably the safest thing to happen to the guy because several of the escape team would have topped him in the blink of an eye if he’d held us back.”
“Ahh, so it was a completely necessary act to prevent a more physical attack or worse, possible murder?” Adam summarised.

“Maybe,” replied Michael uncertainly, although he had only just thought of the ‘safest thing’ alibi. He wasn’t sure he had gone through that actual thought process on the night.

“Did you know the effect the drug would have on him?” Asked the third lawyer whose name escaped Michael.
“No, just that it would knock him out for the time we needed to get out.”
“Okay.” There were more scribbled notes made and the other three men in the room watched silently.

“Right, let’s move to the assault on Henry Pope.”
Michael started shaking his head. “I don’t have a defence for that.”
“There’s always a defence, Michael, we just have to find it.” Replied Adam quickly.
Michael continued. “It wasn’t in the plan. I would never have planned to attack the warden, you have to believe me.”
“We do. So what changed?”
Michael sighed and focused on the side of the coffee cup, not meeting the eyes of the team.
“So much changed. Firstly, Bellick found the hole, which changed the timeline for the escape-”
“Yes I remember this from when Mahone questioned you.”

“Well we could all get to the infirmary but Lincoln was stuck in the SHU. I didn’t have any more of the pills to bring on the stomach cramps that had got him there in the first escape, so I used the only thing I had left – access to Pope.” He stopped and looked up at Adam, desperately searching for some kind of acceptance, or understanding.

“I tried, but I just couldn’t think of another way. I needed him to give the orders to move Linc. I had to threaten him with the shank - there was no other way.” Then, in a hushed voice, he repeated: “No other way.” He sighed and slowly ran his fingers up and down the side of the coffee cup.

Adam watched him for a few seconds then added a few lines to the notes, before reading another document. “The medical report said he sustained a blow to the head?
Michael looked up quickly, his eyes full of guilt. “I threatened him several times with the shank, I tied him up. I gagged him, rolled him into the closet… Then I hit him with the radio.”

The words sounded harsh, cruel, and Michael winced inwardly at them.
“So, what’s the defence argument now? He looked at the three lawyers daring them to excuse his actions, appease his guilt.

“Okay, that’s not going to be as easy. No obvious threat to Pope’s life at this point, right?”
“The other prisoners were safely locked up in A wing when I hit Henry, Adam.”

“So it’s more of a ‘no choice if you’re going to stop the wrongful state murder of your brother’ reason? We’ll have to do some more work on that I think.”

The questioning continued for another half hour until Adam and the team felt they had covered the major charges.

“We’ve made some progression on the bank robbery as well, Michael.”
“What kind of progression? I did it. I think it was captured on seven internal bank cameras and the local eyewitness news at the time. So, very, very guilty is the way I see it.”

“Well your ‘no contest’ plea raised a few eyebrows, so we looked into the original investigation. We interviewed the teller, who went out of her way to say you were very polite and strangely none threatening, despite having the guns.”
Michael chuckled. “So I’m a lousy bank robber. Actually I’m rather glad I am,” he added, almost to himself.

“If you watch the tapes and think about what happened that day it becomes very obvious that you had no intention of leaving the bank with the money, or of hurting the people in there. Now the truth is out, as to why you held it up, the teller is very happy to appear on your behalf at your next hearing.”
“Wow.“ Michael was surprised and impressed at how the team were covering all angles.
“And talking of the publicity,” Adam turned to Matt who immediately opened up a screen on his laptop.

“Well, you’re very high on the googled and lycos lists, and page one on all news sites here and in Europe and Australia. You’re still front page news Michael.”

“Want to look?” He asked.
Michael shrugged his shoulders and walked around to watch the screen over Matt’s shoulder.

“These aren’t live sites, Fox River doesn’t have wireless and they wouldn’t let me use my cell phone to access the net - something about the security risks of a live connection. These are saved versions of the sites.” He explained patiently.

Matt flicked thorough several sites including Fox News and CNN.
Michael saw his pictures on all of them, a mixture of his inmate shot, complete with prison number, but a few also had his graduation picture.
“Where did they get that?” He asked, breathing in through pursed lips.
“Your brother gave it us. It’s perfect. You don’t look like a criminal in it, and people realise you’re a clever guy.” Beamed Matt, obviously pleased.
Michael stood back up. He was a little uneasy about the picture, but he couldn’t pinpoint why at the moment.

Then he was shown a few more screen shots of forums, where the comments ranged from academic debate on the death penalty to how hot Michael Scofield was. Matt smiled. “These sites are great fun to monitor. Your fan base is growing exponentially, and several ladies want to marry you.” He paused. “Although preferably after your release.” And then grinned at Michael.
Michael blushed deep red and all three lawyers noticed this and laughed.

“Are they mad?” Asked Michael, “I mean, they don’t know me, or anything about me.”
“No they don’t, but they know what you’ve done and everyone admires that.”

Michael stopped their smiles instantly, “I can name a few that don’t. There are too many victims in all this to feel proud.”
The three lawyers looked down. He was right. He sat back down at the table and then remembered his list. “Adam, I’m afraid I don’t have any money. I can ask Linc to make good on this, but could you get me a few things?”

“Of course, Michael.” He accepted the tiny piece of paper and read down the list.

“Ok, none of this should be a problem. Anything else?”
“I know the Warden said no TV or radio. I was never a great TV fan anyway, but a radio… some noise would be good.” Michael was hesitant, almost apologetic in his request.
“I think the restrictions on the radio are more to do with you not listening to all the reports on your case. The publicity is huge at the moment, Michael. I know it’s hard for you to understand this, stuck in here, but you really are at the centre of a media whirlwind, and that plays well for our side so we will feed it as much as we can.”
Michael tried again. “Oh ok, it’s just… You see, well, I’m struggling finding things to fill the time with. Lincoln will hopefully bring me some books next week, but there are too many dead hours to deal with in the meantime.” He was embarrassed. ‘This sounds pathetic,’ Michael thought.

“Let me look into what else you could have, Michael, ok? No promises though, there’s only so far I can push the guys here. However, the fact that they’ve had to put you on Death Row might give us a bit of leeway.”
“You knew that, Adam?” Michael’s question was slightly accusatory.
“I did and unless you want me to get you moved back to the SHU it’s not such a bad solution. Plus, it helps with the public sympathy for you.” He’d answered without looking at Michael.
Michael just sighed and nodded his head slowly from side to side. “Well I guess I stay there, then.”
“And as for the dead time, the escape enquiry starts up tomorrow. They are holding all the meetings here for the next two weeks to ensure they have access to you if any questions come up.” Adam explained.

“I have to attend?” Asked Michael, looking briefly worried.
“Yes. Possibly not every day, but certainly for the first few.”
“Who else will be there?”
“Well one of us,” he gestured to Matt and the third lawyer, “the investigation team who are all DOC officials, a representative from the police, the FBI and the warden, plus any witnesses they choose to call.”

Michael had been staring at a deep scratch on the table, his thumb slowly pressing against it. He looked up. “Do you know which witnesses?”

Adam checked through his pile of papers. “The original documents had quite a few listed, Pope, the orderly, Bellick, a couple of other guards, Manche - an inmate - Tancredi the doctor, and another orderly from the infirmary.”

Michael’s hand gripped the table, and he stifled a gasp. Adam hadn’t noticed Michael’s concern and carried on reading the paper. “But some areas of the escape seem to have been analysed already, so we may not see Manche or the doctor, we’re not sure, they have the authority to call anyone they want to talk to.”

Adam checked his watch. “Five more minutes. Michael there are some papers I need you to sign today.” He passed them over. They were authorisation to grant access to Michael’s medical records.
He paused. “What are these for?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Your records at Fox River are already open, so to speak, although I understand they’re not the most accurate ones ever compiled.” There was a hint of humour in his voice. “They can ask for pre-Fox River medical histories through the court, and they will get access. This just speeds it up, especially since some of it might work to our advantage.”
“I don’t want that being used.” Michael’s voice was low, and determined.
“The LLI?” Asked Adam. “Why not? It’s a valid condition that will not only help in how you are treated in here or at other facilities, it may also actually give you your main motive for the whole bank robbery and escape.”

“I don’t want to use it.” Michael repeated, his voice rising, and anger bubbling up.
Adam shook his head, but remained silent.
“I don’t see how it can help.” continued Michael, visibly closing up both physically and emotionally.
Adam sighed impatiently. “Michael, Lincoln warned me you’d react like this, but just listen. LLI is nothing to be ashamed of, and we are trying to present you as a good, hard-working man who found himself in this impossible situation. The LLI meant you chose a solution that was just so inconceivable and unbelievable to anybody else. It could be the explanation as to why you did what you did and that might in turn get you out.”

Michael was silent, thinking. His elbow was resting on the table and he lowered his face into the hand that came up to meet it. Rubbing his head and eyes, and finally coming to rest on his forehead.

“I don’t know. Don’t people who use mental conditions as a defence end up in mental hospitals, the ones with the big gates and locked rooms? I spent just a couple of days in the whack shack here; I really would go mental if I was sentenced to one for any longer!” He half smiled, realising the irony of his statement.
“Michael, we won’t let that happen. That’s why we need the experts to comment on how it affected your decisions at the time. Your psychiatric report is part of that.”
“I have to trust you guys, I guess, but I’m quite a private person and all of this,” he pointed at Matt and the laptop, “feels like I’m being opened up for all the world to see.”

“Michael you have to realise that what you did was exceptional, and daring and incredible and the sacrifice alone makes you a celebrity, it’s how the world works. We’re here to make sure it works the right way to get you the best result.”

As he finished Stolte came back into the room. “Time’s up Scofield.”
Michael hesitated, and then quickly added his signature to the three sets of documents in front of him, pushing them back across the table to Adam.

He stood up and offered his hands to the CO, turning to look over his shoulder he said “See one of you tomorrow then.” Then he was followed by Stolte as he shuffled out of the room.

TBC

Chapter 13
Yard time

Michael stepped back into his cell and knew immediately that they’d used his time with his lawyers to search it again. His bedding was rumpled, the box wasn’t quite straight against the top of the bed and his toothpaste was now on the wrong side of the sink. But, they hadn’t trashed his clothes and he noticed with relief that his pen and ever diminishing piece of paper were still on the box lid. Michael was beginning to realise that Lewis’s chat with Lincoln had been right. The youngest guards were taking great pleasure in messing with him in here. The older guards seemed less bothered, hence the haphazard search today in marked contrast to the devastation of yesterday.

He resisted straightening the box; it would have brought too many echoes of Haywire and his meticulous arrangements of his belongings when they shared a cell. He sat on his bed, uneasy with the way the meeting that morning had gone. He tried to work out what was causing him the most concern. The LLI angle to his defence Adam was now proposing, or the cranking up of the whole ‘celebrity prisoner’ angle that Matt was so earnestly pursuing? One could wreck his life when he finally got out, the other could do the same whilst he was still inside, or even end his life if a con or bull decided they’d had enough of the ‘famous Michael Scofield’.

He was distracted by the noises of the guards moving down the hall delivering lunch to the cells. He’d read the chalk boards, and knew the names of his neighbours, Petite, Gray, Valdez, Wilson, names but no faces as yet. He could tell after just a day which cell door’s hatch was being opened and the tray passed through. They had finished all the ones across from him and had moved to the door to his right. Heinze was in that cell, then a scuffing of feet and a slight hesitation outside his own door. But the noise moved on as he heard someone walk down to the cell three doors down from him. The others he knew were empty. The final hatch banged open then closed quickly. There was one more crash as the external door was opened and released back with a bang, then silence.

He raised his head towards the ceiling and exhaled noisily. Okay, so no food for him. He remembered the guards on duty changed with lunch. He was probably now at the mercy of the two of the newest guards whose names he still didn’t know. Thank god for Adam’s danishes he thought and hoped that forgetting to feed him was all they had in store for him today. The alarm on his watch suddenly beeped and he jumped off the bed quickly and reached for his pen. On the wall across from his bed was a bright patch of light focused through the high window. He carefully marked the right edge of the patch after checking the time on his watch. Then he sat back on the wall with a smug look on his face.

He’d been tracking the light patch since yesterday and now had several hours marked on the wall like some perverse sundial. He had told himself that he was doing it just as a distraction. He knew however, it was a plan B in case his watch went missing or was damaged. Now that the younger guards had him in their sights that was a distinct possibility, and he did not want to be without a way of knowing the time again. Well during the day, at least. He was about to put the pen back on the box, then hesitated and picked up the paper with the box lid and started writing. He was facing an afternoon and evening of nothingness and that suddenly seemed harder than writing the letter he felt was long overdue.

Dear Mr Pope?
Dear Henry?
Dear Warden?
None seemed right, and he finally settled on ‘Dear Sir,’

An hour later and he had finished it. It had taken much longer because he had edited it in his head so many times, not wanting to spoil his one half sheet of paper with too many crossings out. Every thought, every reason, every justification, every apology, and every regret had gone through many permutations before he felt the words truly expressed his feelings.

He sat back and reread it one final time, mouthing the words as he scanned the lines. But as he came to the end, he was disappointed. It still didn’t really reflect his feelings of guilt, and perhaps no words could? He signed it.
‘Yours truly
Michael Scofield.’
He gulped a little as he wrote ‘truly’ as each time he had spent with Henry, working on the Taj had, after all, been another little lie. He folded the letter and slipped it into his shirt pocket. This was one letter he didn’t want to be found during tomorrow’s search.

He checked his watch again; it was still just past 2pm, hours yet to kill until lights out and sleep. Then he heard another noise out in the corridor, footsteps ringing down the hall. He counted them, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. They were coming down to his end, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, past the first empty cell on his side, eighteen, nineteen, then the key grated in his door and it slid open.

