A/N: Hey, hey, hey! Another chapter for ya :) Please leave a review if you're feeling up to it, I love hearing from you all!
XXXXX
Jacob tossed and turned throughout the night; he felt feverish, though holding his wrist to his forehead confirmed that he wasn't. Nonetheless, he couldn't get comfortable and continued to thrash around, staring up at the ceiling while sleep eluded him.
When he finally was able to sleep, it wasn't long or restful, and was plagued with nightmares. They were disjointed and jumbled, but certain parts stuck around long enough for his conscious, waking mind to remember them.
He was back in their house, in the basement, and Sara was talking to him. The floor was cold beneath his feet and her eyes were just as icy, glaring at him. It was a memory from not long ago when she was duct taped to the chair, throwing insults his way.
"And then you met my husband and realized…he's smarter than you."
Even in his half-awake state, the comment infuriated him, causing a heat to rise throughout his body, washing over him in a wave. First, to refer to Michael as her husband when they were still married…and then to insult his intelligence? It was what he prided himself on the most. His intelligence. His confidence; he was the smartest man in any room and could easily manipulate any situation to his advantage.
He'd forgotten about that little exchange, or perhaps suppressed it, but his dreaming mind wouldn't let him forget. In the moment he'd let is pass, a sly grin to assure Sara that her words didn't faze him. Obviously, that wasn't true, and his subconscious had been chewing on it ever since those words had been spat at him.
He didn't believe that all dreams were significant; some were just plain weird and had no apparent meaning. But this? This dream felt like a call to action, a reminder that there was a wrong in the world that he needed to right, to prove that he was smarter than Michael, and that he would always win, no matter what.
It might take time, but he was a patient man. It would take planning, but he had nothing but time now and could do just that. But how to prove once and for all that he was superior?
His mind toyed with that question. He could figure out some way to have Michael arrested again, or Sara, but the idea fell flat. It was too repetitive, and too predictable. Plus, knowing Michael, he'd find a way out anyways. And if he incarcerated Sara, Michael would just break her out like he did before. No, this time had to be different.
His thoughts drifted to Mike, and it occurred to him that he actually missed the boy. He was a smart kid; smart, yet impressionable, which had worked to Jacob's advantage, getting Mike to call him his father, and to tell Michael plainly to stay away. Mike had truly been his in that moment, and an idea occurred to him.
Taking Mike away would be the final blow for both Michael and Sara; something they could never recover from. He had no desire to kill the boy, rather, to make him his own again. To start over. Mike was still young and probably confused; if Jacob insisted that he was taking him back for his own good, then perhaps in time, Mike would learn to trust him again. Simple brain-washing, easier on a child…especially one who had trusted him for the vast majority of his life.
There was only one problem: he was in prison.
His eyes wandered across the ceiling above him, observing the cracks and lines, how they converged and then split from each other, some ending abruptly and others continuing all the way out of sight. Getting out early for good behavior would take years, and he didn't have that kind of time.
He needed help, someone on the outside. His mind flickered to Emily, his blond-haired lackey, and started running with the possibility. She'd been working for him for years, and he trusted her which was pretty remarkable, since the list of people he trusted fit on one hand. She had nothing to lose; no family or friends to speak of- she'd been in twenty-one void for so long he doubted her life had much of anything going on now that Jacob was in prison. It was interesting, he found himself wondering what she was doing. Had she already found another job, heading down the straight and narrow? He smirked, no. He couldn't imagine that. She had an affinity for all things covert and illegal, one of the qualities he rather liked about her.
The cell phone she used for twenty-one void was probably out of service by now- she was smart enough to have dumped it the minute things went south, but if he recalled correctly, she did have a personal cell. She rarely used it, but he considered calling and leaving a message if necessary. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the number, but it was jumbled. It had been in his contacts for years, but he rarely looked at it; he always called her other number…the untraceable one.
He huffed and rubbed his eyes, who remembered phone numbers these days anyways? He doubted there was any way he could get access to a computer or look up her number, so there was no help there.
He remembered the pencil and pad of paper next to his bed and sat up, swinging his legs down and taking the one step across his cell to grab it. It was still dark, all the other inmates asleep, while he wracked his brain. He was fairly certain of most of the digits involved. He knew the area code for sure, but the other seven digits were an educated guess. He did remember that her number for that phone had a personalized voicemail message; her voice asking the caller to leave a message, so at least he'd know when he figured out the right one.
If he could come up with every possible number combination for the digits he knew were involved, he could start calling each one whenever he had the chance. It would be tedious, but he had nothing better to do, and he started jotting down every possibility.
XXXXXX
Sara stood on the back deck with a coffee mug in hand. It was early; but Michael and Mike were still in bed. She'd woken up early and quickly, her mind skipping that bleary, half-asleep phase and going straight to a state of racing thoughts, and she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Instead, she decided to take the opportunity for a quiet morning alone to let her thoughts wander.
