Disclaimer: Don't own it.
He'd never experienced darkness like this before. None of that metaphorical crap, just literal darkness. The sort where you couldn't see your feet stretched out in front of you. He didn't know the time. He didn't know if he was supposed to be awake or sleeping. His clock was a grumpy Badge delivering food, three times a day, regular as clockwork, but everything in between was a blur. With no visibility, he could see things.
Michael and Veronica's faces. They appeared quite regularly. Sometimes he'd talk to them. Other times they couldn't hear him and he'd find himself screaming til he was hoarse at a hallucination.
The chair. He'd never even laid eyes on the thing, and that made SHU all the more treacherous. His imagination kept him sane, and scared as hell. Chin strap, arm straps, maybe the floor would be lined with newspaper to catch his vomit. Sometimes he could see the current. He assumed electricity was blue.
Many times he'd see the body. Slumped forward against the wheel, bleeding from a hole in the head. He'd never seen a dead person before. He saw this one so often he sometimes convinced himself he was guilty. But the taste of fear brought him back. The smell of defeat, and the thirst for justice.
Voices. Replayed over and over. Michael and Veronica's of course. The verdict. LJ. And voices he couldn't pick, but one that made him feel safe. A woman's. She was singing a hymn in a high, melodious voice, crooning as if she would to a baby. He always felt a little warmer when he heard her. And the room seemed a little lighter.
He needed light. More of it. In darkness this deep you could see the Devil. He got up slowly, balancing on his knees and moved across the floor. He reached out and touched the wall. It was cold and he realised he'd expected warmth. He ran his fingers over the concrete and his calloused digits rippled over a little engraving. It was as though a switch had turned on his brain. He sat up straighter, suddenly concentrating. His brain hadn't been stimulated for a few days now. The first letter was an H. He was sure of it. H….e….f? No….b….the next letter was too difficult, but there was another e after it…and then a…..a 'w'. And an 's'. Hebews. Hebrews. Hebrews? Lincoln moved his finger along an inch. There were three small vertical strokes. Hebrews III. Someone Hebrews the Third?
'Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.'
He couldn't explain where that had come from. He wasn't even sure if he'd spoken aloud.
Paper cranes swam before him. He could see a woman's face and he knew without a doubt it was his mother, the woman who sang to him when he was a baby. The cell was dark but he could see light before him.
The memories flashing across his mind illuminated the cell, driving the Devil away. Seeing Michael for the first time as an inmate of Fox River. His mother's funeral, and a familiar Bible verse, Hebrews 11:1, read in a eulogy. Finding Michael after the riot, alive, and grabbing hold of him tighter than ever before, the metallic smell of his blood seeping through fabric.
Veronica's kiss behind the school bleachers. Veronica's kiss behind the prison bars. LJ's birth. The words 'I love you, Dad', wanted and finally heard after so long.
Telling Michael that day by the water to 'have a little faith'. Michael's hand on his shoulder in the prison chapel telling him the same thing.
Faith…Lincoln blinked and took his hand away from the wall. He'd been touching it, clinging to it as a dying man clings to comfort. An engraving of a Bible verse wasn't going to save him. But, maybe, just perhaps, a little faith could.
And that was light enough for now.