Title: Redemption is Only a Word
Rating: T
Summary: "Hello again Theodore." She whispered. "You look frightened."
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T-Bag leant against the chain link fence, a blunt wind causing him to hunch his shoulders and scowl. There were no cold winds in Alabama but Illinois was a different matter.
He closed his eyes momentarily, letting his mind rove back to a time when he was happier.
She jumped to mind. That silky golden hair, those innocent blue eyes. She was pretty, she had an untouched beauty.
A smile twitched at the corners of his lips as he remembered Lisa McAdams. A sweet girl really, mild-mannered, nice to everyone even the geeky kids in her grade. She was eight years old when she died.
He remembered how she'd followed willingly, curiously concerned for the well being of the imaginary dog Trickster. How gullible she'd been, followed him right into that back ally. She'd looked around for a second and then asked in her angelic voice,
"Where's your dog mister?" that's when the suspicion first began to form and was confirmed as he'd attacked her just a second later.
The twisted smile grew bigger as he remembered how she'd cried and pleaded as he had his way with her. But she eventually grew quiet, and her sweet blue eyes had rolled back into her head as the pain overwhelmed her.
He had waited then, just sitting in that dark place, cradling the eight year-old in his arms. She had woken up eventually, struggled for a moment but then gave in, too drained to keep fighting.
She'd cried silently then and he'd marvelled at the fat drops that slid down her chubby cheeks. But after a while she started to panic again, started crying out for her parents and wanting to go home.
He remembered then how he'd reached up, placing two hands around her thin neck. Really he could have used one, but she'd struggled. He remembered how the pulse in her throat had sped up; thumping against the palm of his hand as he slowly applied more and more pressure. She'd gasped for breath, whimpering and screaming hoarsely but eventually her angelic eyes dimmed. He'd dumped the body in a forgotten well, packed up and left the small suburban town. Last he'd heard Lisa McAdam's body had never been found.
T-Bag opened his eyes but the smile slid from his face. That was a long time ago, and it wasn't until his next victim – some little brat bitch – that had landed him in Fox River. The Badges called that yard time was over and the rest of the cons began to trump inside, T-bag bringing up the rear.
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He was sitting on his bed; listening to the snores of his cellmateabove him, chin resting on his hands as he stared into space. There was a protesting squeal of metal as Maytag rolled over, awakening T-Bag from his reverie.
A chilling wind fluttered through the wing and into his cell, an ethereal susurrus. T-Bag looked up and gasped suddenly, leaping backwards and smacking his back against the cold cement wall of his cell.
"Hello again Theodore." She whispered. "You look frightened." There she stood in the corner of the room, her golden hair hanging limp, the immaculately white top and blue jeans dripping water onto the concrete floor, where she stood only one of her feet in a small sneaker.
She smiled then, and bits of her blonde hair fell into her angelic blue eyes.
"Don't you remember me Theodore?" T-Bag blinked rapidly starred at the form of Lisa McAdams.
"This can't be happening." He whispered hoarsely. "Your not real." Her smile fell from her face, pink lips turning downwards. A frown began to appear on her forehead as tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her chubby cheeks.
She screwed up her face and balled her fists, the lights outside beginning to flicker. Water began to creep across the floor of the cell, steadily coming faster and faster. T-Bag watched in horror, feeling like he was caught in a whirlwind dream. Lisa opened her mouth - hideously distorting her features – but there was no escaping the blood-curdling scream,
"THEODORE!"
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T-Bag yelled and fought the thin covers, flailing wildly and yelling. He felt his fist connect with something, something warm, something that gave way. Triumphantly he laid into it, beating mercilessly.
Strong hands suddenly grabbed him and tugged him away, throwing him into the opposite wall.
T-Bag crouched there on the floor, breathing heavily and he looked up to see Maytag lying on his bed, unconscious and bleeding.
"Hope you enjoy your stay in the SHU freak." Bellick hissed, yanking him to his feet and marching him out of his cell.
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T-Bag ate his meal in silence then, frowning thoughtfully. Of course it had just been some weird dream that his mind had cooked up. After all he had thought of her the very same day so the only logical explanation would be that his thoughts had remained on that subject.
T-Bag sighed and then stretched, smiling to himself. He felt much better after working that out, and the accidental beating of Maytag would no doubt remind the boy where his place was.
He settled down where he was, shifting every so often to find a more comfortable angle. Slowly, very slowly, time began to slide by and as it went T-Bag's eyes grew heavy.
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He woke with a start and a hand flew to the shank that he had hidden at his side. He leapt to his feet and stared wildly around the room, but of course it was empty. He shivered at the eerie silence and then shivered once again as a soft breeze crept into his cell.
A whimpering sound reached T-Bag's ears and with mounting dread he turned his head and stared into the corner. There she was. Except she was sitting hunched over, her knees hugged to her chest and her golden head down so that her forehead was resting on her knees. She cried softly and water dripped consistently from her clothes.
T-Bag stood, frozen in one spot, his right hand gripping tightly the small knife. Anger bubbled up inside of him suddenly; no she was not real! He would not be controlled by some stupid fucking ghost that his mind had cooked up.
"Fucking SHU." T-Bag muttered and moved over to the tiny bed, sitting down. Lisa looked up then, tears dripping down her face.
"Look what you did to me Theodore." She whispered craning her neck upwards so T-Bag could see the two purple handprint bruises that circled her throat.
T-Bag ignored her however, choosing to look at the other corner and sighing lazily, though his knuckles were white as he continued to clench the knife.
"Theodore?" She was on her feet now and as she walked over her one sneaker squeaked on the wet floor. "Look what you did to me." The girl stopped beside him, smiling softly as he turned his head away. "Don't you remember me Theodore?" She asked.
"This ain't real."
"I remember you." He was shaking now, as he stared at the wet floor her footprints just visible if he looked closely enough. The anger and fear knotted together, building up.
"This ain't real!" He yelled suddenly and swung his right hand around, driving the small knife into the stomach of the eight year old.
She stood for a moment and T-Bag gasped in horror.
"Say my name." She whispered softly.
"This ain't happening."
"Say my name Theodore."
"…. Lisa…Lisa McAdams."
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T-Bag woke with a start, throwing his arms up over his head. He stayed like that for several minutes before nervously peeking out. Nothing. No one was there. He felt for the hilt of the knife that was hidden at his side. Still there, as it had been before he had drifted off.
A laugh rose up in his throat and burst out. T-Bag got to his feet, grinning manically.
"Just another dream." He told himself, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all. But the relieved and slightly crazed laughter died, suddenly choked off as T-Bag looked down. Right there, crossing in front of his path, starting from the corner and going over to his bed, were footprints. Wet footprints that could only belong to a child…
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The days spent in the SHU finally passed and T-Bag was allowed back into General Population, but he was different. He hadn't slept since that last dream of her, every night every waking hour he spent pacing back and forth and when he did sit he positioned himself in an awkward angle so when sleep did finally come his body would slump forward and he would thump his head. The few minutes that he had slept were luckily Lisa McAdams free, but he was so…unfortunately fearful he would scrabble awake and look at the floor; to afraid to look around the cell and to afraid to shut his eyes. What had become of this dangerous predator? He needed to relieve himself of this, it was weirding him out and if he kept on the twitchy manner it would only bring trouble.
T-Bag sat on the hard bleachers, the Alliance around him. His hands were in his pockets and fingers stroked the handle of his shank. Dark eyes skittered everywhere, didn't matter who, just had to be someone. Someone was fucking with his mind and when he found out who they were worse then dead.