After brewing a pot and pouring herself a mug, she decided on standing rather than sitting, feeling that somehow her thoughts were less daunting that way. Sinking into a chair made her feel more stuck, more…committed to the process of self-exploration. This way she was free to pace back and forth or lean on the railing, shuffle her feet…it gave her thoughts an outlet, and they really needed one today.
Finding the origami had really shaken her up and stirred a lot of emotions. She felt betrayed, and added it to the long list of betrayals she now felt towards Jacob. The level of cruelty continued to amaze her, and how well he'd hidden his true intentions. Who and what he was. A monster, Poseidon. A God in his own mind.
She didn't want to get stuck on that feeling though; feeling angry was a waste of time and there was nothing more she could do to make Jacob feel guilty or bad about what he'd done. At this point, she wasn't sure if he was even capable of such things; feeling guilty…taking responsibility for his actions.
What that left her with was sadness, plain and simple.
She took a sip of the warm liquid and leaned her forearms against the railing, peering out as the sun started lighting up the horizon, exhaling out a sigh. The wood beneath her feet was cool and slightly damp from the morning dew, but she could already tell it would be a hot day, the bright orange glow in the sky announcing its presence.
How might her life be different, if she'd known about Michael years ago? She knew that thinking about it and going down that rabbit hole was, objectively speaking, a waste of time. The past was the past, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was more of a thought experiment, and she decided to allow herself the luxury because not allowing it felt like a disservice to herself. It was human nature to wonder and question; here, alone with her thoughts, she had the safety to let the "what ifs" fire away, and so she did.
Somewhere along the way, her mind provided her with a memory of an evening on this very deck with Jacob. She'd been lounging in one of the chairs and he'd come to join her, a glass of red wine in his hand-
Wine.
The thought jolted her with unexpected force, a queasy feeling in her stomach.
Nope, she thought, shaking her head vigorously, absolutely not. She'd been sober for years; she'd had to, if not for herself, than for Mike's sake. She hadn't craved or even slightly desired it in a long time, to the point where she thought she was completely past it. The sudden desire was deeply unsettling.
She wouldn't, no way, but the fact that her mind had even slightly latched onto the possibility was frightening. She knew alcoholics who'd been sober for twenty years and then one day…they weren't anymore. She didn't consider herself above such things; she'd made that mistake before, thinking, "I've got this under control, I can relax a little…"
A meeting, her mind told her, desperately trying to course correct, go to an AA meeting. It couldn't hurt, and it might help.
She exhaled, shakier now. She knew that any drastic life event was something to watch out for on the road of sobriety, to take extra steps to ensure she stayed on that road and be even more self-aware. But shouldn't she be happy? Over-the-moon happy to have her husband back, and have the family she'd always wanted? Why now of all times, to be fighting this demon again?
Still a big change, her inner devil's advocate pointed out, gently reminding her that she'd been though a lot. It was normal to feel shaken up; she'd had a lot to process lately.
A meeting, she thought more solidly this time, I'll go today, just in case.
Just as she cemented that into her plan for the day, she heard the sliding door open behind her, and Michael approaching with a steaming mug in his own hand.
"Morning," he greeted as he walked up beside her, his free hand coming to rest on the small of her back.
Quietly, "Hey."
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, taking sip.
"Eh," she brushed it off, "more like…woke up early and decided to just get up."
"Mmm," he hummed in understanding, then watched her watching the sky.
She asked, "Hey, do you mind watching Mike for a bit today, maybe this afternoon?" She remembered from when she regularly attended, that there were meetings on Wednesdays at 3 p.m., and today was Wednesday.
"Yea, no problem," then casually, "something you need to take care of?"
Hesitantly, "Yea, I uh…I'd like to go to a meeting again."
He tilted his head, questioning.
"AA," she clarified, "it's been a while and I'm feeling," she didn't know how to articulate what she was feeling, so she settled on, "I'm feeling like I should go again."
She could tell by the look on his face that he was concerned, but trying not to express it. His face was trained into a neutral expression, but his eyes told a different story.
"I'm fine," she assured, "really I just…think of it more as…preventative maintenance."
He nodded, answering with a simple, "Okay."
They stood in a somewhat awkward silence for a bit, but she didn't know how to make it better. She knew it was the right thing to do, and she'd do it, but she didn't know how to assure him that she wasn't about to fall off the wagon.
"Did something," his voice broke the silence, "is there something that happened lately that is making it tougher?"
She scoffed, "Everything."
"Well yea," a small smile, "we've been through a lot. I was just wondering if any one thing was bothering you more than the rest. Because if it is, and you wanna talk…" his voice trailed off.
