Unexpected Repercussions - Chapter 4

A silent Lincoln followed close behind him when Michael took the bag and headed upstairs. He needed some space to sort through his thoughts without being constantly surrounded by others.

But the moment they reached the top of the stairs, Lincoln said, “Mike, this is a really bad idea. We can last without supplies if it’s just twenty four hours.”

Michael sighed. He knew it was a matter of time before Lincoln confronted him about his plan. “It’s not just the supplies. I need to make a call from out there.”

Lincoln frowned. “Make it from the cell,: he suggested, gesturing to the bag.

Michael shook his head. “No. I don’t want anything linked to the person I’m calling. It’s bad enough that I’m even involving her.”

“Who?”

“Someone I met while I was helping out in community service. Don’t ask. I just need to get out there, sort out some stuff and tie up some loose ends.”

Lincoln gave him a thoughtful look. “You’re going to see the doctor, aren’t you?” he finally said.

Michael did not answer. Instead, he rummaged through the bag, picking out things he might need later, and slipped them into his pocket.

His fingers touched a small metal object, reminding him of yet another thing he had to do. The last thing Westmoreland had asked of him was to go see his daughter. The call he had made earlier told him that a Miss Westmoreland was still at the Sacred Heart hospital in Indianapolis. All he had to do now was to make his way there.

After Sara.

Lincoln’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “Mike. You can’t help her now,” he said sternly.

Shutting his eyes, Michael exhaled slowly. He chose not to reply to his brother, instead he said, “Listen, Linc. In twelve hours, get Abruzzi to set up a chopper for tomorrow morning. There’s a park one mile down south.” He pushed a map into Lincoln’s hand. Pointing at a spot on the map, he said, “We’re here. If I’m not back in twenty four hours, get on that chopper and drop Sucre and C-Note where they want to go, but away from St Louis. We’ve got to split up. Especially Abruzzi and C-Note. They’re getting onto each other’s nerves.”

Lincoln looked around. Satisfied that they were still alone, he asked in a low voice, “What about Fibonacci?”

Michael put his finger on the map. “He’s there. But I’m not going to hand him over to Abruzzi if I can help it. Too many people died already and this guy did not do anything wrong. Maybe except for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“How are we going to sidetrack Abruzzi? The guy’s too sharp to just let us leave without his info.”

“You’re right. Abruzzi isn’t going to let you walk off, and he knows that I won’t disappear without you. He wants Fibonacci and he won’t stop until he gets it. Tell him that he’ll get what he wants when the two of you land in Indianapolis.” Michael pointed to another spot in the map, highlighted in yellow. “There’s a disused farmhouse here. That’s where we’ll meet up if I don’t get back here in time.”

“You don’t need twenty four hours to get to the doctor and back. We can wait for you,” Lincoln insisted.

 

Michael shook his head resolutely. “No, it’s not safe to wait. The timing is set. You must leave then.”

Taking out a small penknife from the bag, he carefully cut a slit on the inside lining. Reaching in, he felt around and then pulled out a wad of notes.

He held out a handful of notes to a surprised Lincoln. “You didn’t think that I was going to steal my way to freedom, did you?” Michael said wryly.

“How much do you have there?”

“Not enough. Not to last us as long as I would like. I had other plans for money,” Michael explained, grimmacing. Westmoreland’s image at the infirmary flashed across his mind. “But it didn’t work out exactly as I planned.”

“What exactly was your plan?”

“Westmoreland’s supposed to come with us. He stashed some money away before he got caught. Long story.”

Linc grabbed Michael’s arm as he stood to go. “Mike. Listen. While you’re out there, can you call Veronica? I need to know if LJ’s okay.”

Michael stilled. He hated to disappoint his brother but he had to. “I can’t, Linc. The phone taps will locate us. They would have expected you to get in touch with her.”

“But I need to know how he’s doing!” Lincoln snapped in frustration. He ran a hand over his head, his anxiety clear for all to see. “I need to get in touch with him,” he added in a quieter tone.

