The Beginning of the End
"I'm going to go back to my cell now." Michael said calmly.
He had that look in his eye… a look that Lincoln knew too well. That vacant stare that used to scare the shit out of him when they were younger. It still did.
"Michael wait." Lincoln said desperately, reaching out and grabbing his younger brother by the arm before he had a chance to reach the door.
"Linc…please." Michael said closing his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at his brother.
"I just want to talk to you. That's all."
"Not now." Michael replied as he attempted to wrench his arm free of Lincoln's grasp.
"Yes! Now!" Lincoln shot back angrily, tightening his grip. It was only when he saw Michael wince in pain that he realized he was letting his anger get the best of him and he immediately let go.
"Just go home Linc." Michael said, banging on the door to get the guards attention.
Lincoln couldn't believe what was happening. This was not how he pictured his reunion with Michael. He couldn't let his little brother just walk out the door. Not without answers. He quickly stepped between Michael and the door and just as the guard started to open it, he quickly pushed it shut and used his weight to hold the door closed.
"Lincoln! What the hell are you doing?"
Michael could hear the door handle rattling and the guard struggling as he tried to open the door.
"Hey! What the hell is going on in there?" The guard hollered from the other side.
"Lincoln! Let go of the door!"
"No!" Lincoln protested. "Not until I get some answers from you."
"Open this door!" the guard continued pounding.
Michael could feel the panic beginning to take over and he brought his hands shaking hands to his head.
"Michael…just tell me what happened?" Lincoln pleaded.
"Lincoln, you just got out of jail. Are you crazy? Open the door! " Michael continued to beg as sweat dripped from his brow and he tried desperately to catch his breath.
"Lincoln? Michael? What the hell is going on in there?" Durst's stern voice came from behind the door. "Boys, you open this door right now!"
"Michael please. Talk to me." Lincoln said, lowering his voice as he tried desperately to ignore LJ who was now hollering at him from behind the door as well.
"Just move!" Michael snapped at him, shoving him away from the door.
With Lincoln's weight no longer holding the door shut, the guard literally fell into the room and Michael had to catch him before he fell to the floor.
"What the fuck!" the guard fumed.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Durst demanded to know as he rushed into the room after the guard. And when Michael said nothing, he turned his attention to Lincoln who simply replied…
"What? We had fifteen minutes left."
"Is he kidding?" the guard asked Durst, clearly not appreciating Lincoln's sarcasm.
"Lincoln." Durst said, admonishing him with a stern glare.
"I want to go back to my cell." Michael said. "Now!"
The Guard and Durst exchanged looks of confusion. They had no clue what was going on and neither Michael nor Lincoln were offering any type of explanation.
"Take him back to his cell." Durst replied, clearly frustrated. He had known Michael long enough to know when not to push him further. Something had obviously upset him, but Durst figured his best bet was to try to get answers from Lincoln rather than Michael.
"With pleasure." The guard replied, happy to liberate himself from the situation. "Let's go." He said, taking Michael by the arm and leading him out the door.
"Uncle Mike…Are you alright?" a nervous LJ asked as Michael passed him on the way out.
"I'm fine buddy." Michael reassured him. "Just take your dad home."
Lincoln watched as Michael and the guard disappeared out the door. When they were gone and LJ had shut the door, he could no longer control his anger. He immediately picked up the closest chair and hurled it to the other side of the room.
"God Dammit!" he hollered, slamming his fists on the table for added emphasis.
LJ jumped and backed nervously up against the door. He had never seen his father so angry.
"Dad? What's going on? What happened?"
"Why didn't you tell me about Michael's arm?" Lincoln demanded, rushing toward Durst who, in turn, backpedaled away from him.
"Lincoln, just calm down." Durst replied trying to maintain his composer.
"Don't tell me to fuckin'calm down!" Lincoln shot back. Then turning to LJ he asked, "Did you know about this?"
"I…I…" LJ stammered nervously.
"It's a simple question LJ! Did you or did you not know about what Michael did to his arm?"
