Michael chose a track phone from the few possibilities on the plastic swiveling rack. It was amazing to him, that a little gas station in the middle of nowhere would sell track phones, but he wasn't going to complain.

He paid for his purchase with cash. The cashier, a bored-looking teenage boy, didn't look at him once during the entire transaction. "Need your receipt?" the boy asked him, holding it out.

Michael took it without words and left the gas station, a bell tinkling. He left the hood of his sweatshirt over his head until he was back on the highway, walking towards the motel in the dark. No use letting a camera get a good look at him after all.

He called 411 first. "Sara Tancredi, Chicago, Illinois?" he said. He used a pen taken from the hotel to write the number on his wrist, right above where the tattoos stopped. "Yes, please connect me."

He gripped the phone so tightly his fingers felt numb. It was around nine at night. Sara would be home from work by now on an average day, he knew, but this day would have been anything but average.

"Hello?" She sounded slightly breathless. And it was his Sara. His breath caught in his throat. "Hello?"

"Sara?" he said.

There was a silence so stark he wondered for a nanosecond if she may have passed out. Then, finally, she spoke. "Michael?" she asked. Her voice was carefully shielded; try as he might, Michael couldn't read anything there.

"It's me," he replied.

"You broke out of prison. Out of the infirmary. Do you know how bad that makes me look?" Sara asked. Now he could hear anger.

"Yes. I'm sorry," he replied. "It had to be done. They were going to kill him for a crime he didn't commit, Sara. I couldn't let that happen."

"Why did you call me?" she asked. "I can't just…I mean, now that you called me, I'm going to have to tell the cops."

"You insisted, yesterday, that we talk tomorrow," Michael said. He paused, and heard something that might have been a startled almost-chuckle. "And I wanted to remind you that you promised to let me explain. And I will, Sara. I will explain everything."

There was a long, long silence. Michael held his breath, waiting.

"Will you explain the crane you left?" Sara asked quietly.

Michael breathed in softly. "I meant every word. Every one," he repeated for emphasis. "I never meant to…it wasn't part of the plan, to fall in love with you. But it happened. And I'm so sorry that it has to be like this…"

"Oh Michael," she said, and he could hear her softening towards him.

"Maybe, in another life," he said, "things would have been different. But I do love you, Sara, and I hope that eventually, this can work. Somehow."

"Michael. I…I still work for the prison. There's a manhunt going on for the three of you. And I don't know what to do. Because what my job says is right is not what my heart says is right." She sounded pained.

"What is that, Sara?" he asked. He wanted to hear it from her own lips.

"My job says I should call the cops and tell them you called. Get them to try to trace this number, although I'm sure you're much too smart to have a phone that they can actually trace. Try to get you to tell me where you are."

"And your heart?" Michael asked, his own somewhere in his throat.

"My heart? My heart," she whispered, and he heard her sniff, "says to tell you to be careful, to run like hell, to save your brother, and not to hurt anyone. Which is a dumb thing to say, since I know you, Lincoln, and Sucre are all good men at heart."

"He didn't kill Terrence Steadman, Sara," Michael said. "I know it sounds crazy, but there really is a conspiracy. It's deep, and it goes all the way up to the president. I spent so long trying to get to the bottom of it, but there was no bottom to find. And so I decided that I'd searched enough, and I had to actually do something." He didn't know why he was pouring all this out to her, but he didn't stop. "So I planned. Planned everything. How I'd get in, how I'd get out, who I'd involve, how I'd flee. But then there was you. And you were not part of the plan. Because I was not supposed to fall in love with you."

"Oh, Michael," she whispered again.

"I'll call you again," he said. "If you want."

She didn't answer immediately, and Michael's heart hurt. Finally, he heard her sigh.

"Be careful, Michael," she said. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Michael smiled, even though she couldn't see it. "Goodbye, Sara."

"Goodbye," she whispered.

Michael closed the phone and put it in his pocket. He continued walking down the road in the dark.

So she hadn't exactly forgiven him…but she was softening. It was a start, and a better one than he'd hoped for, to be honest. He kept walking, knowing he had several miles to make back to the motel.