Michael shook his head slowly. “We can’t afford to. Not right now.”

Lincoln clasped his hands tight on Michael’s shoulders, staring him straight in the eyes. “When, Mike? When?” his brother demanded to know.

“Linc. You won’t get to see them at all if you get caught,” Michael reasoned gently, hoping to get through to his brother. He understood what it was like, wanting to see someone badly. Was that not how he felt with Sara? However, he knew that he could risk himself but he could not risk Lincoln’s safety.

All the fight seemed to seep out from Lincoln as he exhaled wearily. Letting his hands drop, he sagged and said, “They’re coming after my family. They’re coming after LJ, Mike.”

“I know. But LJ has been fine and you know it. There’s no reason why it would change now. And Veronica’s looking after him. Contacting him would put him in more danger.”

“I don’t know how long more I can wait, Mike.”

“You’ll have to for now. They’ll ease off in time, and then we’ll make contact.”

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs halted their conversation. Abruzzi, C-Note and Sucre approached them.

Pulling a plain black bucket hat over his head, Michael straightened.

Abruzzi gave him a once over. “You think they won’t recognise you in those threads?”

Sucre rolled his eyes. “You have better ideas, Abruzzi?”

“What’s wrong with me being concerned? He gets his ass caught and…”

Lincoln cut in firmly, “He won’t get caught.”

Michael gave his brother a grateful look. He turned around to see C-Note leaning against the wall.

“It’s time,” he said to his partner.

They walked for about half an hour, keeping away from the main roads. Both of them were silent, frequently scanning the surrounding warily.

Typical of this type of small outskirt towns, the area was quiet, bar the chirping sounds made by the birds perched in the trees. Potted plants and well-tended bushes lined the streets, and pretty little houses dotted the landscape. The whole thing seemed surreal to Michael after his incarceration in Fox River. All he had known for the last couple of months was cellblocks, underground drainage runs and the yard.

And Sara, a small voice told him.

Soon, he thought resolutely.

A small shop came into view. C-Note gave him a questioning look.

Glancing around, Michael said, “Keep a lookout. I’m going in.”

“Head down, Scofield,” C-Note advised.

Michael replied with a curt nod before making his way to the shop. A bell overhead jingled as he opened the door.

The shopkeeper, an elderly man, looked up from his newspaper. “Good morning,” he greeted.

“Good morning,” Michael replied politely.

As the old man returned to his reading, his eyes just inches from the papers, Michael went around the store, grabbing some food products and essential grooming kit. Just before he headed back to the till, he threw in several of boxes of hair dye. It might come in useful once their hair grew out, he thought.

When he approached the counter, the old man stood up and started to sum up the prices. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, “Prison these days. Useless, I say.”

Michael froze at the man’s words. Cautiously he asked, “Why?” Surely the old man would have recognised him if the escape made the papers.

“A bunch of convicts escaped last night. Still around, it seems. Probably mixing around with our neighbours and all and we wouldn’t even know it,” the old man continued to grumble as brought a packet of sandwich up close to his face, peering intently at the price-tag before he entered a number into the large calculator in front of him. “Could be standing right in front of you for all you know.”

Michael glanced around the empty shop, hoping that his nervousness was not showing. The old man probably could not see him clearly enough to identify him, considering the way he was looking at the price-tags. “That’s bad,” Michael finally mumbled.

The old man pushed a full grocery back towards him. “Here. That’ll be sixteen dollars and fifty cents, young man.”

Michael gave him a twenty.

When he received the change, Michael walked calmly out of the store towards C-Note.

“We’re in the papers,” he told the other man in a low voice.

C-Note’s eyes widened. “Did they recognise you?”

Michael shook his head. “Fortunately, the old man’s eyesight isn’t that great. Or maybe our pictures haven’t been circulated yet.”

“We’ve got to go now,” C-Note insisted, looking around nervously.

“Wait. I need to do something first,” Michael said. Spotting a phone box just a few steps away, he made a beeline for it.