The guard growled, “Scofield, seems the Doc thinks a pile of crap like you needs some fresh air. Guess it stops this place stinking up, Yard Time, one hour.”
He stomped in and roughly fastened the cuffs and chains around Michael’s hands.
Meanwhile, Michael was panicking, ‘Yard time, out with the cons of Gen Pop? Wasn’t he supposed to be segregated?’
“You sure boss?” Was all he could stammer and before he knew it, he was already shuffling towards the internal door. The guard pushed him roughly in the back. “Speed up Scofield, I haven’t got all day to be nannying you.”

He was pushed towards another heavy metal door that led from behind the main reception area and then he was outside. He stopped and blinked in the bright sun. The guard pushed him another step, and then roughly uncuffed him.
“You’ve got an hour con, enjoy.” He stepped back inside and shut the door behind him. Michael looked up and breathed a sigh of relief; he wasn’t in the main yard after all. He realised he was in the segregated yard, the one he had seen Lincoln in so many times.

He stepped out away from the wall and the door and, rubbing his wrists, wandered over towards the fence closest to the main yard. It was empty, no cons. He sighed then, checking his watch, smiled. Of course they were not out yet, yard time was at three. He would get his yard time and be safely back inside before they even made it out of the wing. There were several guards on the perimeter of the fence, but the two nearest were talking and hadn’t even noticed he was in the yard yet. On the far side of the main yard he could see a small PI crew raking at the grass but they were too far for him to make out any faces and before he really got a fix on them they were marched off around a far building by a guard.

Now it was just him and the guards. The two chatting had finally spotted him and had turned to watch him. He looked up and caught the familiar sight of the armed guard in the tower but he was resting his arm on the open window and made no obvious sign he’d seen Michael.
He walked along the fence, his fingers dragging along the open mesh until he reached the corner. Then he walked back towards the stone wall, his hands shoved into his pockets. It was good to be outside, the sun was comforting on his back and Michael decided that this was going to be the best part of his day.
Ten minutes later he had measured the yard in paces, worked out its circumference and timed himself in one full circuit. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do with all this information but it had helped him focus.

He suddenly saw the basketball; it was grey and ragged from being left outside all year and almost camouflaged against the concrete of the yard. He walked over and picked it up, then, looking around him and feeling slightly self conscious, Michael aimed and threw it at the basket hopefully. It hit the board with what seemed like a loud bang and dropped satisfyingly through the hoop. Michael couldn’t help but break into a huge grin. He’d never been the sporty type and had hated playing the hoops with Lincoln who literally ran rings around him when they were younger. He threw a few more and missed about half. He bounced the ball a few times, moving around the yard, testing himself at greater and greater distances until he missed more than he shot and then he stopped. He was surprisingly out of breath, he must be so unfit. He would have to be more systematic with his exercise if he wasn’t going to get flabby. He hesitated and wondered when he had started to think long term about his stay here? How long though? One month? One year? Ten years? He gripped the ball and then threw it into the corner. Ten years was both a lifetime, and a death sentence.

He went and sat against the wall, staring into middle distance, his eyes taking in the yard, and fences and towers. Was this really going to be where he spent what should be the best part of his life? He picked up a small stone and manipulated it between his fingers. Then he threw it across the yard, watching it skid to a stop several feet before the mesh.

His watch beeped, and he checked the time. 3pm. He looked over towards the door, expecting to see the guard come though it. It remained closed. He checked his watch again and then jumped slightly when he heard the yard claxon go off and the dismembered voice call out “A wing, yard time”. At the same time the door from A wing opened and two guards came out followed quickly by a crocodile of cons. Michael’s head swung from the line of prisoners snaking their way through the two gates towards the main yard and the door to his left that remained obstinately closed. He walked over and banged on the door,
“Boss, isn’t my time up?” But there was no answer. He tried the handle but it was locked.
He turned away and saw the first cons wander onto the lush green grass of the yard. Some peeled off towards the bleachers, others towards the hoops. Some just started meandering around the large square. Michael stood with his back against the wall, motionless, waiting, and worrying.

It didn’t take long, two cons had noticed that there was someone in the segregated yard and had wandered over for a look. One had recognised Michael immediately, and shouted out. “Hey Fish, wondered when we would get to see you,” he turned back to others behind him. “Hey, Fish is out.” It spread through the yard and the fence nearest to Michael’s area quickly filled with curious cons.

There were shouts about Lincoln, someone asked to see the tattoos; another shouted it wasn’t the Fish’s tattoo he wanted to see, which was followed by a lewd laugh. They were climbing over each other to get a better view of Fish in the cage. Cries of “Where are your friends, Fish? Where’s T-Bag, C-Note? What did you do with your cellie, huh?”
“Did you get you some ass outside, Fish? What was it like?”
Michael remained silent; he stared across the yard avoiding eye contact with any of them. Then he thrust his hands back into his pockets and concentrated on scuffing his boots across the concrete, his head down. He realised this was the entertainment the guards on his wing had planned. They had purposely left him out so Gen Pop could see him, bate him. He was determined not to let this get to him, so bit his lip and kept his head down.

The shouts lessened and then stopped suddenly. Michael looked up wondering if a guard had cleared them on the fence. But they were all still there. Then the cons standing closest to him started moving back silently, peeling off the fence and making a small space that grew by the second until they had created an avenue of cons leading to a gap of about five feet at the fence. Michael frowned, and then gasped. Walking up towards the fence slowly, followed by a familiar entourage of thugs, was the last person Michael had expected to see in Fox River.

Phil Falzone. Michael rocked back on his heels and was glad to feel the wall behind him. The crowd was now completely silent.
Falzone’s voice cut through the silence. “Scofield, how good to see you’ve finally joined us. We have so much to catch up on.”
His smile was pure evil, and his voice was low and threatening. Michael gulped but could find no answer.
“Not very talkative today, Michael?” Falzone continued, his eyes never moving off Scofield.

“But you were so talkative the last time we met, so helpful, how I could forget?”
He continued to stare at Michael, and then he caught the movement of the two guards who had finally decided that having all the cons at the fence was probably not a good idea.
Falzone stepped back, and looking towards Michael added before the guards were close enough to hear, “Don’t think you’re safe there Scofield. You aren’t safe anywhere. Trust me.” With that he disappeared back into the crowd of blue.

At the same time, the door finally opened and Michael rushed inside, almost knocking over the guard who had come out to enjoy the last few moments of the interaction.

He turned and followed Michael back inside, grinning. “Meet some old friends, huh Scofield?” His eyes were malevolent. Michael held his hands out silently and allowed himself to be pushed back to B wing. Once on the corridor he turned and with a strained voice said, “I need to talk to my lawyer, now.”
The guard sneered. “You do, do you? You’ll talk with them when we’re good and ready.” He pushed Michael into his cell, closing the door without bothering to remove the cuffs and chains.
Michael leaned against the wall then slipped to the floor, his cuffed hands pushing into his face. He had to get out of here; otherwise he doubted he would survive until the hearing.

tbc

Chapter 14
The Enquiry

He asked for a phone call to his lawyers when they brought him dinner, but all they did was remove his cuffs silently. He asked again when they came to take it away, and was studiously ignored. He asked a third time just before lights out and accompanied it with a bang on the door but he was rewarded with just a growled retort, “Settle down, Scofield or we restrain you again.” He slumped down onto the floor with his back to the door. His long lean body outlined by the light now filtering through the grill low in the door.

Falzone was in Fox River. That had to be bad for him. It was obvious that Falzone knew he had set him up. He couldn’t understand why the guy wasn’t still rotting in some Canadian jail. He wasn’t sure how safe he was, even here on Death Row. Sure it would be hard for other cons to get to him, but they could get to his food, maybe his clothes. He couldn’t stop eating for days, weeks, until he was moved. He shook his head silently and started drumming his long fingers on the cold concrete floor beside him. Did Falzone have enough pull to get to the guards? Had he already got some of them in his pocket? Perhaps that explained the little game they had played with his yard time? It was possible, and he knew how nasty some of the newer guards could get. He sighed as he recognized that they would be the threat. That’s how Falzone would get to him, one crooked guard and a diversion down a less watched corridor would be enough. He knew they would attack at some point. Now all he had to do was to work out how to defend himself.

He shivered as he realised how cold he’d become down on the floor. He checked his watch, 10pm, and then climbed back up and got ready for bed. He washed his face and brushed his teeth in the darkness. It didn’t really matter; they’d unscrewed the mirror on his first day in the cell. He guessed they were probably trying to restrict in some way him viewing his tattoo, with no mirror he would only be able to read some of the front and arms. It hadn’t really bothered him; he would be out of there within weeks hopefully and into another prison where his tattoo would be useless. He stripped down to his boxers and a T-shirt and climbed onto the cot, pulling up the blanket that always smelled slightly damp now across his shoulders. He would be seeing Adam again tomorrow at the Enquiry; he would have to speed up his transfer now Falzone was here. The Enquiry! How had he managed to forget that? There was still a small chance that Sara would be there. His heart raced at the thought of seeing her again, then plummeted at what he imagined her reaction would be in seeing him. She would hate him, hate him for using her, and hate him for dragging her back to Fox River for this interrogation by the Enquiry. He closed his eyes and searched for sleep beyond the images of Sara.

“Get up, Scofield.”
Michael’s eyes flashed open. The room was still in darkness, but, silhouetted in the doorway was the C.O. called Fletcher, one of the new ones. Michael raised his hand to check his watch. 3am.
“Boss?” Michael whispered.
“I said get up, con. Now!”
Michael swung his legs over and down onto the floor. But before he could stand Fletcher was looming over him, his small baton already drawn. He hit Michael on the back once. Michael flinched.
“Move.”
“Moving, Boss,” said Michael as he stood and tried to reach over for his sweatpants.
“Leave it, get out now.” He yanked Michael’s arm and roughly marched him out of the cell. Michael was fully awake now, and trying to understand what was happening. He was marched down the corridor, around the corner and towards the telephone. For a brief moment Michael thought he was actually now being allowed his phone call and wondered how Adam would react to a call at this time. But Fletcher walked past the phone and stopped at the ring embedded in the wall. He removed a set of cuffs and chain from his belt and fastened them on Michael, slipping the chain through the ring in the wall.
“Boss, what’s up?” Asked Michael, careful not to meet his gaze.
“Cell search, I need to put you somewhere whilst I do it.” He said with a sneer.
Michael mouth opened slightly, his lips forming a reply then he stopped, and closing his mouth again, he just stared ahead. Fletcher disappeared back around the corner and Michael leaned against the wall. He wondered how many of these games Fletcher and the other guards would play whilst he was there. The wall was icy and Michael realised that he was getting really cold now with bare feet and legs, and he started to shake slightly.

He was still there an hour later. Now almost blue with the cold, he heard the footsteps of Fletcher returning. He knew the search would have taken five minutes, but he assumed Fletcher had just left him there out of malice. He was unchained and taken back to his cell, the door locked behind him. The lights were out and he stumbled over his upturned box which was now by the door. Sighing, he felt around in the dark and recovered some of the clothes, donning the sweat pants and shirt immediately. He found the blanket and sheets after several more minutes of groping around the floor of the cell and remade his bed. Everything else would have to wait until the morning. He climbed back onto the cot and turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes, his face a picture of despair.

The next morning he finished putting his room to rights. The rest of his clothes were folded and returned to the box, his toiletries picked off the floor and put back on the sink. Only after everything had been tidied up did he realise that his pen and paper were missing. He searched the cell again, stripping down the bed in case they had been tangled up the previous night, but they were not there. He sighed, rubbing his head with the frustration. Then he heard the breakfast trays arriving and banged on the door. Lewis opened it
“Woah, Fish, what’s up?”
“My cell was searched last night; I seem to have lost my pen and paper. Boss”
Lewis shrugged, but his eyes couldn’t hide that he knew who the culprit was. He passed Michael’s breakfast through to him then, leaving the cell door ajar, he walked away. Michael put the tray down on the bed and walked slowly back towards the door looking puzzled. He peered out; Lewis was at the desk at the far end of the corridor. Michael leant against the door frame, his hands pushed into his pockets. Lewis returned and handed him a pen. His pen? And three sheets of paper.
“Here Fish, must have been some kind of mistake last night.”
Michael smiled. “Thanks Lewis. I mean, really. Thanks.”
Lewis seemed in no rush to either shut Michael back in his cell, or move away. “That’s ok.” Then hesitantly he added, “I met your brother, when he came back. I was kinda pleased you know when it all came out, that he didn’t do it. I liked him too much for him to end up in the chair.” He ended the sentence and then looked embarrassed, as if he had said too much.
“Yeah I’m glad he’s out too.” Added Michael
“Fish?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Boss.”
“Is it true what they’re saying about you on the news?”
“Don’t know Boss, what are they saying?” Asked Michael, smiling.
Lewis smiled. “They’re saying that you robbed that bank just so you would be thrown in here to get Linc out.”
Michael grinned. “They are? Wow, that’s kinda crazy, isn’t it?”
Lewis watched the young man’s face carefully. “It sure is, Fish, it sure is…” He nodded into the cell and Michael turned and walked inside. Lewis locked the door. Michael heard him mutter as he turned the key: “One crazy Fish…” Just before he walked away.

He was collected at ten to ten that morning, and wearing full chains was marched out of B wing and into the main admin block of the prison. He shuffled in through the door and into a large room. He realised he’d been in that room before. It was the one used for final visitation, and memories of that night came flooding back to him. The cards, the blueberry pancakes, Lincoln and Veronica and that awful taste of despair in the air.

