Boxed In

The authorities surrounding Sona decide to toss Michael in solitary confinement which would be fine and dandy if solitary were anything like it was back in Fox River. Instead, it's an insulated box right in the middle of the sun on the outskirts of the prison, designed to bake a prisoner into telling the truth about whatever it is he had done. Michael knows nothing in this world could make him talk and if he dies out here, so be it. Temperatures in that little box reach over one hundred degrees and Michael would be lying if he said he didn't feel the effects setting in; he's shaking and disoriented and his mouth is very dry. He's certainly dehydrated and he feels it, but he doesn't feel the heat, doesn't feel the pain, anymore. He's numb.

A familiar face peers into the box later on in the day. Fernando Sucre is here and Michael wants to hug him, because, to be honest, he's the only one Michael isn't pissed at, right now. "Hi brother. Remember me?"

"This isn't going to work," Michael insists and Sucre nods believingly.

"Come on, papi, drink this," Sucre urges, pushing the Dixie cup of water further into the solitary box.

"You can't let anything happen to LJ."

"It's okay. He's doing much better than you," Sucre tells him. "Come on, drink this. You need it."

Finally, Michael obliges, tipping back the paper cup and draining the water down. It's gone too soon. Sucre takes it back and then says, genuinely, "I'm sorry about Sara."

Michael nods, resting his chin upon his knuckles. For once, sympathy doesn't seem forced or out of guilt. He knows Sucre's being completely honest with him. He then motions towards the empty cup of water. "I'm gonna try and sneak more into the prison next time, okay?"

"I want you to quit," Michael says, then, and Sucre disagrees.

"I can't."

"We all have to quit sometime."

"Well I'm not gonna," Sucre insists. "Look at you- you're in a chicken coop. You need all the help you can get."

There's a double meaning to his words and Michael doesn't have to look far to find it. He's in a dark place; has been for days now. And he wishes it were something that could be solved, something less complicated than losing the love of his life, but it isn't. It's black and white; there's no in between. There used to be hope and light and happiness and the promise of a better tomorrow, but all of those things are gone now that she is. Michael wishes he could bring himself to focus more on the situation at hand and less on the one he no longer has any control over, but he can't. Because everything is bleak and dark and dreary and he feels like he's drowning, swallowed whole and consumed by grief.

If he burns to a crisp in the sun, if he dies of dehydration, if the solitary box drives him insane, they will all be deaths less awful than the one Sara had to suffer.


When Sara is released from the hospital a day later, the first thing she does is learn to move with the thick bandages on her back. Her sores are still giant and gaping and painful if she doesn't take aspirin, but she can't be too worried about that now. She needs to find a telephone. Apparently, payphones aren't a common thing in this small town the young couple had brought her to and she has to go out of her way to find a bed and breakfast that allows her to borrow their phone. She makes a collect call to America, first, and agrees to pay all charges and all the other nonsense the international operator throws at her.

Bruce picks up and asks instantly, "Sara? Are you alright? I haven't heard from you in weeks! Did you get to Michael in time?"

It's comforting to hear a familiar voice even if it isn't the one she's craving. Sara says, "Yes, but… Listen, I need some help."

"Of course, Sara, anything I can do to help you out."

"Do you by chance know anything about the prison system in Panama?" It's a long shot, she knows, but it's worth a shot.

"… Why do you ask?"

"I did find Michael," Sara exhales and is glad she's in the privacy of the back room while she's having this conversation. "But something happened… And anyway, he's in prison on a murder charge and he is innocent and I need to get him out."

"Hold on, I'm having an extreme sense of déjà vu. Didn't we just go through this?"

"Yes," Sara sighs. "But Bruce, anything you know- anything- could be helpful. I need to find Lincoln and then maybe… I don't know."

"Well international law is not my specialty. But what's the name of the prison? I'll get my people on it right away. We'll find out everything we can."

Sara hesitates now. She doesn't even know which prison Michael's in because, honestly, she hadn't been allowed to stick around to find out. "I'm not sure. Can I call you back?"

"Of course. Is there anything else you need?"

"Actually, yes," Sara asks and she feels like an irresponsible teenager when she asks, "Could you maybe send me some money? I, um… I misplaced my wallet."

"Sure. Are you sure you're okay?"

"No," Sara tells him the truth. "But I will be."


A shocking turn of events leads Michael face to face with Susan B. Anthony, except, as he now knows from Whistler, her name is Gretchen Morgan. Michael stares at her, watches her lie and lead authorities on a false chase to find LJ, and can see how someone this manipulative, this dangerous, could be easily persuaded to sever someone's head from their body. As Michael is led back to his cell, he asks Gretchen, "Was it you? Did you kill Sara?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gretchen's mouth says, but her eyes say otherwise.

Michael looks her dead in the eye and hopes she understands. "I'm coming for you."

An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind; Gandhi had said that, too.

But in this case, Michael hopes he'd understand.