"I know, and thank you, really," she ran a hand through her hair, then leaned back against the railing, "it was just a random memory that popped up that involved alcohol. Usually when I think about it now I feel detached and distant, but this time…"
He nodded, "I'll do whatever I can to help," then a smirk, "even if that means watching Mike for the afternoon."
She smiled now, leaning her shoulder into his playfully, "Because you hate that so much."
"Worst job ever," he played along, then sighed, staring out as the sun rose, "I'd do anything for that kid."
She wrapped her arm around his waist, and in the morning stillness thought, "You already have."
XXXXXXXXX
Lincoln took his work hat off and rubbed his head, irritated. It was hot; the sun was beating down on his back and sweat beading on his forehead, plus if he was being honest, he'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Ever since the other night when they'd all had dinner together, he'd been a little on edge.
Michael told him about the origami, and what Jacob had done. Lincoln understood his brother's feelings, which were all mostly anger or a close relative of it, but knew that dwelling on it wasn't helpful. Lincoln was more about action, and doing something that could help tip the scales back in the right direction.
That's what was bothering him though, not having a solution at hand. He put his hat back on and continued his work with a nail gun, the chatter of his coworkers blending into a white noise- his mind was elsewhere.
He tried to picture Jacob in Fox River- Mr. Professional, Mr. Professor, so buttoned up and proper, he thought with snide, only to realize that that feeling wasn't fair. He'd liked the guy and had fallen for the act just like everyone else. His charming, professional persona had been a friend of sorts, and a decent man in Mike and Sara's life. Or so he'd thought. He wished like hell he'd seen through his game a lot earlier, but damn if Jacob wasn't naturally gifted with the art of deception.
Still, in a place like Fox River that wouldn't matter much. Without a gun, he had a feeling that Jacob was pretty defenseless, which brought him back to a small tidbit that Michael had shared with him.
"I called T-bag," Michael had told him as Lincoln flipped a burger.
"Yea?"
"Made arrangements for Whip to be buried, and I got the headstone ordered."
"Good," Lincoln nodded, "he was a good kid."
"Yea," Michael's eyes wandered, obviously wanting to add something else.
"What?" Lincoln wondered.
"Hmm?"
"Spit it out man, I know that look. You're leaving something out."
A gleam appeared in Michael's eye, being called out by a brother who knew him too well for his own good, "The guard cut him short, but he was trying to tell me something."
"About what?"
"Jacob."
His spatula-yielding hand froze mid-air, "What about him?"
"I don't know, all he said was he wanted to ask me something about his new cell-mate. When I had the meeting with the CIA director, I'd specifically requested for them to be put together."
Lincoln smirked at that.
"But I don't know…"
"You try calling back?"
"I did later that day," Michael admitted, "but he was in solitary so…"
Lincoln nodded, knowing firsthand how hard it could be to get a phone call in there.
The memory of the conversation floated back, and it occurred to him that that was something he could do. Call T-bag again and see what's going on. Their relationship wasn't great, but if he'd taken revenge on Jacob, Lincoln knew he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it.
After work but before heading home, he sat down in his car. It was roasting inside from sitting all day in the sun, so he rolled the windows down and then pulled out his cell. It wasn't tough to find the number for Fox River and after being on hold for a while, he heard the other end pick up.
"Which one is this?" T-bag asked with his usual humor.
"The other one," he replied flatly, "listen I just wanna know what you were gonna tell Michael the other day before they made you hang up."
"In regards to?"
"Your cell mate."
"Right," he drawled out, "bit of a cockroach ain't he, toughest bugger to kill-"
"-he's not dead?"
A pause, "Not yet," then in an assuaging voice, "but it wasn't for lack of trying I assure you- stabbed him right in the jugular but you know how quick those guards can be, and medical care sure has gotten better these days-"
"-but you're going to? I mean…you plan on it, right?"
A curiosity in his voice, pitching higher, "You asking me to? Because a favor like that seems like it might have a bit of intrinsic value. Maybe somewhere down the line you and I-"
"-no. Listen you piece of shit, I don't owe you anything, and neither does Michael," he spat back, "I just wanted to know what was going on. Jacob is still alive…that's all I needed."
Bitterly, "Happy to help," and the line went dead.
XXXXXX
Michael was strolling along beside Mike in the afternoon sun. They were at a park this time instead of walking around the neighborhood, having left home shortly before Sara needed to head out for her meeting. Michael wasn't sure how much Mike knew about her sobriety, but he took the nudge when Sara had hinted for them to head to the park.
They were approaching the playground now, and Mike saw a friend from school.
"Can I?" he asked, nodding towards them.
A smile, "Sure."