He was conscious that the room was already full of people. The large table had been moved to one end and several people now sat behind it. To one side was a series of Boards with maps and blueprints and photographs pinned onto it. For a moment it reminded him of the wall in his apartment, his planning wall. To his left was a bank of chairs filled with people and to his right another small table with several chairs and Adam. The guard pulled him over to the right and he was sat down behind the small table next to his lawyer. He was vaguely conscious of several more rows of chairs off to one side by the door now behind him.

Several people were talking and there were scuffles as chairs were dragged back as others joined the groups. Many were now staring at Michael and whispering to their neighbours. Adam leaned towards Michael, and in a low voice said, “Don’t worry Michael. Just remember, you’ve agreed to cooperate, so be helpful.” Then, pausing, he added, “But probably a bit more helpful than you were with Mahone, ok? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re fine.” Michael nodded but continued to nervously scan the room. Then he turned to Adam and whispered. “Can I have the chains taken off, do you think?” Adam immediately gestured to the guard who had brought Michael in and was now sitting just off to the side. The guard hesitated for a second and searched the room for the face he needed. He found the Warden sitting in the bank of chairs across the room and wordlessly the Warden nodded agreement. The guard uncuffed and unchained Michael, clipping them onto his belt. Michael smiled at Adam. “Thanks.” Then he reached across the table and picked up the pen and pad in front of Adam. “Can I make some notes too?”
Adam shrugged. “Sure, but I’m still charging you in full for my services.” Michael grinned, and shook his head. “Lawyers. Geeeez.”

They both smiled but then their attention was drawn to the man sitting at the centre of the top table who slowly stood up and cleared his throat, leaning down to adjust the table microphone in front of him.

Michael listened intently as the chair of the enquiry explained the purpose and protocols to the assembled audience. He mapped out the planned hearing dates and how the evidence was going to be collected. He reminded everyone that this wasn’t a court of law and that the Enquiries objectives were to establish how the escape had happened and make recommendations for the future to prevent similar escapes.

Then he sat down and the woman to his side stood and read from her list.

“Michael Scofield.”

Michael looked at Adam who nodded back to him and he then stood up. The woman lowered her hand and he sat back down. A small microphone was brought to the table and placed in front of him.

“Michael Scofield, you have agreed to aid the Enquiry in any way you can to establish the truth around the escape of what has become known as the Fox River Eight?”

Michael cleared his throat and answered in a steady voice. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Mr Scofield, were you solely responsible for the planning and execution of the escape of eight convicts from this facility?”
Michael gulped, but before he could say anything, Adam reached over to the microphone and in a loud clear voice stated: “Members of the Enquiry. Before my client answers that question I feel I should remind you that he was facing criminal charges for his part in the escape, and it would be imprudent for him to prejudice that hearing by statements made here.” Michael looked confused. Wasn’t it Adam who had told him he had to cooperate?
Adam continued. “It has therefore been agreed between the Enquiry committee, the DA’s office and ourselves that the charges of aiding and Abetting in an escape have been removed from the charge sheet for my client in return for full cooperation in this Enquiry. My client will give chapter and verse on how he planned the escape but only on the full understanding that he will no longer face those charges.” Several members of the committee nodded and the woman stood again. “This has been agreed to by the DA’s office and placed on record.”
Michael sighed. Adam had really worked it. Now all he faced was the two assault charges.
Michael was asked to explain how he had put his escape plan together, starting with how he obtained the plans and how he had analysed them to work out a viable escape route through the pipes and drains. When he had detailed those elements the woman stood and thanked him. Then turning to her piece of paper she called out, “Ian Middleton.”
Michael’s head shot up, and quickly scanned the room. Then he heard a chair scrape behind him and he turned. There was his boss, well, ex-boss, the senior partner of the firm moving towards the small table with a microphone in the centre of the room. As he walked past Michael he glanced down quickly. Michael met his gaze and just caught a fleeting look of what? Anger? Pity? Michael wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Ian Middleton sat down and clearly stated his name then waited for the questions.
“Mr Middleton you are the senior partner of the firm Middleton, Maxwell and Schaum?”
“Yes I am.”
“Could you please explain how Michael Scofield acquired copies of the Fox River Penitentiary blue prints?”
Michael dipped his head. He’d never expected this. He’d lied and schemed and stolen from colleagues and facing that now was very uncomfortable for him.

Middleton leaned towards the mike. “Michael, err, Mr Scofield must have removed a set of blue prints from the office archive.”
“Did he work on the project? Did he have clearance for the files?”

“Errm I’m not sure if he was one of the engineers on the project.” He looked over to Michael as if for confirmation. Michael swallowed as he met his stare.
“However all blueprints are stored in the office and could be accessed by staff of his seniority.”
“Could you elaborate, Mr Middleton?”
“Michael was an associate, and there had already been discussions by the partners to recommend him for promotion to Junior Partner later this year. He was one of our best engineers and well liked by everyone at the office and our clients.” His voice was soft, a hint of true emotion behind it. This wasn’t helping Michael; his stomach was tightening as he felt the guilt begin to overwhelm him.
“Were the blueprints kept in a secure area, locked away?”
“No.”
“Why not? They were plans to a prison.” The woman was unwavering with her questions.
Middleton sighed, “Because we hadn’t risk assessed the likelihood of one of our associates deciding to break someone out of prison. This was such an unusual occurrence, you have to understand this.” He then paused and added, “We trust our staff.” And at the same time directed an intense stare towards Michael.
“Did you not think that the blueprints of a high security prison should have been more protected, no matter how trustworthy your staff were?” The woman persisted.
Middleton sighed. “In hindsight, yes, and all our security arrangements have been upgraded now. We don’t expect to see this repeated.”

“Thank you Mr Middleton, you may now leave.”

He got up and walked towards the door, looking back just the once to Michael, without smiling. Michael dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on the table. He had let so many people down. How could he ever have thought his actions wouldn’t affect anyone? He had been so stupid.

The woman stood again.
“Henry Pope.”

Michael groaned inwardly, this was going to be even harder. Henry had been sitting over the other side of the room, partially hidden in the third row and Michael had failed to notice him when he first entered. He walked briskly over to the table. He sat down adjusting his tie, and spreading his hands out onto the table. He did not look over to Michael’s table but met instead the stare of the woman asking the questions.

“Mr Pope, you were the Warden at Fox River during the escape?”
“Yes I was, I was Warden here for over fifteen years.”
“We’d like to explore how much you knew about the prisoner Scofield prior to the escape.”
“Fine.”
“When did you find out Scofield and Lincoln Burrows were brothers?”
He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “Three weeks before the execution date.” Then, correcting himself he added, “The first execution date, that is.”
“How did you find out?”
“Scofield told me. He had been told he was being transferred and asked to remain in Fox River until his brother’s execution.”
“You had no idea of the relationship before then?”
“No, Scofield had omitted that information from his admission form.”
“Yet, isn’t it true that Mr Scofield had visited Mr Burrows several times whilst he was in Fox River and must have been on his visitation list?”
Henry paused. “Yes, after the escape we checked and he had been on it.” There were a few murmurs around the room. “However may I point out that even if we had been aware of their relationship from the beginning we would not have made any changes to where Scofield had been placed. Siblings can be incarcerated in the same prisons.”

“Mr Pope I understand Scofield was given a special project which gave him access on a regular basis to your office? This was the office that you were later assaulted in and imprisoned.”
“Yes, he was helping me build a model. I was aware of his professional status and felt this project would help with rehabilitation. I was always puzzled as to why he had ended up in Fox River. It always seemed a little strange. Now we all know why.”
Michael had been watching Henry but he had not retuned his gaze until now. He stared at him and his voice dropped. “I trusted Scofield; I felt my time spent with him would help. I was wrong.” Michael reddened, and turned away from Pope’s stare.
“Mr Pope would you have done anything differently in light of what you now know about Burrows and Scofield?” He looked down at his hands.
“Scofield did nothing to raise my suspicions; he was in many ways a model prisoner. I’ve given this much thought and although I can never really condone his aiding the escape of the other prisoners, I personally am relieved that his actions meant I wasn’t partly responsible for executing an innocent man.” Michael looked up on hearing this, Henry was still staring at him. Did he see a change behind his eyes? Was there a glimmer of understanding? Of forgiveness? Michael remembered the letter which was still in his top pocket and he removed it and passed it to Adam, whispering in his ear. “Could you get this to Henry Pope please?”
Henry was asked a few more questions about response times after the alarms were sounded but was then excused. As he walked past the table, Adam reached forward and passed the folded sheet of paper to him. He stopped briefly, turning to look at Michael once more then walked on out of the room, the letter slipped into his jacket pocket.

Michael was kept in the enquiry for another hour, they asked for details of the tools he used to help in the escape and he explained about making the Allen key and drill. Then they stopped for lunch. Michael was told to wait at the table until the room had emptied.

“Can we talk, Adam?” Asked Michael, as the last few stragglers left the room.
“Sure.” He turned to the guard. “Can we have ten minutes?”
The guard nodded. “Yeah, but I have to restrain Scofield.” Michael stood up as the cuffs and chains were replaced then sat back down as the CO left the room.

“You were good today, Michael, this all helps your case you know. I don’t think you will be needed this afternoon. They’re discussing general admissions procedures across the State.”

“Yes, I know but its not easy seeing the people who got messed up in this, because of me, again.” He scratched at the cuff on his left hand distractedly. “Adam, you had any more news about my transfer?”
“Michael I thought we’d gone over this. There are no places anywhere; you’re here at least until your court hearing.” Michael visibly slumped.
“Has something happened, Michael? Are they treating you badly?”
Michael let a half smile escape his lips. “Well it’s not Disneyland but no, I’m not getting any real rough stuff yet. It’s just, well, there’s a prisoner here who I wasn’t expecting to see. Falzone, maybe you’ve heard of him?”
“The Mobster guy? Didn’t he manage to get repatriated from a Canadian jail recently?”
“Yeah that’s the one. Well. I was kind of responsible for putting him in the Canadian jail in the first place.”
“Ah and now he’s shown up at Fox River?”
“Yes, and he knows I’m here, he saw me out in the yard yesterday.”
“Okay, but you’re segregated, he can’t get to you. Not on Death Row, it’s the most secure place in here.”
“Adam if you bribe enough people you can get to anyone, trust me.” Michael couldn’t believe the naivety of the lawyer.
“Do the authorities know the danger you’re in, Michael? Have you spoken with the Warden?”
“No, they don’t know I was involved with Falzone. What could they do if we told them?” Michael was pensive.
Adam thought for a few seconds. “I’m not sure; they never like to admit that prisoners are at risk inside their facilities. Let me talk to a few people, ok Michael?”
“Okay.”
“Ah I nearly forgot, I have something for you.” Adam pulled his attaché case onto the table and pulled out a package and handed it to Michael.
“The writing paper and pens, sketch pad and pencils you asked for, and Linc had managed to get two books for you off your list. He popped them by this morning.”
Michael eyes lit up as he carefully checked through the bag, but then looked up momentarily and asked, “How is he?”
“He’s fine, fighting off offers of TV shows and appearances, and has three publishers vying for his book rights. He’s a bit fazed by it all but he’ll cope.”
Michael smiled, Adam gestured to the bag. “You’d better let the guard check the package out again but it’s all on the allowed items list.”
“Thanks Adam, will you be here tomorrow?”
“No, Matthew will be though, if he can drag himself away from the internet of course.”
“Well tell him I missed my coffee and Danish today.” Michael added with a mock look of sadness.
Adam laughed, “I’ll tell him. Take care Michael, and see you soon.”
The CO came back in and followed Michael as he shuffled out of the room and back to B wing, clutching his bag of goodies.

tbc

Chapter 15

Michael couldn’t wait to get back to his cell and shuffled along quickly by the side of Patterson.
He hovered impatiently as Patterson tipped the contents of the bag Adam had brought him onto the cot to check them over.
He moved nervously to the side of the cot, his hands grasped together, as he watched Patterson flick through the writing paper and sketch pads.
He started pacing when Patterson unzipped the clear plastic wallet holding several pencils and grimaced slightly as he unscrewed the tops of the pens pulling them apart.
He finally gave in to an exasperated sigh and clasped his hands behind his head when Patterson bent back the spines on the two paperbacks and flapped them open several times.

Patterson sifted through the items one more time before deciding he was satisfied that nothing was amiss and walked back out of the cell, pulling the heavy door closed behind him.
Michael practically dived onto his new possessions, touching them reverentially. The writing paper was a pad. Not separate sheets but good quality vellum and Michael couldn’t resist feeling the satisfyingly thick paper between his fingers. The drawing pad was A5 size and again of a quality matched by the four sketching pencils in the plastic case. He scooped up the pieces of the pens and quickly built them back; carefully screwing the last one together he clipped it to the side of the writing pad. He then tucked both inside the clothes box.

He sat back on his cot and picked up the first book, immediately losing himself in the familiar world of the story. He barely looked up when food arrived and ate with only half an eye on his plate, slowly turning the pages, occasional light smiles breaking out as he came across well loved passages again.

