A/N: Hey guys! Dropping in another chapter for you to enjoy =) Now that the new season of Prison Break has ended, I have... mixed feelings... to say the least. I would be curious to know what other PB fans thought of the new episodes, good and bad. Although, one definite good thing was giving me that bug to continue plotting out Laney's journey.

Chapter 50:

It seemed like so long ago since I was last behind the wheel of a vehicle. The car was so foreign to me that others on the road probably thought I was drunk with the horrible way I maneuvered. I continued travelling North when I made the decision to attempt to stop at a hospital for medical attention. The pain in my shoulder was getting worse, and I feared it would become infected if I didn't get some antibiotics soon, and probably already went too long without the proper attention for full healing. I would just have to live with those consequences, but the bigger problem was getting the medical attention I needed without identification or insurance. Plus, there was also the risk that I could be recognized by the staff or patients and the last I needed was the local police or FBI on my trail.

When I left Tbag, I robbed him like some petty criminal would. For starters, I took his gun and the axe with me. When he regained consciousness, he was going to be so furious that I felt fearful for anyone who encountered him. So, the way I figured the best way to mend the situation would be to relieve him of any easily accessible weapons, although knowing Tbag he would find some readily.

I also robbed him of his money.

Not all the money (I didn't want to be a heartless monster) but enough of the money where I felt I could take care of my needs until I reached my destination.

Whenever I decided on a final destination, that is.

Convincing myself not to turn around and beg for forgiveness since speeding away from Tbag proved to be difficult. Although, whether it was guilt for leaving him or fear of retribution I couldn't be sure. The one thing I was sure about was that I did not like the person I was starting to become. What was going through my head that I allowed myself to go on a cross country journey with Tbag that resulted in the injuries and death of multiple people? This illusion of denial I had created around Tbag was developed because he knew how to push the right buttons. It was difficult to think, to act independently in his presence because he could be so….

Convincing.

Controlling.

Even now as the silence of the car ride dredged on, it was nearly impossible to get Tbag out of my head. How deep he had embedded himself into my very being that I was starting to lose the concept of who Laney was without Theodore Bagwell.

I suppose I was about to find out.

Montgomery and Birmingham were too busy for me to risk stopping for an extended period. The more people who were milling around the greater likelihood of being recognized. That was why the Athens-Limestone Hospital in Northern Alabama seemed like an ideal location. I couldn't imagine attempting to receive adequate medical attention in Tbag's hometown, but Athens had a historical vibe to it that I found myself drawn to. There were shops and restaurants and even a smaller university. A mental note was taken to come back here if I ever had the luxury of vacations again.

I eventually parked the car across the street from the emergency room so I could change clothes and grab the items I needed without drawing too much attention to myself. There had been a suitcase of clothing in the trunk of car so I slipped into a simple pair of jeans and a blank tank top so the access to my shoulder would be easier. The money and keys to car were dropped in a small bag in case I needed to make a quick getaway.

With the strap of the bag in hand, I hurried across the street. The two doors slid open and the smell of cleanliness was overwhelming like most hospitals.

The emergency room wasn't busy but there were other people around, which was worrisome. All it would take is one person to recognize me and call the police for this situation to go wrong. Of course, I would be giving myself away if I acted weirdly, so I calmly walked over to the front desk. A lady with long hair braided all the way down her back was sitting at the desk in her light blue scrubs. She was at work typing information into the computer and didn't react at first when I approached the counter.

I cleared my throat to get her attention, "Excuse me I think I'm in need of some assistance."

Without stopping her work at the computer, she drifted her eyes up to look at me and they rested on my shoulder.

"I was doing some work outside and was met with an unfortunate accident with a spade."

Her eyes held on mine for a second too long in my opinion, as though she wasn't buying my story. It took a lot of strength not to avert my eyes from her because I felt embarrassed. She rolled away in her chair to a filing cabinet at the edge of her desk and nearly pulled out one whole drawer. When she returned she had a clipboard and pen in hand.

