Here's Chapter 3! Please Review.
I know that the point of the show is that Lincoln is not a murderer, that he never killed anybody, so I imagine that it could seem rather strange that he so casually kills two people in chapter one. Trust me, while he appears casual about it on the outside, it's tearing him up on the inside. You'll see some of that in the next chapter.
One last thing before the story. Over three hundred people have at least clicked on my story, according to my hit counter, and yet I only have one review. Thank you to the one person who left a review! Your review was truely appreciated (and not just because you didn't say that I suck :) ). To the other three hundred of you, reviews really make my day. I don't want to beg for reviews, but please? Thanks.
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As Alex Mahone sped down the deserted freeway, his cell phone began to ring. He slowed down slightly as he answered. "Mahone." A pause. "I see. I'll be right there." Mahone snapped his cell phone shut, and put it back in the cup holder, smiling.
A moment later, it rang again. "Mahone." He said, not bothering to conceal his glee.
"You sound awfully cheerful."
"Mr. Kim! I wasn't expecting your call for-"
"Give me an update. For your ex-wife's sake, I hope it's good news."
The smile slid off Mahone's face. "I do have good news." Alex replied icily. "They were on a plane brought down by us five minutes ago."
"Who is believed to have been on board?"
"Scofield, Burrows, and Sucre."
"Call me when you know more." The line clicked, and Alex slowly lowered his cell phone.
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Michael pushed the door open. "Help him out of the car." The woman ordered, putting her stethoscope on.
Michael and Lincoln looked at each other. Michael then shook his head. "No. He stays in the car." He said, softly.
"It's too tight in there. I can't do anything for him unless you get him out!"
Sucre groaned. Everyone turned to look at him. The doctor looked back at the brothers, hands resting on her hips. "Get him out of the car, or I'm gone."
Michael gave an irritated sigh. "There's plenty of room in there. Just do what you can."
"He is going to die. You know that, right? He is going to die if I don't treat him immediately." The woman snapped. Michael and Lincoln glanced at each other again, then started to help the Latin man out of the vehicle. "Is there a blanket or something in there?" The doctor asked.
"Maybe in the trunk." Lincoln replied, voice strained from Sucre's weight. The woman nodded, and opened the trunk. She found a plastic tarp, and spread it out in front of the car. "Sit him up here, and turn on the headlights so I can see what the hell I'm doing." She ordered. Lincoln helped prop Sucre up while Michael turned the car on.
"All right. Uh- what's his name?" The doctor asked, looking up at Michael and Lincoln.
"He said his name's Fernando." Michael answered guardedly. "We found him by the side of the road, just like this."
"Mmhmm." The woman said. "Okay, Fernando, I'm Dr. Curtis. Try and take some deep breaths for me." She added, in a much kinder tone. She moved her stethoscope around his chest and then his back. "How long have you been bleeding, Fernando?" Dr. Curtis asked.
"Um… what time is it?"
"Twenty to eleven."
"A while." Sucre replied, wincing.
"I'm pulling the knife out, Fernando." Dr. Curtis announced. "You. In the hat. Press this against the wound when I take the knife out." She tossed Michael a sterile towel. He knelt down next to her, positioned to apply pressure. Sucre cried out in pain as Dr. Curtis eased the pocketknife out of his back. Michael quickly pressed the towel to Sucre's back. "Press harder!" The doctor snapped. Only Michael's concern for Sucre kept him from commenting on her bedside manner. She pulled out a vial of peroxide and began to clean the cut.
"Keep talking to me, Fernando." The doctor ordered. "Where you from?"
"Puerto Rico." Sucre gasped.
"You got a girlfriend?" She asked. Sucre nodded. "What's her name?"
"Maricruz."
"It's time to stitch you up now. I'm not going to lie; it's going to hurt. I can't administer anesthesia without a complete medical background, and since you two found him on the side of the road, I doubt you know it." Dr. Curtis said, pausing, almost daring Michael or Lincoln to change their story. "You." The doctor nodded towards Lincoln. "Hold his arm. You hold his other arm." The brothers took hold of Sucre's muscular arms. "Tell me about your girlfriend." There was silence. The woman glanced at Michael. "Fernando? Can you hear me?" Sucre had shut his eyes again. "Fernando, I need you to stay with me. Focus. Open your eyes for me." Sucre reluctantly opened one eye, then the other.