He was completely lost in the book when suddenly the door was opened and Fletcher was standing in the doorway, in his hands the restraint chains and on his face a menacing stare.
“Scofield, Yard time!”
Michael groaned inwardly, “Isn’t it still raining?” he asked hopefully.
“Yeah so you’re gonna get wet aren’t you?” The guard smirked. “We just follow the Doc’s orders, and that’s yard time every day Con, so get moving now!”
Michael reluctantly grabbed his jacket and stood whilst Fletcher restrained him. He looked back over his shoulder at the two books on his bed and hoped they would remain undamaged if they searched his cell. He realised he could do very little about protecting them.
The skies were still bruise grey but the rain had lightened off to a slow drizzle. Michael turned up the collar of his jacket once he had been released into the yard and trudged around the perimeter fence, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. The main yard was empty and for a strange moment it felt like he was the only prisoner at Fox River.
After twenty slow damp laps, Michael threw a few hoops but the ball was sticky and heavy from the rain and he rarely made the basket. He made his way to the corner nearest the door, leaning back against the wall and just waited, occasionally checking his watch as he noticed the time slipping towards three pm and yard time for the rest of Fox River. He wanted to be out of the yard and the drizzle. He wanted to be away from the main yard when A wing arrived, but more than anything he wanted to be back in his cell reading.
The door opened as the klaxon sounded and Michael quickly stepped into the hall with relief.
Fletcher had noticed his desire to be back inside and couldn’t resist a comment. “What’s up Fish, not wanting to hang around for a Cons reunion again, huh? Shame, I heard some of them were really pleased to see you back here. They’ve told me they can’t wait to get closer to you.” The last few words were heavy with threat. As he talked he threaded the restraining chain through the cuffs and around Michael’s waist, reaching down to do the same with the leg irons.
“Someone in particular plans to spend some quality time with you real soon.” He continued and then stood up with a satisfied grin on his face.
Michael knew he was referring to Falzone and wondered if he was already in the mafia guy’s pocket.
Michael tugged at the chain, which felt more restrictive than usual, and noticed that Fletcher had left little give in the leg chains. He could barely walk and his hands were dragged down with each step.
“These are a bit tight Boss.”
“Quit moaning.” And with that he shoved Michael hard in the back. Michael looked back over his shoulder; his lips pursed but he knew any other comment would not be wise.
They progressed down the corridor with Fletcher pushing him every couple of seconds, thumping him hard on the shoulder each time. Michael tried hard to keep his balance, which since he had lost the toes wasn’t as great but after one particularly hard shove he felt himself falling and with what little give he could find in the chains he tried to raise his hands to break the inevitable fall. It was at this precise time that Fletcher leaned in and hit him across the top of his shoulders and Michael hit the rough concrete floor with a sickening crash. He lay there, stunned for a couple of seconds and then felt himself being pulled back up by the guard who had grabbed hold of his jacket .He felt the pain in his right hand as he stood, a sharp biting arc of pain quickly followed by a deep pounding ache. The right side of his face was also sore but the cuffs prevented him from touching to find out why.

Fletcher turned him around and smiled, “Geeez you’re clumsy. Your friend Falzone said you were, and I said you weren’t. Guess he was right after all.” He pushed Michael towards the door into B wing, grinning to himself.

Michael sighed, his wrist was hurt, and any movement brought back spikes of pain. He couldn’t move his fingers, which had started to tingle, and he knew he’d either sprained or broken his wrist. His cheek was stinging where he had landed on it and then scraped across the floor and he could feel small pieces of the concrete still embedded in his skin.

They were met by Patterson as they entered the wing. “Christ, Fletch, what happened to him?”
Fletcher shrugged. “He fell over. I tried to catch him but he was already down.”

“He needs cleaning up, and you know what we were told about him,” Patterson added with a knowing look in the other guard’s direction.

Fletcher narrowed his eyes. “He’s got a scratch that’s all.”
Michael had stood there as the two guards talked across him but felt he had to now say something, anything that would remind them he was there, another human being and not just an object that had been ‘pranged’.
“My wrist is really sore too, Boss. I kinda landed on it and think it might be broken.”

Fletcher grabbed hold of Michael’s hand, and Michael grimaced with the pain, hissing as he breathed in quickly. “Boss, please no. It really hurts.”

Patterson’s hand darted out and moved Fletcher’s hand away from Michael. “Take him to the infirmary and get him patched up, and then when you get back you can fill out the goddamn form to say how he got hurt.”
A look passed between the two guards that Michael didn’t fully understand, but he knew he didn’t like it.

Michael sat in the examination room, cuffed to the gurney and waited. His eyes were dark with pain and uncertainty. He took in the familiar room with a slow haunting gaze. It didn’t look very different, there was a new window, sure, and the bars protecting it looked stronger and more numerous, but little else had changed from the few weeks ago when he was last in here and the room was full of expectant cons eyeing the cable and their way out of Fox River. His eyes fell on the metal cabinet and remembered Westmoreland leaning against it on the floor as he breathed out his last few words. A wave of sadness overwhelmed Michael. Consequences, being here, meant he could no longer hide from the consequences of his plan.

He found himself looking over to the glass-fronted cabinet but knew he wouldn’t see the paper rose; it would be gone, as she was.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the door opening and Katie walking in.
“Katie,” Michael smiled, happy to see a face from the past which didn’t threaten him.
“Mr Scofield,” the voice was clipped, and unquestionably unfriendly. “Wondered how long it would be before we had the pleasure of your patronage again. Four days after admission is pretty impressive for someone locked up on Death Row, even for you. What have you got, a paper cut from reading all those newspaper reports about yourself?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Michael sighed. ‘Great. Someone else who hated him.’
“It’s my wrist I,” he hesitated. “I fell on it.” As he said this, he looked up at Fletcher’s face. The guard had remained in the room even once Katie had entered.

Katie caught Michael’s glance at Fletcher. “Ah yes, Scofield, that’s just one of the ‘improvements’ since your last visit here. Prisoners remain escorted during examinations now, even if they’re restrained. To prevent escape, apparently, but of course you would know more than I do on that.” She added with a relish of sarcasm.

Michael briefly met her stare. Was that anger or just annoyance he fleetingly saw? He looked away and stared silently at the floor. He had always liked Katie. She had always been polite and sometimes quite jokey with him and he knew she and Sara had enjoyed working together. So this was his punishment for hurting her friend, for causing Sara’s OD and for leaving Katie without a colleague she loved working with.
He looked down at the ground, unsure what he could say, and knowing she didn’t really expect a response.
She walked over and started examining his left hand carefully. Michael smiled weakly and said, “actually it’s my other hand that hurts.” She glanced back over to Fletcher, and with a barely perceptible trace of anger in her voice said “Well I kinda assumed you wouldn’t have your injured hand cuffed.”
Fletcher just shrugged and moved forward to remove the cuff, replace it on Michael’s other hand then back onto the gurney.

She continued to examine him in silence and cleaned out the grit from the deep graze on his cheek, applying a small dressing. She then brought in the mobile x-ray unit for his wrist and added “once these are developed we will know if it’s a break or a sprain. Just keep it immobile for the moment and keep this sling on, ok?”
Michael nodded dumbly. His fingers were still tingling and now his wrist was swollen to almost twice its normal size. Katie was gentle with his wrist and her voice had softened noticeably from those earlier exchanges. But she wasn’t Sara, and he missed his own personal red headed ‘clean up crew’ so much more now he was back in this achingly familiar territory. He missed her fragrance, her voice, her stillness.
“Here are some painkillers, and I or the Doctor will see you again tomorrow.” Katie added and then nodded to Fletcher that the examination was over.


Back in his cell, he checked out the small foam sling now supporting his hand and flexed his fingers briefly. They still hurt, so maybe it was a break? He could still hear the raised whispers outside his door as Patterson let Fletcher know what he thought about Michael’s fall. But the voices stopped when the external door was opened and footsteps echoed down the hall. There was a low murmur of voices and then Michael’s door was opened again.

The Warden entered casually but then stopped, evidently distracted by the sight of Scofield’s injuries.
“What happened, Scofield?” The tone was hard, impatient.
“I fell, Sir.”
“Fell? You sure?” Williams’ voice was now etched with cynicism.
Michael swallowed slightly and in a slow but confident voice repeated. “I fell, I must have lost my balance and couldn’t stop myself hitting the floor. Guess I’m not used to the chains yet, Sir.”
The Warden looked sceptical; “Hmm.” He was not going to let Michael off that easily.
“Well perhaps you should tell me where this particularly rough piece of floor is. We can’t have other prisoners falling over it can we?”
Michael resisted smiling at the game they were now playing and didn’t answer. He looked instead down at his feet and waited.
The Warden sighed loudly, realising that particular game was over before it had really begun.
“I’ve had a request for a visit for you.”
“Lincoln?” Asked Michael.
“No not Lincoln, although your brother has requested another visitation on Thursday. It’s Henry Pope.” Michael’s head snapped up at the name.
“The Warden?”
“No longer the Warden, your escape saw to that,” Williams corrected him.

“Why does he want to see me?” Michael was worried; Henry had made it clear at the Enquiry that Michael had let him down. Why would he want to talk with him?

“I don’t know, and I can’t force you to see him, it’s up to you.” The Warden replied.

Michael pulled his free hand across the back of his head, his eyes closed in thought. Then whispered, “yes, ok, I’ll see him. When?”

“Now. He’s outside. Given the circumstances I think its better you met here, rather than in visitation.”
Michael nodded in agreement and moments later looked up to see Henry Pope walk into the cell. The Warden passed him, trading a look with Pope before leaving the cell. He paused and turned back to pull the door to, closing it silently.
Michael stood at the end of his cot fidgeting nervously. He seemed lost, not sure abut how to greet his visitor or where they were to sit. He finally managed a “Sir” and indicated the bed as the only possible place for Henry.

Pope waved the gesture away. “Looks like you need to sit more than I do,” [he said,] pointing in return to Michael’s sling.
Michael smiled sheepishly. “I’m ok, and it’s just a sprain, Sir.”
“Please Michael, I’m no longer the Warden here. Call me Henry.”
Michael smiled uncomfortably again, acknowledging Henry with a nod.
There was silence for several seconds, neither meeting each other’s gaze. Pope sat down on the cot then calmly asked, “Are you being assaulted?” There was a pause as he looked directly at Michael. “It must be hard being back here, although I understand why you are, the Warden has explained the situation with Statesville.”

“It’s not that bad,” shrugged Michael.
Pope nodded to the sling. “But you’ve been hurt. How bad does it have to get Michael? Has nothing changed from last time?” He shook his head slowly, remembering the injuries Michael had sustained in his first time at Fox River.
Michael could only rub his tingling fingers with his good hand and stare down at the floor.
Pope let out a sigh of exasperation. “Michael it doesn’t have to be like this. If you are being hurt you need to tell the Warden. The inmates who did this…” Michael looked up and had let a small smile escape his lips before quickly draining his face of emotion again. But it had been enough for Pope to see and draw the right conclusions. “It wasn’t an inmate was it? Michael this is serious. If this was done by a guard then the Warden has to know, it’s the only way he can protect you.”

“I’m fine Henry, and unless the Warden intends on bunking up next to me down here I’m not clear how his protection will work. I can manage this myself, there is nothing to tell. That’s how it’s got to be.”
Henry nodded his head again in frustration. Michael needed to change the subject, and quickly. “Did you get my letter?”
Henry tapped his side pocket. “Yes, I did.”
“I tried to explain why in it, but I’m not sure I managed it.” Then with a rush of desperation he added, “I’m so sorry Henry, I never meant for it to happen like it did.”
Henry raised his hand as if to say stop. “Michael, don’t try to explain, I think I understand some of it. Now the truth about Lincoln is out, so much more of it makes sense and I no longer feel as angry.”
Michael breathed in slowly, trying to compose his thoughts “But I feel I need to explain, Henry, you deserve to know why I had to do it. You were the only way to my brother that night. The clock had run out on me once Bellick found the hole. I had no other choice; it was either use you or let Lincoln die. But please believe me, that was never in my plan, I could never have planned to hurt you…” Then after a pause he continued. "Or anyone.” He shook his head. “This is the nightmare I carry around all the time now. I was so sure of my plan, so arrogant about it. I actually thought in the beginning I could slip into Fox River, break Lincoln out and cause very few ripples. I was crazy to think that, I damaged so many lives, and some were ended, if not directly by me, then because of my actions.” Michael’s eyes filled. “I’m so sorry Henry.”
Pope sat on the bed and nodded wordlessly. “I don’t need apologies, Michael, that’s not why I’m here now. I think I came to try and understand myself. I have always believed I was a good judge of character. You can’t spend so many years in corrections without being able to spot the insincere, the liars, and the manipulators. After the escape, I was shocked to think I had got you so wrong. It made me doubt myself. Once the real reasons behind the escape came out, it gave me a little hope that, perhaps…” He stopped and looked up at Michael “That perhaps I wasn’t wrong. His voice wavered slightly.
Michael had met his gaze and seen behind his eyes the need to understand, but before he could reply Henry continued his voice now stronger, surer. “I can’t condone what you did Michael, and yes you should feel responsible for the consequences of your actions. I still don’t understand why you had to help so many escape and why you took those particular prisoners, but perhaps one day it will make more sense. I’d like to talk some more, perhaps another time?”
Michael nodded. “I’d like that too, Henry.”
“Fine.” He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. He offered his hand out to Michael, and then drew back slightly, perhaps he thought it wasn’t appropriate. Michael hesitated. Then Pope offered it again, this time meaning it. Michael shook it and smiled. Henry walked over to the door and banged on it once. It was opened and he walked out to the waiting Warden, they exchanged a few whispered words and he was gone.

The Warden came back into the cell. “Henry has asked me to add his name to your visitation list.” Michael just nodded again. Then as if he had just realised what that meant, he spoke.
“But I’m only allowed one visitor a week; would that stop my brother’s visits?” The Warden smiled at Michael, “No, I don’t think that would be a problem, although he and I would prefer those visits took place here.” Michael relaxed; the Warden seemed to be softening. This thought almost put Michael off his guard until he heard his next words.
“Did Fletcher hit you?”
Michael looked up at him quizzically. “Sorry?”
“I’ve checked the log, Fletcher escorted you today. Did he hit you?”
Michael remained silent for a moment then he answered. “It happened like I told you, I stumbled. I’m kinda clumsy.” Michael’s shrug fooled neither of them.