"Well yeah but…"
"But what?" Lincoln demanded. "Why the hell would you keep something like that from me?"
"Because I told him too!" Durst answered for him.
"Why?" Lincoln demanded to know.
"Oh, I don't know." Durst said sarcastically. "I guess I just figured you might react badly and do something stupid. Clearly I was wrong."
"You think that's funny?" Lincoln asked.
"I don't think any of this is funny." Durst shot back. "I told LJ not to tell you what Michael had done because I knew you would react this way. I didn't want you to do something rash and have more time added to your bid. That wasn't going to help either of you!"
"I'm sorry Dad. I should have told you." LJ said approaching his Dad cautiously. "But you had already been thrown in solitary once for losing your temper. I thought if you found out what happened with Uncle Mike… "
"Alright LJ." Lincoln cut him off.
"I just didn't want you going back there." LJ continued, tears brimming in his eyes as he tried to justify his actions to his father.
"Alright LJ. Alright." Lincoln said and reached out to embrace his son. "It's OK."
"I'm sorry Dad." LJ cried, burying his face in his father's shoulder.
"I know." Lincoln replied, kissing the top of his son's head. "It's OK. Calm down."
"If you want, we can discuss Michael now. But if you're just going to lose your temper again, tell me now and I'll leave. Your choice." Durst informed him.
Lincoln sighed and responded by taking a seat at the table.
"OK." Durst smiled and took a seat across from him.
LJ decided to forego a seat at the table and instead sat himself on the floor. With his back against the wall, he pulled his knees up close to his chest and rested his elbows on them as he listened.
"I'm listening. Start talking." Lincoln demanded.
Durst sighed as he tried to think of the best way to approach the topic without further upsetting his client. There really was no way to make the story any less unpleasant without blatantly lying. So he decided to just give it to him straight and hope for the best.
"It happened about a year and a half ago." Durst began. "Michael's cellmate woke up in the middle of the night and found him sitting on the floor of their cell. He was leaning against the wall, awake…conscious…but totally unresponsive…just scraping his bare forearms back and forth across the concrete floor."
"Jesus Christ." Lincoln moaned and buried his face in his hands as Durst continued.
"They have no idea how long he had been at it. But he did quite a number on his arms. Michael wouldn't talk about it. He said he couldn't remember what happened. But they are pretty sure he was trying to…"
"Obliterate the tat." Lincoln finished for him.
"Yeah." Durst said.
"Dammit Michael." Lincoln said and got up from the table. He paced nervously back and forth for a moment before finally turning back to Durst.
"You should have told me." He said, pointing a finger accusingly at Durst.
"Shit Lincoln. Don't start that again."
"You don't understand. I could have helped him. I know how to deal with him when he gets like this. I could have…"
Lincoln stopped, realizing he had said far more than he wanted to.
Durst gave Lincoln a smug smile and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
"Go on. I'm listening." He prodded.
Lincoln shook his head.
"It's nothing. Forget it."
"Nothing?" Durst asked. "You're unbelievable. You know that? You asked me to look after your brother because you had no one else to ask. You asked me to advocate for him… to keep him safe. How the hell was I supposed to do that when you neglected to inform me that one person Michael might need protection from is himself?"
Lincoln said nothing, merely folded his arms defiantly and shook his head.
"You should have told me his history Lincoln."
"What history?" Lincoln asked even though he already knew exactly what Durst was talking about.
"His psychiatric history." Durst shot back.
LJ, who had been sitting on the floor with his head resting in his hands the entire time, immediately straightened up upon hearing this. This was news to him.
"LJ, can you step out please." Lincoln asked, trying to remain calm.
"Dad, I wanna stay." LJ objected.
"LJ…Please." He asked again.
Lincoln had never been much of a role model to his son, but Michael had always been someone that LJ could look up to. He didn't want his son to hear any more about Michael's trouble past. Not that it would have changed LJ's opinion of him at all. But it would be painful for LJ to hear and Lincoln didn't want to subject him to that.
