Chapter 1

Working in a prison was not one of those dreams she'd had as a child- being the Governor's daughter, she wasn't exactly encouraged to work at a maximum security penitentiary. It wasn't what she'd thought it would be when she signed the contract either- she was hoping to help people, to really, truly help those in need of not only medical attention, but also direction, motivation, and hope. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, she could influence the life of just one con and it would make all the difference. She never imagined it'd be the other way around.

But it was in fact the other way around; no matter how loudly her head screamed in disapproval, her heart projected a loud, thunderous agreement, and so it was that she feel in love with inmate 94941. Sara fought it for as long as she could, but in the end she gave in to what seemed too powerful for her to endure. She gave in, even after knowing he had a wife for whatever purpose, after figuring out he wasn't a diabetic, and after he and six others left her in their dust when they hopped over the prison walls, never to be heard from again, like so many others before him.

Until now.

Normally, any mail she received at Fox River was from inmates' insurance companies, pharmaceuticals pitching their newest medications, or just plain junk mail. Once in a while she'd get something from an ex-con that had been released recently, but those were usually left simply and coldly unopened. Sara learned after opening the very first one she received that the majority of the time the contents of these letters were foul and usually sexual, and that was not something she wanted to deal with, especially in her pathetically single state.

This day, however, was different. She trudged past the administrative and secretarial offices toward the mail room, chitchatting with whomever she came across; she appeared to be content, going through the motions of another day as some person or another's savior. As she stepped into the mail room, she felt what seemed like a hundred thousand eyes staring through the back of her head. People around the prison were beginning to notice that her personality was becoming an act, a mask she put on in the morning just to be able to endure the endless day ahead, and so they stared, as people do.

Sara made no mention or movement that would let them see that she knew perfectly well what they were all thinking; instead, she bent to her mailbox and keyed it open, using a considerable amount of force to pry today's copious amount mail from her overflowing box. She pivoted and walked through the faux smiles of the employees in the mail room, stopping only to fill a cup with coffee- black, as always. She liked the bitter taste to remind her she was still alive.

The doctor made her way back to her sanctuary, the infirmary. She crouched to release the door stop, attempting to find some sort of privacy in her glass-encased office. This space reminded her of Michael; everyday when she stepped in, she thought of the riot and how the grasp of his strong hand pulling her into the ceiling made all the difference in the world... how he'd rolled up his shirt for her to feel his heartbeat and they'd locked eyes for what seemed like- for what she wished was- an eternity. She glanced around the room and sighed, plopping into her desk chair and taking a big gulp of Life in its most bitter form. Tasteless and cruel, like her life without him.

Somewhat refreshed, she set out to open the massive stack of mail set out before her. She started at the top and found a new issue of a medical journal and some bureaucratic information, and then something totally unexpected- a letter. A real, true letter, from a living, breathing person who wasn't trying to get her to buy something or vote for someone. It was probably from an ex-inmate, but she decided that taking her chances would be far better than continuing to feel as disassociated from the world for another second.

Before Sara tore the envelope open, she noticed there was no return address. This was especially odd if it did turn out to be an inmate letter, as they always expected her to write them back. She proceeded, semi-cautiously, to pull out the lined paper. She opened it and instantly recognized the handwriting set out in a brilliant royal blue atop the stark, lonely white. They'd spent extra time during his appointments doing the Times crossword puzzle once or twice, and the words appeared now in the same quick capital letters.

Her breath caught in her throat when she understood who this particular ex-inmate letter was from- Michael. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to open an unending waterfall of more bitterness. She read,

Sara-

I'm sorry for what's happened. I didn't count on you as a variable when this was planned; when I laid my eyes on you I knew things may not be as calculated in my heart as they were in my head.

Give me the chance to explain myself. Tonight, with the sky as my witness. Meet me at 11 o'clock. You know the place.

M

He'd been careful- no return address, no details other than the time, and no name. He had also instilled enough trust in her that he wasn't afraid she'd come to this place with the police or worse in tow.

Sara rose from her chair heatedly, and crumpled the paper in her hands. Determinedly, she held back her sobs as she strode out of her office and down the hallway, through security, and into the parking garage to her Mercedes. Quickly, angrily, she threw the door open and reached for her glove box, pulling out an old Zippo from the shadows of the compartment.

She stomped a few feet away from the car, bringing the lighter to a flame, and holding it directly underneath the letter from Him. Sara threw it to the ground and watched it burn, her tears flowing down her cheeks and dampening the collar of her lab coat. She turned back to the car, jumping in the driver's seat and slamming the door behind her.