"I'm so tired." He whispered.
"I know. I'm going to help you. Tell me about Maricruz. What's she like?"
Sucre began to talk. After a couple of seconds, Dr. Curtis started to sew. The Puerto Rican screamed, and Michael and Lincoln struggled to hold him still. "How did you and Maricruz meet?" Dr. Curtis asked, through clenched teeth. Sucre nodded faintly, and started talking in a very strained voice.
Twenty-five stitches later, Michael and Lincoln sat in the car while Dr. Curtis finished checking Sucre over. Michael turned the radio on.
"Do you think it's possible that she doesn't recognize us?" Michael asked, clearly believing that it was too good to be true, as he fiddled with the radio.
Lincoln shrugged. "Maybe." Michael settled on a news station. "Michael, there's no way that they're going to trace the gas station to us."
"I know. I want to hear about the plane." Both brothers fell silent as the announcer began to discuss the news.
"The search for the Fox River 8 may be drawing to a close. A plane that is believed to have been carrying several of the escapees crashed near the U.S.-Mexican border this evening. Authorities are still confirming who was on board.
"In more local news, a privately owned gas station was robbed today. Three men with guns were seen on security cameras killing two employees. DNA tests of blood samples are being performed to attempt to identify the gunmen. People in the area are encouraged to be on the lookout for a black sedan, which the men may have been driving, with license plate number…" Neither Michael nor Lincoln heard the rest as they exchanged worried looks.
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When Mahone arrived on the scene, it was swarming with police and fire vehicles. He quickly exited his vehicle, and sought out the head policeman. "What do you have for me, Sergeant?" Alex asked, flashing his ID.
"One man was on board sir. He died instantly from a broken neck upon impact." The portly policeman replied.
"Only one man?" Alex questioned, eyes wild. The man nodded. "Who was on board?" Alex prayed silently that it was one of the Fox River eight.
"A Mexican. Didn't ID as any of the escapees, sir." The officer answered.
Mahone turned and swore loudly. "You're sure there was no one else?" He asked, turning back to the cop, who nodded.
"Positive, sir."
"No one parachuted out?" The sergeant shook his head. Alex gave a frustrated sigh, and began to walk back to his car. The agent opened his phone, and dialed. "This is Mahone. I need you to find me everything on anyone any of the prisoners may have been close to. I need locations, criminal records, everything. Anyone they may be partial to." Mahone hung up without warning, and slid the phone back into his pocket. He had just gotten in when his cell phone rang.
"Mahone!" He snapped.
"Mr. Mahone, this is Sergeant Merriman, of the Minan-Hatford police. A gas station was robbed today in Minan, and two men were killed."
"I really don't have time for this sort of thing."
"With all due respect, I think you do, sir."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Because blood found from one of the assailants checked out as Fernando Sucre's, one of the Fox River Eight." The officer replied.
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Outside, Dr. Curtis was trying to convince Fernando to come to the hospital, just for a little bit, to get some blood and rest. "If one of those men did this, you should talk to the police." Dr. Curtis said.
Sucre gave her an odd look, before shaking his head. "They didn't stab me." He insisted. The woman shrugged as the car doors open.
She turned towards Lincoln and Michael. "What are you going to do with Fernando?" Dr. Curtis asked.
"We'll find him a hotel room somewhere, so he can rest." Michael said, leaning against the car.
The doctor considered this before nodding. "He's lost a lot of blood. He's going to be pretty weak for the next couple days, but as his blood begins to be naturally replenished, he'll get better. As long as the wound doesn't get infected, it should heal in anywhere from one to two weeks. He shouldn't get it wet; there's a bandage on it, but he needs to be careful when he showers. Fernando will need to have his stitches removed in no more than two weeks." Dr. Curtis explained. "Any questions?"
"Yeah." Michael replied. "What do you know about the Fox River 8?"
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