“Scofield, if I find proof another way I will. I don’t necessarily need your corroboration.” Michael stared back at the Warden, no response was needed. The Warden sighed and turned to leave. “Oh by the way Scofield, your psychiatric assessment will start tomorrow, sometime in the afternoon; you will attend the Enquiry in the morning.”
And with that he left and Michael just stood, his mouth open watching the door close.
The assessment the Judge had ordered. He’d almost forgotten about that………..
tbc

“What happened?” asked Matt his voice edged with shock and concern, when Michael sat down next to him.
Michael sighed, and in a weary tone said; “I fell wearing the leg chains and hit the floor a bit harder than I wanted to.” Then, to avoid Matt’s gaze, he started fussing with the sling.
Matt was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowed and he leaned into Michael. “Listen I’m not dumb and I doubt you just fell. If someone is getting to you we need to know. We can talk with the warden.”
“No.” Michael snapped back, his raised voice causing several in the room to look over to the table where they were sitting. He continued, but lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m ok the wardens already asked me about it. There’s nothing else to know. Now fill me in, what are they covering today?”

Matt frowned, but turned to his papers. “They want to question you and others on some access issues. Let’s see, access to the chemicals, access to medication in the infirmary….”

“Others?” Michaels voice betrayed his rising horror at what he was about to hear.

Matt wasn’t really listening closely but checked his papers again. “I’m not sure, probably the infirmary staff, a Dr Tancredi and a nurse. But they don’t seem to be calling the orderly whose keys were stolen…”

”What can they add to the enquiry?” Michael asked, swallowing hard and clenching his one good hand.
Matt shrugged. “Guess they want to know how you got so much access to the room you eventually escaped from. Is there a problem Michael?”
“Problem?” Michael turned and faked a smile, “there’s no problem.” His voice tailed off. Then changing the subject, he smiled “How’s the web stuff going?” Matt’s face brightened but before he could reply the room came to a hush as the chairman rose to open the days proceedings.

An hour later and Michael was sighing in exasperation, this was such a waste of time. He’d explained how he had worked out the chemicals to corrode the pipe and how he had ‘acquired’ one of them from the chemical lock up after bribing the Con on duty with a box of smokes. There was then a rather pointless discussion between some of the panel members about the trading value of cigarettes and whether they should be considered contraband in DOC facilities. Michael couldn’t believe how little some of these people actually knew about life inside.

However when they had finally talked themselves dry on the subject, the woman who had led the proceedings the previous day then stood and read from a piece of paper. “Dr Tancredi.” Michael had been looking down, his chin almost on his chest but on hearing that name he raised his head quickly. The room went quiet and Michael scanned the seats, he could not see her. Surely he couldn’t miss Sara… But still no sign of that deep red hair. He turned to the door, but it remained closed.
The Warden stood and crossed the room and whispered something into the woman’s ear. She nodded and then after searching though her pile of documents picked up a closely typed paper.
“I’ve just been informed that Dr Tancredi cannot attend for…” There was a short hesitation as she searched for the right words. “Personal reasons. We do however have her statement, which I shall now read.”

Michael closed his eyes briefly, personal reasons, she must still be in rehab…. he would not see her, his heart sank even though he had been half dreading the moment her eyes fell on him for the first time since that acrimonious meeting in the infirmary.
He shook his head, he should be listening, concentrating, the woman was droning on about, the accuracy of medical information provided by prisoners, blood sugar levels and testing and daily injections. This was about him, this was his story in Fox River, and this was his lie.
Sara’s statement had been clinical, factual, everything expected from a Doctor. “I followed medical protocol on treating Inmate Scofield,” How impersonal did that sound to his ears. Not even a first name! Thought Michael. “I’d carried out all the necessary tests; I had treated him unrestrained, again following the usual protocols.” A panel member asked for an explanation of these and Warden Williams had stood and said “medical staff could chose to have inmates restrained or unrestrained, escorted or alone. They were allowed to make the call.”

A second panel member asked about the appropriateness of a female doctor examining male inmates. Williams sighed. “That is simply not an issue here or in any other facility. The medical staff are professionals, and the doctor/patient relationship is the only one occurring.” The Woman continued with Sara’s statement “I’d chosen to examine him unrestrained and alone because I didn’t perceive Inmate Scofield to be a threat.” Michael could sense many eyes watching him as Sara’s words were read out. Then finally, “I made these choices because I trusted my own judgement of this prisoner, I trusted Michael Scofield. I was not to know he had deceived me medically and had manipulated me to gain my trust. It’s a lesson I will not have to learn again.”

Michael felt the words pound into him, pummel him, and destroy him. Sara could not have made it clearer. He was a liar and deserved no one’s trust, and she was right. He was now grateful that she had not been here to deliver those words personally. That would just have been unbearable.

The rest of the morning passed Michael by, he was too lost in his own thoughts and answered any questions directed at him mechanically. Matt noticed his client’s passivity and asked him several times if he was ok. Michael just shook the questions away.

Michael was escorted, although thankfully without the chains, to the lawyer’s room at lunchtime. Matt had excused himself without an explanation and Michael sat nervously tapping the table waiting for him to reappear. He finally entered the room carrying a large white box and brandished it victoriously.
“Mr Scofield, lunch is served!” Michael looked puzzled. Lunch? Then the smell hit him. Pizza! His face cracked open in a huge grin.
“My god please tell me that’s for me and you’re not just torturing me.”
“Of course it’s for you,” replied Matt. “Double cheese extra spicy meat feast! Michael, and it’s been cleared by the food police out there.” He nodded back over his shoulder to the two guards outside the room. “So come and help yourself.”

Afterwards, Michael slowly licked each finger on his good hand cleaning off the final traces of the pizza and smiled. “That was great.”

“Good, now I need to bring you up to speed on your upcoming hearing. Adam couldn’t be here today because he is in Washington, discussing your case with representatives from the White House, the DOC and some Illinois state officials. Michael forehead creased.
“Discussing me?”
“They asked for the meeting and seem to want to negotiate.” Matt replied.
“On the length of my sentence?” Asked Michael hopefully.
“On if there’s going to be a sentence at all.” Replied Matt eagerly. He registered Michael’s shocked face. “Oh of course, you haven’t heard the latest news. Henry Pope has asked for the assault charges to be withdrawn. He’s now saying he may have injured himself struggling to free himself from the closet.”
All Michael could manage was a half gasped “What? No…” Matt shrugged, “Hey if the old guy’s memory is not great we’ll take that.” Michael thought back to his meeting the day before with Henry. He must have left his cell and immediately spoken with the Police. The man was helping him despite what he had done.
Matt had not noticed Michael’s silence and continued, “So now you only face an assault charge on the orderly and of course the original bank robbery charge. The court has brought the hearing date forward, with just the one new charge remaining; it was felt everyone would benefit from not having to wait the whole month. The media pressure is beginning to break them. The hearing has been rescheduled for next Monday.” Michael breathed in deeply. So he would know his fate in just a few days time.

He remembered back to Adam’s original conversation about how many years he could face, and wondered if walking out of the court on Monday was an actual possibility? Could he allow himself to dream?
He started tapping the table again slowly, then with sparked curiosity and to divert his thoughts from being a free man again, he asked; “How’s the petition going on the web?”
“Over a hundred thousand names as of this morning,” replied Matt. “It’s incredible, its been talked about everywhere, on forums I didn’t even know existed, blogged to the limits, my IT guys are tearing their hair out as our corporate site doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with the current traffic on the site.”
Michael listened as he half-heartedly played with the side of the pizza box. Gino’s Pizzas. He’d had takeouts from their Downtown outlet before. But they’d never tasted as good as this one.
In the background Matt carried on. “So things are looking good, the people with the power want to negotiate, public pressure is phenomenal, we’re down to one additional charge, which as you know we advise you plead guilty, and allow for mitigation and you have your psychiatric assessment later today, and that may well give us a medical out.”
Michael nodded his head quickly from side to side. “I don’t want to play that card Matt, Adam knows this.”
“Hey it’s not like that Michael; the Court requires it before they can consider any re-sentencing for the robbery. If we disagree with the findings we simply pull in our own experts. He’d glanced over and noticed Michael’s apprehension. “Michael don’t worry. This is working out just as planned, and who knows? Adam may come back with some alternatives to incarceration. He was researching the protocols on electronic tagging yesterday. We know what we’re doing, just trust me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Michael trust me, this will only be productive if you trust me and start to open up a little.” The psychiatrist’s voice was warm, reassuring, friendly and it made Michael even more detached, defensive, and suspicious. He’d spent many hours with people just like him as a kid when his ‘condition’ was first diagnosed. Then as an adult many more hours as he actively searched for answers, only to find there were none, just coping mechanisms to learn, and strategies to prevent melt down when his professional life, or more often his personal life became too stressful.

He knew their language, knew the traps they would lead him into, and the first rule was don’t let then get too close. So he sat and smiled and was courteous and built up the barrier he had built so many times before brick by brick.
At the end of the session he was drained, a battle had just taken place.
And he had defeated the psychiatrist. Although of course both were far too polite to acknowledge that.

Michael stared ahead, emotionless as he was escorted back to his cell. He knew Adam would be annoyed if he realised how little the psychiatrist had gained from the session but this was one thing he would not compromise on. He would not use his LLI as a defence. That was one weakness he would not parade to the world.

“Scofield! Doc wants you in the infirmary,” yelled Stolte, just as Michael stepped back into his cell. The young guard who had escorted him back grumbled and pulled him around by his good arm. “Ok lets go,” then stopped.
“Stolte how do I restrain him with this sling? It’s a trip outside the block to see the Doc.”
Stolte wandered into the cell. “Well just hold onto him. Geez the guy has a broken wrist, what’s he gonna do you pussy?” Michael couldn’t help but smile and for once looked forward to a brief walk unchained. They stepped out into the sunshine and Michael noticed with relief that the main yard was empty.
They turned the corner around the block and walked past a small PI crew out rebuilding a stone retaining wall. They all stopped as Michael was walked by and muttered between themselves. The man at the end who was holding a clipboard looked up and smiled malevolently. “Michael how good to see you.” And as he spoke a look passed between him and the guard. The guard stopped and turned away. “Wait here Scofield.” He turned and walked over to another guard about fifteen feet away, glancing back over his shoulder at the two cons now talking and then around the yard before gesturing to the guard.

Falzone continued in a tone of mock concern “But Michael, you’re hurt, what could have happened? And they’re supposed to be taking such good care of you here, after all isn’t that why you’re hidden away on Death Row? No chance to meet up with your friends out here?” His voice was calmness and menace, a disconcerting mix and Michael bundled up his own nerves and hid them behind a dark stare.
“Well don’t worry Mikey.” Michael’s eyes narrowed at the mock friendly shortening of his name, ”We’re planning a reunion just for you. Can’t say when, but it will be soon, trust me. Then we can really catch up.” He turned back to his PI crew and smiled. The guard returned and pulled Michael away.
“Scofield get a move on.” Michael turned back once to watch Falzone over his shoulder. Only another few days before his hearing, he had to hope they’d send him somewhere else once his sentence was agreed. He wasn’t sure how long Falzone could be kept at bay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Your wrist is only sprained, but it’s a bad one, keep the sling on but make sure you keep your fingers moving ok? I’ll prescribe some more painkillers for the next few days.” The Doctor then satisfied himself that the gash in his leg had healed, removed the dressing from Michael’s cheek. “Right Scofield you’re all patched up, let’s hope I don’t see you in here again.”
“Doc I’ll do my best,” quipped Michael.
The Doctor rolled down Michael’s trouser leg then paused and looked up at Michael still perched on the gurney.
“Yes, well given your past history,” he nodded in direction of Michael’s medical notes. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.” Responded the doctor.
Michael smiled almost apologetically and jumped down onto the floor.

Later back in his cell, he removed the sling and started to flex his fingers, the swelling was going down and with a bit of luck he would only have the graze on his cheek to explain away to Lincoln on his next visit. Although somehow he didn’t think a shaving accident excuse was going to get past his brother. He sat back on his bed and reached over for the sketchpad and pencils. He’d been intrigued by the barrel roof of his cell, such a rare construction technique nowadays with so much concrete and steel, and he wanted to try and capture the structural elements of it. He opened the pad and started sketching, losing himself in the drawing. As he drew he considered his day. It had been such a mix of good and bad things. He had less than a week now before he knew his future. All he had to do was manage these next few days without any major problems. Surely staying alive on ‘Death Row’ couldn’t be that hard… Could it?
tbc

Chapter 17


Michael woke up with a plan. OK it may not have been fully formed or particularly complex like his usual offerings but it was still a plan of sorts.

He knew it was just a matter of time before Falzone got his ‘reunion’ with him and he also knew his survival chances were zero once that happened. If he was Falzone, how would he orchestrate access to a prisoner kept in virtual isolation on death row? It had to be through the guards. They controlled every aspect of Michael’s life and were the only constant whenever he left B wing.

Since the ‘fall’ he had no doubt Fletcher was in his pay and possibly some of the other newer guards as well. The older ones? He couldn’t be sure but someone was no doubt benefiting financially from Falzone running PI. Seemed some things hadn’t really changed from the Bellick/Abruzzi days.

So, to stop Falzone, he needed to avoid any inter block travel, that would give the guards no chance to manoeuvre him to an area Falzone or one of his thugs could get to him.
He would refuse to go anywhere. No trips to the lawyer’s room, no trips to visitation, no trips to the yard and definitely no trips to the infirmary. He realised they could try and force him but what could they do if he refused? Throw him in the SHU, hardly. Sure they could drag him to places but that would require at least two guards and a lot of noise and fuss, so no chance for a detour down a thug infested corridor.