Settling the grocery bag next to his feet, he unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and pushed it up, exposing the tattoo on his left arm. Studying the cryptic lines, he picked out a series of numbers and dialled.

“Operator? I want to make a collect call to 815 584 9655,” Michael said. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the quizzical look C-Note directed at him.

“Your name, sir?” the operator asked in a bored voice.

Turning away from C-Note, he replied, “Mike.”

“Hold on.”

He checked his surroundings again. A woman was walking her dog on the sidewalk, heading straight at them. Surreptitiously, Michael lowered his head and faced the phone box. Beside him, C-Note turned away from the woman and sat down by the sidewalk, cradling his head in his hands.

The operator came back on. “You’re connected.”

“Hello?” A female voice greeted on the other end of the line.

“It’s me,” Michael said simply, knowing that she would recognise his voice.

A small pause, then she said, “I know. How’re things?”

“Okay. Remember what I need you to do?”

“Of course, what do you take me for?” she said, sounding offended.

Michael smiled at her tone. “Can you do it today? I need those rail tickets booked for tomorrow, to travel anytime, am or pm. Add F. Sucre to the list and change C. Westmoreland to B. Franklin. The rest stays the same. Got it?”

“Yeah. So still heading from south-west from here?” she asked.

“Dwight to Springfield. Then another set of tickets to St Louis for the next day. And remember, everything in cash and keep your head low. Get someone else to do it if you can.”

“Gotcha, Mike. You can count on me.”

“Thanks, Jenn.”

“It’s no biggie. I owe you. You got me on the straight and narrow when I needed it. Simon misses you, by the way.”

Michael smiled, recalling their sessions together and Jenn’s little son. “Consider it repaid, okay? And say hi to Simon. I miss him too.”

“You’re gonna come by one day, right? You know, when everything’s sorted?” she asked in a tone which sounded more like a demand.

His lips twitched. “You’ll never let me rest until I do.”

The sound of her laughter reached him. “Alright. Take care, Mike.”

He hung up.

C-Note immediately declared, “Man, we’re not travelling out in the open like that. Not with everyone looking out for escaped convicts.”

“No we’re not,” Michael stated blandly, and then waited for the other man to demand an explanation.

Frowning in confusion, C-Note nudged at the phone and said, “So what’s that for?”

Michael smirked. “Diversion. We’re heading in another direction.”

A slow smile broke out across C-Note’s face. Then, shaking his head slightly, he began to chuckle. “I gotta give it to you, man.”

Michael lifted the bag off the floor and held it up to the other man. C-Note gave him a puzzled look, but took it from him anyway.

“What’s up with this?”

“You need to head back to the hideout with it,” Michael explained simply, not wanting to elaborate. The less the rest knew, the better it was for them.

C-Note scrutinised the area around them doubtfully. “What? You’re staying here?” he asked, disbelief written all over his face.

Michael shook his head. “No, I’m not. But I need to go somewhere.”

C-Note frowned, and then shook his head disapprovingly. “This is not the deal, man. We’ve done what we came for. I say we head back. Both of us.”

 

Michael started to walk away. “Linc will know what to do if I’m not back,” he said over his shoulders.

C-Note grabbed his arms and spun him around. “Look, Scofield. We made it this far because you headed the crew. You take off now and-”

Prying the other man’s hand off his arm, Michael cut in calmly. “We’ll split sooner or later.”

Shaking his head, C-Note said, “Too soon. Plan is, we get to Mexico then we split.”

“We’re not going to Mexico. Not unless the airstrips open and Abruzzi finds a plane.”

Glaring irritably, C-Note snapped, “Where are we going then? In that case, what difference does it make if I just head home?”

Giving C-Note a warning look, Michael cautioned, “If you’re thinking of going to your family, I suggest you hold off for a while. Their phones would have been tapped by now.”