"Fill this out, and wait for your name to be called…Miss?" she directed in her southern drawl.

Without missing a beat, "Melanie. Melanie Baker."

I took the clipboard from her and found a seat by myself in the waiting room. It was a clipboard of basic background information, health history, and insurance information, but the problem was that I couldn't answer truthfully without giving myself away. I read through each question and scribbled the pen, but the questions remained blank. Hopefully, pretending to fill out these papers looked legitimate. My pretending had lasted until about the third page when the woman with the long braid walked right up in front of me.

"Melanie, you can step into the third room on the right and I'll be right behind you."

Even though my mouth was agreeing, I walked with a skepticism to the directed room. There was no way that I should have been moved through the line that quickly and be seeing anyone without checking this paperwork first, right? We stepped into the room and the nurse shut the door behind us. I rested my hands on the bed in front of me to prevent myself from trembling. Now I was silently cursing to myself for opting to leave the gun in the car. If the situation turned south, that small form of protection was gone.

"Go ahead and remove your shirt so I can properly examine the wound." She ordered.

With a slow exhale I gripped the bottom of my shirt and hoisted it over my head, and immediately was pricked with goosebumps on my skin. I wanted to cross my arms over my stomach in a protective manner, but left them alone at my sides. When I shifted my eyes to look at the nurse she wasn't looking at my shoulder, she was looking down at my stomach. My gaze slowly shifted downwards to the scar that stretched from the side to my belly button.

Another token of Tbag's affection.

I also became painfully aware of the different scrapes and bruises cluttering my arms and face. If she could see my back than she would see the all too familiar "Bella" scar. I looked like a battered woman.

And there was little doubt in my mind that she was also reading my body language about how on edge I was. Quickly diverting her eyes from body, she scanned for just seconds the blank forms that I had set down when I first walked in.

"Why don't you tell me what really happened to your shoulder Melanie?"

I didn't answer, but she noticed my eyes flicker over to the door.

"Did you think that some medical personnel wouldn't be able to recognize a knife wound?" She said leaning against the door.

"It wasn't a knife." I lied. "I told you I was working outside and had an accident."

Even as the words came out, I could tell how bad a story it was, and it wasn't surprising that she didn't buy it. This was such a terrible idea to try and pull this off, and now I realized I just needed to leave.

"If someone hurt you then I understand why you would be scared, but I want to help you. I can't do that if you don't tell me what happened, and the police need to know what happened."

"What!" I blurted trying to put my shirt back on, "No, you cannot call them." I pleaded.

She put in her hand in the air trying to halt me. Well it was pretty clear that I sucked as a fugitive by myself because I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Surely, one of the other guys would have talked me out of this plan for this exact reason. My mind was now racing trying to think of a way out of this.

"And I cannot let you walk out that door and possibly back into a dangerous situation." She said firmly.

The problem was that she was blocking my way to the door, and the only way I could get out was to go through her. This was going to be a test to determine how far I was willing to go to avoid the authorities if need be. The nurse did not look physically strong, and lacked some of the experiences that I have so taking her out wouldn't be the issue. Instead, how would my conscience hold up if I started going down that road.

I had to try and reason my way out of this.

"Look", I began with another exhale of breath, "It is a knife wound, but I didn't get it how you think. My name isn't Melanie Baker, it's Laney Collins and I'm searching for the Fox River eight." I confessed.

Now she just looked at me like I was insane, and maybe inflicted this wound on myself. And of course, I had no identification to prove who I was. But my photo along with the others were plastered across the country so she could see that I was telling the truth if she wanted.

"I'm still undercover, and on the trail of a few of the escapees. I had an earlier run in with Abruzzi and he is responsible for the stab wound. I stopped because the injury is starting to slow me down, and I don't want to get the police involved and draw attention that I'm on to them."

It was the nurse's turn to let out a long exhale "how deep was the blade when it went in?"

Inwardly, I thanked my lucky stars for the time being she was willing to at least look, and maybe I could avoid a situation with the police. I was trying to jog my memory of when we were in Utah and John rammed that knife into my arm. I cringed as the thought made my arm start to hurt.