Michael smiled at the first part of his plan, the second was harder, it required some manipulation of those around him. He needed a transfer out; he could only play the refusing game for so long. He really needed to be heading somewhere else after the hearing. Adam had gone very quiet on the transfer front and he needed to rattle his cage on that again. Perhaps the way was through public pressure; perhaps Matt could start questioning the fairness of keeping him at Fox River online in the forums and communities and let a campaign build there to have him moved somewhere, anywhere. Once the hearing was over on Monday his need for constant access to his lawyers would be less of an issue, maybe he could push for an inter state transfer to a prison a long long way from Falzone? He’d been reading details of the Enquiry panel from Adam’s notes, many of them were wardens of other facilities, and perhaps Adam could approach them directly, or at least apply some more pressure on Fox River’s warden to do the same.

He had purposely ignored the possibility raised by Matt that he could be released next week. That was too dangerous a road to go down for Michael’s mental state, he would not bring himself to hope. Instead he’d rationalised, anything under five years was a success, anything over, disappointing. But what was important, was that once he climbed onto that bus on Monday, he didn’t come back here.

He folded his hands on his lap and leaned back against the wall behind his bed, stretching out his long legs and flexing his toes. He checked his watch and then twisting to stare at the wall behind him, and smiled when he realised his sun wall clock was spot on. Another hour and he would see Adam and then explain how he was about to become a very un-model prisoner.

The Enquiry was in a special session today and it was going to tour all the locations of the escape plan with Michael as the official guide. He’d been dreading today as he knew he could not avoid some contact with the rest of the cons during tour. But now he had his plan and knew that after today he would never see any of it again it began to feel like closure. One last trip to Gen Pop, the guard’s rest room, the infirmary, a rather sombre trip down memory lane.

He sighed then picked up his sketch of his cell roof he’d done the previous day, it wasn’t the best, but his wrist had still been slightly swollen and every move of his finger had caused him some pain. However, it was recognisable and he picked up his pen from the top of the box and signed the sketch in the corner MS 2006. Then he slipped it carefully inside his box and waited for whichever guard was to take him to the enquiry.

They wanted to start in Gen Pop, The warden had arranged for special yard time for the normal residents of the block and when Michael shuffled into the large block with a guard and Adam at his side it seemed unnaturally quiet with everyone outside. He looked up and along the three tiers of empty cells and was flooded with images of cons behind the bars, cons leaning over the yellow hand rails, cons lining up for count. There were 12 members of the panel and they all filed into the central area, and then followed the Warden up the stairs and along the gantry to Cell 40.

Michael stopped outside, leaning against the open bars of the cell, his hand hesitantly touching the cold steel of the bars and looked in. The bunks were stripped down, no bedding just two striped mattresses. The rest of the cell was empty but the toilet was not completely flat against the wall. Sucre flashed in his mind, quickly followed by feeling of sadness. His cellie had been re-captured and was now serving an extra five years. He’d managed to get transferred to a facility in New York State nearer to Maricruz who was now heavily pregnant. His guilt over causing his friend so much extra pain would not go away easily. The Warden entered the cell and bent down to move the toilet completely away from the wall to expose the hole behind. Michael was shocked how small it now seemed. Had this really been his way out? Even he was having trouble imagining it. There was no way all twelve members of the panel could fit into the tiny cell so they entered three at a time, had a closer look at the hole and the corridor behind it then left, some scribbling notes on pads as they did. Michael moved further along the gantry so he was now standing outside the next cell. One of the first group who left the cell turned to Michael.
“Mr Scofield how did you manage to dig that hole out and come and go when the cell front is just open bars? Did no one see you?” Michael paused and surveyed the mature woman in front of him. She looked to be in her mid fifties and the image of respectability.
“We hung a sheet ma’am, if we had to work on it during the day or when the lights were on.”
“A sheet?” She was obviously puzzled.
Michael smiled and wondered how much detail she would need. “Prisoners who share cells sometimes like to get…” A teasing pause, “intimate, so they tape a sheet across the bars and everyone, guards included understand what’s happening.”
The woman looked confused for a moment, and then the dawning realisation could be tracked across her face.
“Oh my,” the woman exclaimed, blushing faintly. “Err Thank you Mr Scofield.” And she walked back to join the group.
Michael shook his head and wondered how someone who had so little knowledge of prison life could be of any use on such an enquiry. He turned to stare back across at the tiers facing him. He’d been in A wing for less than two months, but it all felt so familiar, and terrifying. Was this really what was waiting for him somewhere, in another prison, for the next five maybe ten years?
Eventually they had all had a chance to view the hole and they started moving along the walkway past Michael and his guard towards the stairs at the furthest end. Just then a noise behind them warned the group that yard time was over and the cons were now filing into the block below them. The guards assigned to the panel members looked flustered for a moment but The Warden nodded them on calmly and they had left by the other door before more than ten or fifteen of the cons had arrived. These first few caught however a quick glimpse of Michael as he brought up the rear of the group and several calls of “Hey Fish come for a visit have you?”
“Fish your cell’s still free, come and join us,” he looked over his shoulder briefly then turned silently as followed the guard out of A wing.

They visited the corridor behind the cells and Michael explained how it gave him access to the several key areas of the prison. They ventured into the small service room where Sucre and Abruzzi had finally broken through the wall to gain access to the sub system. The hole had been left and a torch was shined down it to allow several to peer in. All morning the crocodile weaved its way through the various blocks and corridors of the prison, taking in the hole in the guard’s recreation room, the access through the wack shack and the storage room below the infirmary where Michael had been finally thwarted by the new pipe fitting.
They ended up crammed into the examination room in the infirmary as Michael explained how he had used the elevator to tear out the bars to the window and pointed out where the cable had run from the side of the window to the wall. This was now missing and Michael assumed since it carried various power lines that it had been replaced pretty quickly by an underground cable.

Back in the enquiry room, Michael answered more questions on how long it had taken him to free the blocks behind the toilet, fashion the drill, and corrode the pipes until he was heartily sick of the whole thing.

A rather astute member of the panel then asked him the only question that morning that had required any thought on his part.
“So Mr Scofield, if you were advising on security issues at another facility what would you recommend?”
Michael breathed in slowly, his eyes closing momentarily.

“There is so much effort put into restricting access to tools or contraband, but the one thing you can’t restrict in here is time. A prisoner has tons of the stuff so any weakness; any vulnerability within the walls or processes, once spotted can be worked on endlessly. A bar might be rocked constantly for several months and eventually it bends at the weakest screw. A concrete floor scraped by a well position boot inlaid with a metal plate might eventually create enough of a gap to push something through the gap to make sure it doesn’t shut cleanly the next time. Everything in prison is scheduled, planned, so a con will always know who will be where, at a precise time. All systems can be cracked. All structures worn away eventually if time and motivation is all they have. I managed to break down the defences at Fox River in less than two months, imagine what could be achieved if someone had a year, two years.
However, how you combat this? Well, organised chaos is harder to plan around. Trust me.”
Several members of the panel nodded to themselves and the Warden looked over to Michael, his face betraying a revised appreciation of him.

As they broke for lunch Michael leaned across and whispered to Adam.
“I need to talk to you, but in my cell not the interview room.” Adam turned to Michael, “Why there?”
“I’ll explain when we’re there; can you fix it for me please?”
Adam held his hand up and said; “I’ll see what I can do.” He stood and approached the Warden. Their discussion was brief; Williams looked over just once towards Michael but then turned and nodded at Adam. Michael smiled; it looked like he’d gotten his request.

Michael winced slightly as the cuffs were placed around his wrists. The swelling may have gone down but it was still painful. He pulled it into his stomach protectively as they set off back to B Wing, this time with Adam by his side as well.

Adam had never been on ‘Death Row’ and let out a low whistle as they entered the main hall and he took in the high ceilings and architectural details.
“Wow, impressive.”
“Yeah,” said Michael smiling, “although completely wasted on the residents, right?”
Adam smiled. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
Michael waited patiently by his cot whilst the guard uncuffed him and removed the chains. Adam entered hesitantly and then turned back to the guard.
“Any chance of a chair?” The guard pursed his lips.
“Err guess so, I’ll go find one,” and disappeared out of the cell.
“Well this is… hmmm… minimalist?” Commented Adam as he looked around the bleak cell.
Michael grinned. “You should see my apartment, this is cluttered in comparison.”
“Ah so this is homely for you?” Adam replied smiling.
“Aesthetically it has its charm yes, pukey green probably wouldn’t have been my first colour choice and the grey concrete floor is a little too retro for me, but it will do.” Then his voice dipped and hardened. “Until Monday at least.”
Adam noticed the playful tone had disappeared in those last few words.
“Michael, I explained, transfers are just not happening at the moment.”
“Adam I have a mafia guy in here who’s practically sending out gilded invitations to my shanking. I have to get out of here.”
“How can he get to you in here? You’re segregated and guarded 24/7.”
“I’m safer in here yes, and that’s why I’m going to insist I don’t leave this cell until the morning of the hearing. That’s why I need you to explain to the warden. I’m refusing yard time and any visitations that can’t take place in this cell. I’ll attend the hearing but only if they guarantee you or another member of my legal team join the guard escort there and back.”
“Michael this all seems a little… excessive? And what do I tell Lincoln? He was expecting to see you tomorrow.”
“Tell him I’m just being very careful in here, he will understand that. But I need you to step up on the transfer; I really don’t want to be rolling back here on the bus next Monday.”
Adam smiled, “I’ll try again, although Statesville is still closed to all admissions. Maybe one of the others upstate might have some room now.”
He was quiet for a moment and the two men seemed uncomfortable for the first time with the situation. Neither looked at each other but there was very little else to stare at and then Adam thankfully broke the silence.
“Why not just give Falzone up to the Warden?”
“Because he’s clever and there’s nothing to give up yet, except heavily veiled threats. Adam, I just have to watch my back until the hearing, and I can watch it better if I’m in here.”
Again another silence, this time Michael made the effort. “Could you brief Matt, could he divert some of the online interest towards me being moved elsewhere?”
“I’ll talk with him. It may be possible.” Adam’s voice was strangely subdued, his next words, seemed hesitant. “Michael, on Monday.”
“Yes?” Michael realised they hadn’t discussed Adam’s trip to Washington.
Adam sat down on the bed, the cell door was open but there was still no sign of the chair. Michael leaned back against the wall across from the cot. Adam chewed slightly on his bottom lip and stared at the floor.
“I don’t want to raise your hopes Michael, but the negotiations went really well, especially since there are now no contested charges to face. The hearing will only have to consider the sentencing. They will accept your guilty plea on the orderly and your ‘no contest’ pleas still stands for the robbery. They’re nervous about the public reaction if your sentence is perceived as too harsh. You really have become this urban hero to the public and justice in your case is starting to mean moral justice rather than the one normally doled out by our court system.” He paused again, carefully searching out the right words.
“However, they cannot let you just walk, that sets too many dangerous precedents and there are still several factions who think you need to go back to prison and serve out your sentence. I’m not sure what will happen, how much freedom the judge will actually have to decide on your sentence. I know she’s meeting with the DOC today; they may be deciding how and where you can be safely held, or they could be discussing alternatives to incarceration. I wish I could be more certain.”
Michael shrugged, “So what you’re saying is, we’ve played all our cards and now it’s up to them?”
Adam looked up at Michael, he was taking this so calmly. Adam wasn’t sure he would be that calm if it was his own future in the balance.
“Well I was a little disappointed about the psychiatric assessment. I was emailed the report this morning. Michael did you show up for that interview?”
Michael smirked then stopped as he caught Adam’s worried expression.
“I showed up, I answered all the questions.”
“In a fashion,” cut in Adam. “The guy said he couldn’t get behind your barriers and that he would need several sessions to really understand the implications of your condition. The courts aren’t interested in funding your therapy for the next few years so that’s the end of that.”
“Good,” murmured Michael under his breath.
“I hope you haven’t made a mistake Michael, he could have helped us, your failure to cooperate may have cost you several more years in here.”
Michael stared back at Adam, and shook his head. “The decision was mine Adam, as will the extra time be, if that’s the result.”

Adam sighed. “Well I need to get back, I do have other clients and they actually take my advice occasionally.” He smiled and Michael relaxed a little.
He got up off the bed and then stopped before he reached the door.
“I nearly forgot, something else for you.”
He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small iPod and handed it over to Michael, the tiny headphones dangled in the air.
Michael beamed. “Music, hey thanks this is really great.”
“Well you haven’t heard what’s on it yet so don’t get too excited. The Warden agreed to this rather late in the day yesterday and we only managed to load it with songs from everyone’s iPod’s in the office. So I suspect it will be quite a mix.” Adam shrugged apologetically.
“That’s just perfect,” replied Michael who was still cradling the small mp3 player in his good hand.
“Hmm well as a heads up I think the C&W stuff is from my secretary and apparently Matt has a hidden love of Heavy rock. Our scheduler added quite a few soft classical stuff and mine’s all the boring middle class middle age rock stuff. So enjoy!”
Michael was still grinning and had already started to scan the contents, his thumb swiftly flicking over the controls.
“Oh here’s the charger as well,” and he fumbled it out of the other pocket as the guard came in carrying a chair.
Michael laughed, “Well, a bit late but can I keep it anyway?”
The guard looked a bit shocked. “Err I’m not sure, I will have to check with the warden.” And carefully removed it to the outside of the cell as a precaution.
Adam turned to leave and Michael noticed he stopped and spoke to the guard outside his cell, motioning towards the iPod in Michael’s hands.