C-Note looked away, his action instantly making Michael suspicious. Frowning, Michael wondered if the other man had gone and made a phone call while he was supposed to be on watch. It would be a problem if he did. Michael gritted his teeth in frustration. It meant that they would need to move out a lot sooner than he had thought.

He grabbed C-Note’s shoulder, forcing the other man to turn around. “You called them.” It was a statement, not a question.

C-Note shrugged him off. “I called my brother in-law and kept the call short. They won’t know, Scofield.”

Michael’s lips tightened as he processed the implication of the call. The man’s action put everything at risk. There was a chance that the authorities already knew they were in that area. And if they checked the phone records, they might be able to trace the call he made to Jenn.

“You don’t know that.” Michael let out a frustrated sigh, tilting his head down as he rubbed his temples. “You need to move sooner.”

C-Note’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You need to go back and get Abruzzi to call his contacts now. Leave as soon as possible,” he directed urgently.

 

“I thought the airstrips are closed.”

“Then you’ll just have to move on foot. Don’t stay in this area.”

“Move? Out in the open? You’ve got to be kidding.”

 

“Should have thought about it before you made the call,” Michael pointed out in a hard tone. That one mistake could cost them a lot of trouble.

C-Note stared at him wordlessly. Then, sighing in resignation, he finally nodded. “I’ll head back and let the rest know.”

Michael kept his face shadowed under the rim of his hat when he handed the man at the ticket counter a couple of notes for his bus ticket. He should not have worried. The man did not even bother looking at him, instead, he just took the money and passed the ticket through a small hole in the glass panel with a bored expression.

Michael took the ticket and headed for the waiting bus, careful to keep his steps casual as he boarded the bus. The bizarre fact that he was headed back in the direction they had all been running from did not escape him, but he had no choice. He had to see her.

To his relief, the bus ride to the hospital was short. Nevertheless, he kept his head down, his hat pulled low over his eyes as the bus rumbled along the dusty roads, stopping now and then for passengers to get on and off. No one paid any attention to a lone traveller.

The bus dropped him off in front of the hospital. His initial relief at the fact that he did not have to remain in plain sight for long was short-lived. He had only taken a couple of steps when he suddenly halted in his tracks, tensing as he noticed a news van parked outside the main entrance. Keeping his head down, he told himself to walk casually past the car park towards the side entrance.

The hospital was so busy that no one took note of his presence. Nurses, aides and doctors were rushing in and out, frowns of concentration marring their faces. The patients were too wrapped up in their own problems to even glance up at him when he walked past, which was good news for him because he did not know if their pictures had already hit the media.

He carried himself confidently, walking briskly to match the pace of the hospital staff. Spotting an orderly with a trolley full of soiled hospital garments, Michael tailed him discreetly until they reached what appeared to be a quiet back-of-house area of the hospital. He watched the orderly enter a room at one side of the hallway, noting in satisfaction that the orderly went in without unlocking the door.

Michael continued walking past the door, then turned the corner. Lowering his head, he went to his knees, pretending to tie his shoelaces. When he heard the sound of the door opening and closing followed by the sounds of receding footsteps, he straightened and immediately headed for the door. Checking that no one was looking, Michael opened the door and slipped in, closing the door softly behind him.

Rows of shelves lined the cream-coloured walls, packed with scrubs, other hospital garments and medical equipments.

Michael went to along the shelves and picked out a set of scrubs, pulling it over his clothes. The scrubs were a little too small for him, but he did not have the luxury of trying everything on.

Just as he fitted the rough fabric of the surgical cap on his head and pulled mask over his face, the door opened. Michael tensed instantly at the intrusion.

“Doctor?” a pretty nurse exclaimed in surprise.

His eyes went to her nametag. ‘Phay’ was the nurse’s name.

“Do you need something?” Phay queried, looking around questioningly. The laundry room was probably not a doctor’s usual haunt. “Can I help?” she offered, smiling up at him.

“I was looking for some...” he paused, his eyes darting to the shelf to his right. “Gloves. There, I found it,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask, grabbing the box of surgical gloves.