He ran off towards his new companion as Michael took a seat on a nearby bench, crossing an ankle over his other knee and leaning back. He'd started to go into a daze, his gaze resting gently on Mike to keep an eye on him, but letting his mind relax a bit. People rode by on bicycles, and a woman jogged by with her dog. Kids played all around, some with sidewalk chalk, others running around the monkey bars. He could smell sunscreen in the gentle breeze, and the faint scent of charcoal; he looked around and saw a thin fog of smoke in the distance, someone grilling in their backyard.
His daze was broken when his phone rang in his pocket; he fumbled a bit to drag it out and check to see who it was. It was Lincoln.
"Hey, what's up?" he answered, his foot bouncing up and down.
"Hey, man I uh, I just wanted to let you know that," a hesitant pause, "Jacob is still alive, and I don't think he and T-bag are in the same cell anymore."
He froze, "I see," taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "and how do you know this?"
"I called him," he replied simply, "yea he uh, he said he stabbed him in the neck, but the guards got him to the hospital fast enough."
A sigh, "Did he say anything else?"
"Just that if he does kill him, he thinks we'll owe him something."
Michael scoffed, "As if he doesn't have a personal vendetta against him. He killed his son!"
"I know, I know," Lincoln assured, "he probably didn't mean it. He's probably just frustrated that it didn't work the first time, you know? He's not used to failing at murder."
True, he thought as his eyes returned to Mike, who was swinging next to his friend.
"Anyways," Lincoln continued, "I dunno what you wanna do with that information but…thought I'd let you know."
"Yea, thanks for," he paused, "thanks."
After hanging up he sat quietly, his foot still bouncing up and down, fingers tapping against his pursed lips.
It's fine, he reasoned with himself, Jacob is still in prison. He may think he's a genius, but he's never tried to escape, he was no threat to Michael or his family.
His phone dinged with a text from Sara, "On my way home."
He replied, "Ok, we'll head back too."
It was almost time to eat anyways, he realized, as he stood up and called for Mike. After a moment of protest, he said goodbye to his friend and joined Michael, making their way back to the car and heading home.
XXXXXX
"So apparently my plan with Jacob didn't work," Michael told Sara as he pulled the sheets down and climbed into bed.
She eye-balled the wound on his side again before he pulled the covers up; it almost wasn't noticeable anymore. He caught her staring and assured, "It's fine now, doesn't hurt at all."
A small smile, "Good," then returning to her previous statement, "he's still alive and well?"
"Alive, but not well," he emphasized as she crawled into bed, "apparently T-bag stabbed him in the neck, but he got to the hospital in time."
Sara, slightly wide-eyed, "Huh."
"Lincoln said it sounded like T-bag was gonna try again, but there might be strings attached."
"What kind of strings?" she asked, pulling the blanket up under her chin and rolling onto her side to face him.
"Not sure," he admitted with a sigh, "just a "you owe me" kinda situation. Although, since T-bag should be in Fox River for life I'm not sure it'll matter anyways."
"Hmm," she hummed, thinking.
He rolled onto his side now too, asking, "You okay? How was the meeting?"
She tucked her chin down slightly, "I'm fine, it was good. I uh…I just don't know what to think or how to feel anymore about anything."
"Mmm."
"Aside from you and Mike of course. I just," she huffed, "am I supposed to want revenge? I feel like that just isn't in my nature," she got quieter, "I know I've killed before, but it's not something I'm proud of, and I only did it to protect you when your life was in imminent danger. But the thought of T-bag or anyone for that matter, killing Jacob…"
"Do you not want him to?" he asked genuinely, and she was sure if she said no he'd be on the phone with T-bag in an instant to call him off.
Exasperated, "I don't know. That's the problem. My moral compass feels completely off, like it needs to be recalibrated. I don't know what to do here or how to feel about him, and I really don't want to feel anything about him," she turned onto her back, talking to the ceiling, "Am I angry? Sure. Betrayed?," a scoff, "yea, but where does that get me?" then after a moment, "maybe that's why the craving hit me today…because I just don't want to feel anything for him."
She felt his lips pressing a kiss on her bare shoulder, "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," she replied reflexively, "it's just confusing for me. Part of me wants him to spend life in prison and draw out the suffering. Make him think every day about what he did and what he's lost."
"But?" Michael prompted.
A sigh, "But I don't know if guilt even registers with him, like if he's even capable of feeling that emotion."
"I don't think he is," Michael said quietly, and Sara turned her head to meet his eyes. She forgot that Michael knew him as well, if not better than she did.
"Well," she decided, "guess it's out of our hands anyways, right? I mean if T-bag wants to kill him to avenge Whip, there's really nothing we can do from here to stop him anyways."
"There's a good thought to end the day with," he joked darkly.
Sara scoffed, "Yea…nothing but sweet dreams to come from that."
