Michael watched, with tear clouded eyes, as his brother slowly walked into the chamber. He wanted to break for it, knock the guards down, grab his brother and run.
But he knew it was foolish. The guards would just shoot them, not aiming to avoid a kill, and they would never be able to prove that Lincoln was innocent. Lincoln Burrows would go down in history as the man that killed the Vice President's brother and ran like a coward. And Michael Scofield would be remembered as his lunatic brother that stupidly tried to run faster than a speeding bullet.
"Scofield." A guard's voice cut into his thoughts. He recognized the CO, a tall, dark skinned bull of a man. He'd be at the infirmary. He was the one that told Sara that Michael and Lincoln couldn't talk until that evening. A part of him wanted to slap the man for being so cold and unmoving. But the rest did understand that the man was just doing his job. He wasn't just a prison guard. He was a death guard, brought in specifically to insure that things went by the book, that no one let their emotions get in the way. One deviation from protocol could mean starting everything over. This man was there to insure that there were no deviations. That any emotional attachments the prison's usual personnel might have made over the past months didn't hinder the state's goal for that night .
Michael let himself be led into the viewing chamber. A dozen witnesses were there. He recognized the judge and the district attorney from Lincoln's trial. The rest were unknown to him.
A second guard pointed Michael to a seat against the back wall. Prisoners normally weren't allowed to watch executions, but then again most death row inmates didn't have family in the same prison.
Michael was grateful for the uncomfortable metal chair that had been set aside for him. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stay on his feet when it happened. Already he was feeling light headed and sick. He knew from experience that it was the start of an anxiety attack. He sat down, Veronica standing next to him.
He looked up through the glass where he could see the guards preparing Lincoln. Sara was there, watching. When the time came she would have to leave the room. No one was left inside in case something went wrong. She'd stand just outside while the switch was thrown. After it was over, the guards would let her in. She would examine Lincoln. Determine that his heart had stopped and declare, for the state, the official time of death. He didn't envy her the job.
Sara's eyes drifted towards the glass. He knew he could see her. Or at least see in the room. She seemed to be staring at him, a hint of concern in her eyes. Almost as if she could see that his skin had gone pale, his breathe strained. She leaned over and said something to one of the guards who nodded. Michael thought he saw her lips form his name and the word 'infirmary'. He guess that she was worried that all the shock of the execution might cause his blood sugar to go haywire and wanted to check him out before she left. Lincoln almost certainly asked her to watch over little brother for him. It was such a Lincoln thing to do.
He felt Veronica sob softly next to him. He looked up at the room guard, raising his hands as if to silently ask that he not be forced to keep the handcuffs on. The guard glanced into the chamber where Bellick was overseeing the last preparations. The head guard caught the look, understood the meaning and surprisingly nodded. The younger guard unlocked Michael's cuffs and pulled a chair over so Veronica could set down. Michael draped an arm around the woman he saw as much as a sister as he did a friend.
"Lincoln wouldn't want to see us cry." He whispered. "He's doing this to protect us, so this will end." He gently wiped the tears from his eyes and then Veronica's. "It's a noble thing. A hero's sacrifice."
"That sounds like something out of a book." Veronica laughed. "Or that stupid space show you and Lincoln used to watch. The one with the alien guys that looked like they had part dinosaur heads."
Michael smiled. "When one of them died, they would yell. A great big Walt Whitman barbaric yelp. To tell the afterlife that a mighty warrior was coming so they better watch out. They stole that from old Viking stories."
"Are you saying after Lincoln's dead we would yell?"
"Well he is a warrior. But you might want to wait until you're outside. Or they could think you've lost it and try to lock you up in a psych ward."
Veronica shook her head. "You're trying to make me laugh so I won't cry again."
"Guilty as charged." Michael said, hugging her. "And I'm going to yell. When I get back to the block, I'm going to stand in the middle of the block and yell. A great big "Look out afterlife, here comes Lincoln Burrows. He gave up his life for the people loved. Mess with him and you're going to get your ass kicked" yell."
"They'll toss you in solitary."
"It'll be worth it."
They fell silent as the Warden entered the room. They barely listened as he read off the charges against Lincoln and the death warrant. Michael saw Sara and the guards leave the room. When the clock ticked 12:01am, the Warden pushed a button. That button, Michael knew from his blueprints, would signal the guards in the control room to hit the switch that fired the now primed currents. The current would go through the chair and his brother, killing him.
The lights dimmed as the current built. Michael held his breath, willing himself not to pass out as he watched his brother die.
Without warning, everything went black.