The guard pulled the door closed and Michael collapsed onto his cot and quickly positioned the small white earphones. He turned the ipod onto random select and laughed as ‘Saving Me by Nickelback?’ started playing. Were they serious?

tbc

Chapter 18

Michael spent the next few days saying no.
Michael said no to yard time, there then followed a rather tense conversation between Patterson and the Warden via the short wave radio which resulted in Patterson shrugging his shoulders and closing the door back on Michael in his cell.
Michael said no on the phone to Lincoln when he phoned to ask him to allow another visit, Lincoln’s barely concealed curses and heavy breathing betraying his frustration over his younger brother’s stubbornness.
Michael said no to attending the Enquiry until Adam walked the two hundred yards to collect him from B wing, sheepishly waiting while Michael smugly accepted the restraints from Stolte and relaxed in the safety of a three man escort back to the Enquiry room.
Michael even said no to a visit to the infirmary after the Doctor booked a medical review for him the day before his hearing. Again the Warden had intervened and the Doc had somehow found time after his normal clinic to visit Michael in his cell. Then like a landlord taking back possession of a property he listed Michael’s ‘dilapidations’ whilst he had been in Fox River.
Two missing toes – check.
Burn, right shoulder blade, partially healed – check.
Gash on left leg, now healed – check
Bruised stomach, now healed - check
Graze on left cheek, partially healed – new injury
Wrist (right) sprained, healed – new injury.

The doctor mumbled and grumbled throughout the examination and Michael realised he was going to spend, what he hoped would be, his last night in Fox River as he had his first, pissing off the Doc.

He spent the rest of the time, reading and re-reading the two books, and filling the sketch book with more drawings. He’d managed to persuade Lewis and Patterson to let him sit with his cell door open during certain times of the day and sketch the main hall of B wing. He’d repaid the favour by making several drawings of them both and had been secretly pleased when they had asked him to sign them, Lewis pointing out his new celebrity status meant they might be worth something!

He woke Monday morning feeling apprehensive and strangely impatient. By the end of the day he would know his fate, could he start to plan his future or would he be searching for some way to survive the next five years inside. He heard a guard walk past the door and he moved over to the small grill and leaning down to speak through it he asked
“Boss any chance of a shower this morning?”
Unfortunately it was Fletcher who responded, “Want to make yourself look pretty for all those reporters, huh Scofield?” Then, surprisingly, “ok get your stuff. I’ll be back for you in a while.”
Half an hour later and Michael was still pacing his cell clutching his towel and toiletries in a small plastic bag when his cell door was opened.
“Step out Scofield.” He complied and followed Fletcher to the end of B wing towards the single shower cubicle.

Fletcher opened the door and stepped back quickly as several inches of water spilled out across the floor towards them.
“Shit, what’s happened?” He cried.
Michael stood there observing the flooded cubicle, and sighed. He really needed a shower it had been three days and he hated feeling grungy. Not a great start to the day.

Lewis, hearing Fletcher, had walked over and was standing with his hands on his hips shaking his head.
“Man that’s a mess. I’ll get on to maintenance, there must be a blockage.”

“Shall I take Scofield over to Gen pop? He can use their showers there…?” Asked Fletcher.
Michael looked up, his face flooded with concern.
“Look, it’s ok Boss I’ll go without.”
“Let you out unwashed to meet your public?” scoffed Fletcher, “No way
It’s not a problem; let’s go now before it gets busy.”

Michael started shaking his head and backing away from the two guards.
“No really I’ll just do without.”
Lewis shook his head “Fish, Fletcher is right, it won’t take long.” Then with a knowing look at Michael he added “I’ll take you, Fletch you chase up maintenance before everyone is flooded out ok.” He then leaned down into his radio. “Bringing over Scofield from B wing to use the showers ok?”
A dismembered voice replied “Fine Lewis, our guys are still locked up, just make sure he brings his own soap.”

Michael was still unsure, but he trusted Lewis and finally started moving down towards the door out of the wing.
Lewis grabbed his arm, “I’m not gonna cuff you Scofield, lets just make this quick ok?”

Michael nodded. “Yes Boss.”

They met no one on the walk through to A wing and Michael relaxed a little. Lewis held his arm firmly and chatted to him as they passed through the various doors and gates. He described the TV news stories that morning about Michael’s hearing and how they had gone back over the whole brotherly sacrifice thing. He shook his head, “It will be a real circus down at the court today, you know that right?”
Michael nodded. “Yes I’m afraid it will be”

Finally they entered the main floor of Gen Pop and Michael received the expected barrage of shouts and whistles as they moved across it towards the showers on the other side.

Once inside, Lewis nodded to the far corner of the communal shower area and then turned his back on him. Michael quickly undressed and nervously stepped under the hot jets of water. Minutes later he turned off the flow and turning to face the main entrance to the shower he was comforted to see that Lewis was still there, his back turned and obviously looking into the main hall of Gen Pop. He dried himself quickly and dressed, cursing as he dragged his socks over his still damp feet. As he reached for his boots, he heard noises out in the main hall, then a loud bell was set off. What was that? The fire bell? The noises grew and Lewis moved off from the wall back towards the wing. Michael was still trying to make sense of the bells and shouts and then with growing horror realised Lewis had moved out of the shower area completely back into A wing. Michael stood there, not sure what to do, clutching his boots in his hands. Then shadows appeared on the wall, but too many for it to be one man, and his mouth fell open as he watched Falzone and three other cons walk around the corner into the dressing area of the shower. Michael took a step back and shouted out “Badge,” but he knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he could not be heard over the chaos of the prisoners and fire bell.

Falzone advanced towards him, in his left hand not the usual ill made prison shank but a long wide bladed kitchen knife.
“Mr Scofield, looks like we managed that reunion just before you left us after all. I’d have been so sad if we’d missed you.” Michael checked to his left and right, nowhere to run. He shouted out again “Badge,” but he knew it was hopeless. He dropped his boots and clenched his fists. Fight or flight, seemed he had no choice. But just as he was expecting Falzone to lunge at him with the knife, two of his thugs stepped forward and took hold of both of his arms, he struggled but they were too strong and they half carried him half led him towards the small guard’s room which overlooked the shower area. They stepped him inside and moved over as Falzone joined them.
He held the knife carefully in his hand, tapping it gently against his fingers.
“I was very taken by you at our first meeting Scofield. You were very confident. Remember what you asked me?”
Michael’s eyes were now full of fear and he shook his head.
“No?” Falzone answered for him. “Let me remind you. You said you would only give up Fibonacci if I promised to ‘make it painless’. You were quite insistent, a quick painless death. As if a worthless piece of nothing like you dared to moralise with me….”

“So…” a pause, interlaced with malice and threat, then: “Now, you get the death that Fibonacci should have had. Slow and painful.”
He stepped forward and with one quick movement slashed the knife across Michael’s left wrist, immediately opening a wound about three inches long which spurted hot red blood.
Michael gasped with shock and pain, his hand shaking but unable to pull away from the thug holding him. Falzone smiled and looked briefly behind him as the noises from the wing grew to a crescendo.
Then slowly he pulled the knife across Michaels other wrist. Michael was horrified at how his skin parted silently and the dark red gash widened spilling more blood across his hand.

Falzone stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “That doesn’t look good does it Michael? But you’re a tough man I hear, and you seem to bear pain and mutilation well. Your toes in a matchbox pay testament to that. So I think we have to make sure that help doesn’t arrive too soon.” With this he stepped back outside the room and nodded to the two cons who quickly dropped Michael’s arms and followed him. They closed the door and one dug into his pocket and produced a plastic copy of a key. Meanwhile Michael had fallen to his knees, his whole body shaking now as blood gushed from the two deep wounds. He looked up to see Falzone turn the key in the door, then heard a short sharp crack as he broke the key in the lock, leaving the shank embedded in the lock. He smiled once more at Michael through the door’s window then walked back out of the shower area.

The pain was subsiding, and this worried Michael, He should be feeling it, he tried to concentrate. But all he wanted to do was lie down. He was now sitting against the back wall, his fingers trying to cover the gaping wounds, but blood flowed out between them and he started to feel slow, and cold. He reached down to the floor and his fingers moved slowly through a gathering pool of blood. He bit his lip, he was trying to think, concentrate but everything was slipping now before his eyes. He slumped down to the floor, his face sliding onto the tiles. They felt cold against his cheek and he raised one of his hands to his face. So much blood, like Maytag and Bob, and Charles and…he stopped mouthing the names, the coldness overwhelming him. Then slowly there was warmth on his face and he opened his eyes. Why had he closed them? He wondered. He could see a pool of red growing and creeping towards him. His finger reached out and slipped through it. It was warm and he half smiled. The colours in the room were bleaching out, bleaching into the one dark red pool in front of him. The noises were dimming and all he could hear now was his own heart beat, pumping. Suddenly a muffled bang, he opened his eyes again, strange blurred outlines, moving in the distance beyond the door, shouting. He smiled again; he was so warm now, and so tired. He was trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing, Lincoln? Something important happening today? But it no longer mattered, he no longer cared. His eyes closed as the large red pool finally reached him and his lashes lapped at the edges.

Lewis and the other guards were kicking and shoulder-charging the door. “Who’s got the frigging key?” Shouted Lewis.
“It won’t work, the locks been jammed with something,” replied another guard.“
“Were gonna have to crash the door down,” Lewis screamed. “He’s not gonna hang on that long.” Then there was a sickening sound of splintered wood as the door finally gave way and the three guards rushed into the room.


tbc

Chapter 19

The cab drew up outside the Courthouse and Lincoln followed LJ out and onto the steps. The flashes started immediately, several reporters running to keep up with them as they strode purposefully up the steps towards the entrance. The crowd of journalists were thicker by the door and they had to wait as a path was cleared by two of ‘Chicago’s finest.’ They slipped through ignoring all the shouts of Lincoln to “look this way please.”
LJ turned round once inside and couldn’t help but stare at the crowd.
“Man that was crazy, do you think Uncle Mike knows about all this stuff?”
Lincoln frowned “I hope not, he’s got other things to worry about at the moment”
LJ’s smile disappeared. “Will they lock him up for a long time?”
Lincoln shook his head and placed his hand gently on his son’s shoulder.
“I don’t know, his lawyers are pretty confident, but not a lot has gone right for your Uncle so far.”
They walked towards the doors of the main court room and readied themselves to face the second wave of press and media they knew lurked inside.

The courtroom was ablaze with television lights. One half of the room had again been given over to the press. Lincoln stared with disbelief when he saw several from overseas in among the CNN and FOX crews, the BBC and a Channel 7 from Canberra? Wasn’t that in Australia?
He shook his head slightly. This was making the world news, how crazy was that?

They sat at the front, just behind Adam and his team who acknowledged them with a smile. Adam kept looking at his watch and then to the empty chair beside him. Lincoln leant forward and tapped him on the shoulder. “Where’s Michael?”
“I’m not sure, although traffic around the court this morning was crazy, maybe the bus got stuck?”
Lincoln pursed his lips and didn’t answer but leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he ignored the attention of the press just feet away.
Moments later the Judge arrived and the room rose to acknowledge her on the clerks order. She started to rearrange her papers on the bench and re-positioned the microphone in front of her. She then glanced at the rows of journalists in front of her and shook her head slightly before turning to her clerk and whispering a few words.
He left the room, and Lincoln stole another unfriendly look over to the media.
A few minutes later the man reappeared and she covered the microphone as he whispered again a few words. Her face registered surprise then sadness before she composed herself and gestured over to Adam and the DA
They both approached the Judge’s bench and listened intently for several seconds.
Then Adam turned and rushed back to the table.
“Lincoln, we’ve just heard, Michael’s been attacked at Fox River.”
“What?” Lincoln growled and then louder, a statement of intent, “We’re going there, right now, I don’t care if he’s not allowed to see us!” Half dragging LJ out of his seat and towards the exit. Adam cried out.
“Wait!” then practically ran the few steps to catch Lincoln by the arm
“Wait Lincoln, he’s not there, they’ve airlifted him to Chicago General.”
Lincoln turned, his face full of horror. “Airlifted? That’s just one step before a body bag at Fox River. How bad is he?”
Adam shook his head. “They’re not sure.” He hesitated briefly “There’s one report that he didn’t make it.” But, sensing Lincoln’s despair he added quickly, “It’s all unconfirmed.”
Lincoln shrugged Adam’s hand free roughly, and guiding LJ by the shoulder he strode determinedly down the aisle to the entrance.
The waiting press were unsure what was happening but the news spread quickly throughout the room and many rushed out to send their reports of the latest breaking new on Michael Scofield, causing a mini scramble at the doors.
Lincoln and LJ ran down the steps and hailing a cab disappeared into the Chicago traffic.

An hour earlier, the Warden walked into the shower area, the din from Gen Pop still ringing in his ears. He’d been called out of the Enquiry by an ashen faced Lewis and as they walked quickly though the prison he listened to his guard with growing concern.

He could see Michael was being strapped into a stretcher, several medics rushing around him, one holding a drip high in the air. Michael’s eyes were closed and his face pale, far too pale, almost waxen. He turned and walked into the Guard’s room, noticing the broken door frame on the way. He stopped and then side-stepped gingerly the large pool of blood now semi-congealing in the middle of the white tiled floor.
Lewis pointed over to a mess of red by the wall. He knelt down and studied it carefully. There were letters, smudged now but still legible daubed out in the blood. F A L Z then it stopped. He lowered his head and sighed. Michael had tried to tell them, and Williams knew exactly what he was trying to spell. He stood back up just in time to see Michael’s stretcher being carried out. The sound of the helicopter clearly heard outside the block. He pulled Lewis over,
“Don’t let anyone, and I mean ANYONE disturb this ok? I’ll send someone for the camera, tell Stolte that Gen Pop is to stay in lockdown until further notice, and move Falzone and his cellmate to the SHU now!”


Lincoln and LJ reached the hospital and realised some of the press had beaten them to it, a crowd had already gathered outside the entrance to ER and a harassed security guard was trying to keep them outside the building. Lincoln brushed roughly through the small crowd and walked right past the guard.