"Um, the blade maybe went halfway through, but it wasn't a long knife to begin with."

"What about the bleeding? Was the flow heavy? Was it spurting?"

My eyes widened as I tried to think back to that day. "At first it was bleeding heavily, no spurting. Now it just spots blood every now and then."

She slipped on her latex gloves and I removed my shirt once more so she could look. As soon as she touched my arm and started to examine the wound I had to grit my teeth to try and block out of the pain. She ordered me to sit and I gladly did so, and I kept my eyes trained on the ceiling while she poked and prodded my wound.

"Well it doesn't look like your rotator cuff was damaged so you won't have to have surgery. Without an MRI to see the full extent of the damage, my guess is minimal damage with some bursitis starting to set in. If you had waited much longer to come in there would have been a risk of infection."

Ruling out surgery and infection was a positive thing, and immediately helped me relax. The nurse went to work cleaning out what she could of my wound and closed it up the best she could without stitches. Unfortunately, the next step was when she pulled the sling out of the closet. She recognized the disinterest on my face, but she waved it off and set my arm in the sling and wrapped the strap across my body. Instantly, the pressure was released and the tense feeling was starting to fade.

"That's the best I can do without a proper doctor taking a look. You will probably notice a stiffness and limited range of movement in that shoulder from the damage, and I wouldn't be surprised if you had an onset of arthritis later in your life. I have some low-grade medication at the front desk that can help with the inflammation and pain. I do not have the authority to prescribe you anything stronger."

With my free hand, I held onto the nurse's hand in a grateful gesture.

"Seriously, thank you so much for doing this. I know how big of a favor I was asking."

She gave me a genuine smile, "Well maybe don't thank me yet. In exactly one hour after you leave I will be calling the police to file a report so the hospital can't be held responsible."

I tried to remain calm and nodded my head like I understood. It wasn't exactly my ideal situation, but after what she did for me I was not in the position to argue.

"But I think you deserve a head start. There needs to be more strong willed women like you out there and I want you to be the one who takes those criminals down."

The compliment made me feel nice, but I did feel a little guilty when her hopes rested on me arresting some of the guys. What worked to my advantage was how the media was spinning the story where I wasn't to blame or involved in this escape, and it allowed me maybe more freedom than I originally anticipated. This woman probably would feel differently if she knew that it was my fault they escaped in the first place.

Once she set me up with the rest of the supplies I needed, I was back in the car speeding away from trying to put as much distance as possible. In most other circumstances, a trip through different towns and states would be appealing, but I wouldn't allow myself to become distracted from my one overriding goal.

Find Michael Scofield.

How? I had no idea. But I knew he was still out there somewhere on the run. I just hoped that they were still in the country and in need of my help. My next destination would take about 8 hours and if the trip was successful it would provide me with the information I needed to track down those I desperately needed to find.

Thanks to Tbag I knew nothing.

Chicago seemed like the only logical place to go because frankly I had no idea where any of the guys were or where they were planning on heading.

However, strolling through the front doors of the FBI office in Chicago wasn't really an option.

With a jacket hood pulled up over my hair I pulled the car down the busy streets. There was no game plan in mind and I had no specific place to go but right now I needed something that felt like home.

I couldn't go to my old apartment; no doubt the police would be swarming all over that place too. Unconsciously, I didn't even realize that I had made a decision until I turned down the familiar road where I used to walk down the sidewalk with Melanie almost every day. Each house on the block and face of a neighbor was familiar. So many memories here etched themselves in my brain and started flooding back to me all at once.

Good memories here.

Bad memories here.

I parked the car at the end of the road and stared up at my father's house. The place I used to call home. For a few hours, I sat lowly in the seat of the car and just stared at the house trying to gage how many people go in and out, and if it would even be feasible for me to try and get inside. The one thing to my advantage would be my familiarity of the neighborhood where I could easily slip in and out of different roads and yards if necessary.