"Dad." LJ said, getting up from the floor. "Nothing you could say right now could be possibly worse than what I'm imagining. Please…"
"Fine." Lincoln conceded, realizing that LJ was probably right. Durst shouldn't have brought it up with his son in the room. But he had and there was nothing Lincoln could do about that now. LJ might as well know the truth.
LJ took a seat at the table next to Lincoln, who had now turned his attention back to Durst.
"My brother is not suicidal if that's what you're thinking." Lincoln stated matter of factly.
"I never said he was and it's not what I'm thinking." Durst replied. "I have a pretty good idea what Michael was trying to do…other than remove the tattoo that is."
"Oh really? And how's that?" Lincoln asked, leaning back in his chair.
"It's very simple. I just did something you were never willing to do. I talked to his Doctor."
"You talked with Brighton?" Lincoln asked, sounding surprised.
"With Michael's permission…Yes. He was very helpful in fact. He had a lot to say about Michael."
"Yeah…I'll bet he did." Lincoln shot back, the animosity in his voice evident.
Durst rolled his eyes.
"Lose the attitude Lincoln. It's hardly constructive. The fact is, I learned a lot about Michael from Dr. Brighton. Things that would have been helpful to have known five years ago."
"Such as…" Lincoln pressed.
"The way his mind works for starters. His low latent inhibition."
"Whoa. Hold up." LJ said, raising his hand. "What does that mean-low latent inhibition? What is that?"
"It's a condition LJ." Durst replied. "It means your Uncle doesn't process information like the rest of us do. You see, we are constantly bombarded with information…stimuli from the environment. But our brains filter out all the unnecessary information allowing us to focus on one thing. But people like your Uncle…people with low latent inhibition; their brains don't filter out that unnecessary information."
"So what? You're saying Michael's in this constant state of mental overload?" LJ asked.
"Sort of." Lincoln replied, then buried his face in hands once again. He hated talking about Michael's condition. He always had. Mostly because he never fully understood it.
"Well…it would be overload for most people." Durst clarified. "But for people with high IQs, like your Uncle…they learn to deal with it. And quite often it results in creative genius."
"So Uncle Mike's a genius?"
"Sort of." Lincoln replied. It was becoming his standard answer.
"OK fine. So Uncle Mike's a genius. I get it. But that still doesn't explain why he intentionally hurt himself." LJ pointed out.
"It's a distraction." Durst replied.
"A distraction from what?" LJ wondered out loud.
"From the noise." Lincoln said almost inaudibly, using a phrase Michael had used almost twenty years earlier when explaining himself to Lincoln.
Durst smiled, relieved that Lincoln was finally opening up.
"He inflicts pain because it gives him something else to focus on, when he doesn't want to deal with the thoughts in his head." Lincoln explained.
"And he's done it before?" LJ asked.
Lincoln shook his head.
"Not in a long time."
"You should have told me." Durst said.
"What the hell for?" Lincoln replied. "I just told you…he hasn't done it in years. He was in college the last time."
"And what about the incident in solitary two weeks before you broke out of Fox River?" Durst asked.
Lincoln looked up…shocked that Durst even knew about that. Dr. Brighton certainly wouldn't have known about it.
"I spoke with Warden Pope." Durst explained.
"That was nothing." Lincoln replied angrily. "It was all part of Michael's plan."
"Was it?" Durst shot back. "Because according to Pope and CO on duty that night, you were pretty freaked out by the whole thing. 'Hysterical' was the word I believe they used. If it was all part of Michael's plan…why were you so worried Linc?"
"I'm a good actor." Lincoln replied, lying through his teeth.
Durst smirked and nodded his head.
"Yes Linc. You certainly are." He said, pushing his seat back and getting up from the table. "You certainly are."
Durst headed toward the door and was about to leave, but then stopped and turned back to Linocln, who was still seated at the table with his back to him.
"I'll tell you what Lincoln… When you get tired of acting like you have everything under control and you want to talk. You come see me. Cause I imagine it's been rough these past 25 years trying handle everything on your own. It's time to let someone else in…Don't you think?"
To be continued…