“Hey, you can’t go in there!” Then suddenly recognising Lincoln Burrows and, more importantly, realising this was one guy he couldn’t physically stop if he tried, he stepped back and waved them on.

Lincoln paced the corridor with frustration, they wouldn’t let him near him, he peered through the window at Michael, barely visible on the ER trolley between the phalanx of doctors and nurses, their pastel scrubs somehow jarring. He was worried, He’d been watching them closely, their movements seemed frantic, rather than controlled. Were they losing him? He moved further down the wall of windows that separated him from the ER room but a nurse crossed over and pulled the blinds.
Lincoln angrily kicked the wall and tuned back to face a pale LJ leaning against the other wall.

Lincoln redirected his anger onto the C.O. and cop. They had been standing outside the ER room talking quietly to each other, glancing nervously over to Lincoln occasionally. The cop’s radio kept cutting in with snippets of information.

“What happened?” And as he spoke he read the CO’s badge. “Baxter, what happened back there?” His voice rose to a shout.
The Guard shook his head. “I’m not sure, I was told to just keep with Scofield, when they brought him here; I wasn’t on Gen Pop when it happened. But the Doc in the chopper was sorting out his wrists and asked if he’d tried to top himself.”
“NO!” Roared Lincoln, grabbing the guard by his shirt front and pushing him back forcefully against the door. The cop stepped forward and with great self control calmly tried to remove the snarling Lincoln from the face of the CO. “Burrows cool it, this isn’t helping your brother is it?”
Lincoln stepped back and turned quickly away, taking several steps to try and calm down. But his anger couldn’t be quashed that easily and he turned back to the CO moving closer and with real despair now audible in his voice. “Michael did not try to kill himself, I don’t care what it looks like. It was some scum inside Fox River and I’m not just talking about the ones in prison blue.”
LJ had moved to his father’s side and pulled him silently away from the confrontation. Lincoln was distracted by the sight of another two doctors rushing into Michael’s room and moved back to the screened window. He rested his head against the glass, closing his eyes. Oh Michael, please hang in there, goddamnit don’t die on me now!

Several hours later, Lincoln was prowling the corridors looking for a coffee machine that worked. He hadn’t left his post outside Michael’s room since he got there but now the need for caffeine to keep him awake had driven him to the ground floor.

He waited by the machine as it dribbled out a rather sorry excuse for coffee and then a woman approached him. He could smell she was press. “Mr Burrows would you like to give the viewers at Channel 4 your reaction to the court hearing today?” At this a cameraman appeared from around the corner and switched on his filming light.

Lincoln was confused. He’d not been able to talk with Adam all day and was now waiting for him to make his way to the hospital. He knew they’d continued the hearing without Michael, the result hadn’t seemed important any longer, not when his brother was so close to not making it.

“What happened?” he mumbled, it was a genuine question.
She looked surprised but recovered quickly.

“Your brother was sentenced to four years.” Lincoln sighed.
“Right,” and nodded as if it had been expected.
“But it was then commuted to Community service, of which a minimum of sixteen months has to be served in the service of the DOC.”
Lincoln had been reaching in for his coffee and on hearing the conditions managed to spill it over his hands. The live viewers of Channel 4 were treated to several curses as he shook the red hot liquid from his skin.

“Your reaction Mr Burrows? “
He shrugged. “Well its good news of course. My brother should never have been behind bars, he’s one of the straightest guys I know. He did what he had to do to save my life. So yeah I’m pleased that others recognise this as well now.”

Then, lowering his eyes, he added. “However this may all have come too late to save him.” And he walked away, leaving the reporter searching desperately for fill as they were still live on air.

Lincoln made his way back to ER and found Adam sitting next to LJ, both staring ahead silently. Lincoln nodded at Adam, “Great job, I’ve just heard.”
“Thanks Lincoln, but it all seems hollow now,” he nodded at the ER room.

“Yeah, Michael may never know he made it, he was free…,” and then he could hold back no longer and Lincoln Burrows, Linc the Sink, the hard man of Fox River, wept uncontrollably.

tbc

The prologue
Eighteen months later.
“You sure you still want to go through with this?” The CO asked as he unlocked the door.
“Yes, it’s going to be the quickest way of establishing if that sub-ceiling is strong enough.”
The Guard shrugged and turned the light on in the room, then pulled some clothes of a shelf.
“Well here are the overalls; you don’t want to damage that nice suit of yours.”
“Thanks,” replied the other man. A half smile crossed his lips when he unfurled the dark blue prison overalls. He took off his jacket and carefully placed it over the back of a chair, then undoing his tie slowly he rolled and rested that on the table next to it. He unbuttoned his shirt and pausing slightly he dropped it off his shoulders.
The guard whistled quietly. “Wow those are the famous tats right?”

Michael looked sheepish, “Yeah I guess they are.”
He held his arms out as if looking at them for the first time, then his eye caught the ugly scars. He turned his back on the guard and quickly climbed into the overalls. Michael fastened them and instinctively thrust his hands into the deep pockets. Boy did this feel familiar.

“Right lets go do it. This is the last thing to check on this level, after that I’ve just got the external drainage channels then I’m done.”

“I heard from that other DOC guy, that you didn’t have to stay on, that your community service ended last week.” The guard’s curiosity had been piqued.
“It did but I wanted to finish this project. It ‘s one of the few really old facilities left and reminded me a bit of Fox River. Last time I came to Utah I didn’t really get to do much sightseeing” his thoughts swept back briefly to dark green money bundles lying in the dirt… “ and they’re paying me to stay on.” He winked back at the guard.
The guard laughed, “Well you’ve been really thorough, I didn’t even know half these places existed!”
“Blueprints,” Michael commented enigmatically.
“What?” Questioned the guard.
“They’re the secret, the blueprints never lie. They always tell you what’s happening beyond the visible”
They stopped at an access door in the ceiling and Michael grabbed a chair that had been left in the old visitation room, standing on it he carefully reached up and pushed the hatch open.

“Pass me the torch Ray,” his long fingers reached down and grabbed the high voltage torch from the guard, then seconds later he had disappeared into the ceiling.

“What can you see?” shouted Ray through the opening.
“It’s like I said, the ceiling panels extend right over into the other section, hang on I’m going to walk over th…”

There was a huge crash and a cry from Michael. Ray ran back into the room where Michael had changed and found him lying on the floor gasping with pain and holding his arm. A huge ragged hole in the ceiling showing where he had fallen through.
Ray bent down. “You ok Michael?”

Michael was breathing in slowly through clenched teeth.
“My arm hurts like hell, and my leg, is… I don’t know it just doesn’t feel right.” Ray could already see the ripped fabric and a dark red stain where blood was seeping into the fabric.

“I think you’ve cut your leg, let’s get you to the infirmary.”
He reached down and helped Michael to his feet, taking his good arm and wrapping it around his neck he stumbled down the corridor with Michael dragging his leg, and grimacing with each step.

The infirmary was two floors down and it took several minutes to get there. Michael shook his head. ”God what an idiot, I can’t believe I actually fell through the ceiling.”
Ray smiled. “You ARE the genius that broke eight cons out of a High Security State facility right? I mean we did get the right guy for this job?”
“Yeah that’s me,” Michael grinned back. “But” holding his finger in the air to make the next point “I did prove the ceiling isn’t strong enough, so some kudos right?”
Ray smiled and shook his head, then kicked the door open to the infirmary and pulled Michael onto the trolley. Then turning he walked back down the corridor. “Doc we need you.”

“With you in a minute.” A voice replied from another room.
There was something about the voice that made Michael look up, even though he was halfway through pushing up his trouser leg to see where all the blood was coming from. It hurt, but he’d endured more, so much more in the past.
He was still thinking about the voice, wondering why it had seemed so familiar when a young woman walked quickly through the doors, her white coat flapping behind her. “Ray what you got? Can’t I have my lunch break in peace now…?”

Then she stopped, dead, her hands in her pockets, her mouth wide open.
“Michael.”
Michael was staring back speechless; all thoughts of his injuries swept from his mind. Time seemed to stop, the room shrunk down to just this one woman standing five feet from him.
“Sara…” A gasp, barely audible.

Ray looked from one to the other and knew immediately he was one too many people in the room.
“Err I guess you two know each other huh?”
He stepped back out of the room. “I’ll be down in the guard’s room when you’re finished.”
Sara was confused. “Wait! Where are you going? He’s not restrained. You need to stay!” She called desperately.
Ray smiled. “Why, is he gonna jump you Doc?”
Michael couldn’t help but smile at this, but Sara was still confused and unsure as to what was happening, so didn’t catch the humour in Ray’s voice. Turning to Michael, her face was serious, questioning.
“You were freed, I read about it, over a year ago.” She looked down at his leg and turned back to his face. “Why are you back inside? What did you do Michael?” The accusation in her voice was real.
Then Michael realised why she was so confused. He pulled at his PI overall, “You mean this? It’s not mine Sara” shaking his head “I’m not an inmate, not any longer, I work here!” His voice lightened as he smiled those last few words. Sara’s brow was still creased.
“You WORK here?” Her hands gesturing to the room, the prison.
“Well until tomorrow, yes. I’m with the DOC inspection team. I’m working with their security consultantcy.”
Sara opened her mouth to speak but found she was lost for words. She closed her mouth slowly and looked away from Michael’s deep blue gaze.
Ray still feeling he was not required, backed out of the room. “Catch you later Doc,” And he winked at Michael as he left.

Michael had obviously regained his composure first and felt strangely unworried by this surprise turn of events. His voice was steady now, almost calm. In the absence of any further questions from Sara, who just stood and stared, he started to explain.

“I was freed Sara, my sentence commuted to community service, but with a special condition that I work for the DOC, trying to break out of as many facilities as I could.” His eyes danced with laughter. “Well at least see if it was possible to break out.”
Sara listened silently, her face seemingly devoid of expression, but her eyes were taking in Michael. His hair was just a little longer than the buzz cut he had at Fox River. He seemed darker, his skin glowing. His voice cut through her thoughts and she turned away from those eyes, the ones that had dragged her down so many wrong roads in the past.
“Sara… Errr Sara? I’m kinda bleeding all over your floor here.”
She snapped back and realised he was right. His leg was badly gashed and she remembered now why she was there.

“Oh I’m sorry Michael,” she pulled on some gloves and carefully rolled up his trouser leg and observed the deep cut in his calf. It wasn’t quite as bad as it looked. She smiled, this felt so comfortable all of a sudden. Her and Michael, this close, helping him. What had he called her once? His own personal clean up crew? Then other memories of the sessions at Fox River began to break through, enigmatic Michael, silent Michael, lying Michael…
She breathed in and then said; “This is where I normally ask what happened, Michael, and you then sweet talk your way out of telling me, if I remember right?”
He smiled. “That was the old Michael, Sara. I don’t have to be like that ever again. This is the new one, so to answer you: I fell through a ceiling in your visitation room.”
Sara smiled, “See that wasn’t that hard was it?”
He laughed, tossing his head back and Sara realised it was the first time she’d ever heard him laugh like that. So uncontrolled, so full of energy.
She smiled and turned back to cleaning his leg. Michael had placed his hands on either side of the trolley to steady himself and he grimaced again when he realised his left arm still hurt like hell.

Sara looked up, “What else have you hurt?”
He looked sheepishly back. “Err, I m not sure but my arm hurts. I don’t think I can move it much.”
She reached out for his hand gently and that’s when she saw it. The large thick scar across his wrist. She snatched for the other arm and gasped as she saw another.
“Oh, Michael, what did you do?” She asked quietly,
He reddened and tried to pull back both arms. “I didn’t do anything.”
She looked at him and said dryly; “Sure, now that sounds like the old Michael talking.”

Michael bit his bottom lip and reached out with his good hand to clasp Sara’s own. His fingers intertwined with hers, imploring, demanding through his touch that she held on.
His voice was soft, regretful. “Nothing happened. I was attacked at Fox River, and this” he spread out his wrists again for her to see, “Was the sick way someone wanted me to die. They did this to me.”
Sara was shocked, her expression burned into his eyes and he looked away before he could continue.
“That was my last memory of Fox River, Sara, bleeding out on the floor. But unlike all the others that died in this whole mess,” His eyes darkened and saddened. “I made it. I survived, just. They got to me in time I guess and sorted me out. I spent weeks in hospital. I found out while I was there of my rather unusual sentence. I never went back to Fox River.” He sighed and shook his head, then looked deep into Sara’s eyes for some sign she understood. He gulped and tried to continue.

“I never got to tell you how sorry I was Sara.”
She stopped him immediately with her hand. “Don’t Michael; I’ve made a new life out here, a new start. What’s in the past stays in the past.” She looked out of the window across to the Rockies looming out of the plains in the distant and knew she had been right to come to this place.
“Am I just part of the past, Sara?” Whispered Michael, his fingers sliding softly along her arm now.
She smiled and gently removed his hand, then stepped back and crossed her arms.
“Well apparently you’re bleeding all over my floor at the moment Mr Scofield so you’re currently making a mess in my present. Now let’s finish cleaning you up.”
Michael smiled again. Then turning his head slightly to the side and looking at Sara, he asked hesitantly, “When you’re done ‘cleaning me up’, fancy a coffee?”

Sarah looked back up at him, “Michael, I’m not sure I’ll ever be done patching you up…” But her smile was warm and encouraging.
“But sure.” She paused. “You’re buying though. I think you offered once, somewhere back in your old life.”


The End

Hope you all enjoyed my lil old story. I don’t know what to do now its over! I miss trying to get into Michael’s head….

A big thanks to all of you who have reviewed and especially to Tearcreek, my beta for dealing with my scattergun approach to punctuation!

Please review this chapter or the whole thing if you want. It was my first fic and I need to develop my style and I can only do that with your help.
Thanks