“Did they run out in surgery?” she asked in bewilderment. She went to the clipboard by the door. “Who’s supposed to replenish it?”

Michael forced himself to make a distracted, but polite gesture of dismissal. “It’s alright, Phay. I got what I need now,” he said, and then marched briskly out of the room.

Outside, he allowed himself to exhale freely. That was close, he thought.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way back to the reception, swiping a clipboard off a trolley on his way.

The nurse, who was giggling on the phone with someone obviously not related to the hospital, looked up guiltily when he tapped his slender fingers impatiently against the smooth surface of the reception desk. She quickly said her goodbyes and hung up, giving him a questioning look.

“Has Sara Tancredi been checked on yet?” he asked brusquely.

The nurse turned to the computer. “Let me see.” After a few seconds, she said, “Dr Roth checked on her an hour ago.”

He frowned. “I’ll look in on her again. The governor’s anxious.”

 

The nurse frowned. “But the governor just left about half an hour ago.”

He interjected smoothly, “I ran into him a while ago. What’s her room number?”

Turning back to the computer, the nurse read off. “192. And-”

Michael walked away before she could ask for his name.

Room 192 was on the first floor, Michael noted as he read the directory. Bypassing the lift, he went straight to the stairwell and climbed up to the first floor.

He slowed down slightly when he saw the police officers outside Sara’s room, his heart rate picking up. A nurse was standing beside two of them, chatting idly. Would they recognise him? If they caught him now, it would be all over for him. There was no way he could outrun two cops.

It was risky, but it was something he had to do.

Steeling himself, Michael continued his brisk pace.

The police officers gave him a cursory glance as he approached, but did not bother to stop him. They were obviously far more interested in chatting up the pretty nurse. Without a single word, he opened the door and stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him.

His breath hitched in his throat when he set eyes on her. The confident façade he had been wearing earlier disintegrated.

Sara was lying in the bed with tubes protruding from her arms. She looked so pale, almost as white as the sheets around her. There was a blue tinge to her normally pink lips and her cheeks were pasty white. If not for the steady beeping of the monitor on the trolley beside her, he would have known that she was still alive.

He caused this.

He put Sara here, in this bed, in this state.

Swallowing hard, he approached the bed, numb with shock and pain. Regret washed over him, heavy and stifling in its intensity. He knelt down beside the bed, his hands reaching out to envelop her cold ones in his.

He pulled down the mask which was covering his face. It took him a while before he managed to form the words. “I know some people say that you can hear me. And I hope they’re right.” His breath caught. His next words came out in a broken whisper, “I’m sorry, Sara. I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He lowered his head, pressing her hand against his cheeks. His eyes burned and the pressure in his chest increased. His body shook involuntarily as he looked at her still form through his blurred vision. A single tear ran down his cheek when he squeezed his eyes shut, but he barely noticed it.

“Sara…” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

She did not answer, but he did not expect her to.

He dragged in a ragged breath in an attempt to calm himself. And then he lifted his head. He spotted a notepad and a pen next to the table, next to a vase full of colourful flowers. Reluctantly leaving her side, he went to pick it up, tearing a page off. A while later, he held a small paper flower in his hands.

He placed the paper flower beside the vase.

Then he went back to her side and held her hands. His heart constricted painfully as he let his eyes run over her delicate features.

“I’ll explain everything to you one day. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. No more secrets. If you forgive me, we can try again, when we’re over all this mess. It’s not going to be always like this, Sara,” he said softly, his anguish unmistakeable.

His hold on her hands tightened as he leaned over her. “I’ll find you again,” he whispered against her cheeks, then brushed a soft kiss across her smooth skin.

Then he heard it.

A soft moan.

His breath quickened in anticipation, he pulled away from her quickly, his eyes searching her face. Was it just his overactive imagination playing up? Or had the movement been real?

Then he saw it.

It was just a slight movement but he saw it.

He held his breath as her eyes fluttered open.

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