Surprisingly, it was oddly quiet in the neighborhood and not much traffic. I assumed with his connection to the case that this place would be swarming with agents trying to discover our locations. With my hood still over my head I slowly slid out of the car and stuck the gun behind me and covered it with my jacket. I used my free arm to grab the backpack and sling it over my good shoulder and pushed the door shut with my hip.

Quickly, as to not be seen, I moved across the street and through the fence to end up in the backyard of my house. I squatted behind some of the shrubbery so I could get a better look at the inside of the house. All the lights were out, so if anyone was home they were trying very hard to make it look like they weren't. I remained in my position until it was physically impossible for me to squat any further and there was no movement in the house. I let out a slow breath as I moved towards the back door taking a risk on entering. The spare key was in its usual spot, on a nail under the fourth floor board of the back deck. I shoved it into the lock swiftly and pushed the door open.

The scent of my father flew into my face as I stepped into the house. I immediately shut the door and looked at the alarm system on the slim strip of wall between the door and the window. A dry lump formed in my throat as my fingers hovered over the buttons, and I prayed that my father had not changed the code since my absence.

There were a few beeping noises but then the light flickered green, and I breathed a sigh of relief. When I turned around I took a few minutes to glance around at the house. I bit my lip trying to fight back tears as everything looked the same from the day that I moved out.

Exactly.

The same wedding picture of my parents was still hanging on the wall in the living room right next to my graduation day.

The kitchen was cluttered with files on every member of the Fox River eight and updated pictures with locations everywhere, including some on the floor and the table. At first I didn't understand because surely the office for the FBI would have all the files and there would be no need for him to take them home, until I noticed the one file that did not belong to one of the escaped convicts.

Alexander Mahone.

My hands were shaking as I held the file in my hands for something in my gut was telling me that there had to be something fishy about this guy, and my father must have suspected something too. Unable to resist any further, I flipped open the file and immediately noticed a picture of Mahone, and all the anger I felt towards this guy came surging through me. I didn't know what his problem with us was, but his tactics went deeper than just bringing in escaped convicts.

I figured out that much when I heard about Manche's death.

Then I go visit Melanie with Michael and Lincoln and she just turns up dead? Just thinking about Melanie made me feel weak at the knees.

Tweener was afraid of Mahone was like he was afraid for his life. everyone who had any sort of connection to this case was either dead or met with a close call. The question was what kind of suspicions did my father have?

Sick of staring at this man any further, I shut the file and I threw it across the room. All the pictures and papers went flying everywhere in the kitchen. I grabbed ahold of the other files and threw them into my bag. Perhaps there was something in them that could help me figure out where they were going, and if not maybe it could slow my dad and the others down.

Moving out of the kitchen, I started to make my way through the rest of the house and up the stairs. The carpet underneath my feet felt just like it used to. I smiled to myself when I saw the crack in the railing from where Melanie and I tried sliding down the stairs. I ended up breaking her arm and my dad screamed until he was blue in the face.

I reached the top of the stairs and my old bedroom was on the right. No one has slept in this room since I moved out when I was 19, but it was still made and had my mother's quilt resting on it waiting for me. I ran my hands along the walls remembering everything that happened in this house. A few tears rolled down my cheeks in thinking about the Laney that used to live in this house and how she had slowly changed into the stranger now standing in the room today.

With the back of my sleeve, I tried wiping my tears away trying to gain composure. Maybe someday when all of this was over I could try and explain all of this to my dad like some sort of funny story. That is if he even wanted anything to do with me. So many times I was worried about Michael and the others that I rarely took the time to think about how all of this must be affecting my dad. It must be difficult day after day to get suspicious looks from colleagues wondering if his daughter went rogue and where she learned such behavior.

I never heard the door open downstairs. I never heard his footsteps as he traveled up the stairs to see why the light was on in his daughter's bedroom. He kept the gun close at his side when he peered through the door. That's why when I turned around and hoisted my gun in the air and my father was standing in the doorway holding his gun I felt like I was going to collapse.

"Dad."