HAUNTED SONA
CHAPTER 12
"You doin' okay, Mahone?"
Alex's mouth twitched. His shoulders hitched up and fell of their own volition. The question, coming from Brad Bellick, had annoyed the hell out of him. To his credit, he managed to keep his temper in check.
"I'm doing just great. How …bout you? You havin' fun?"
He knew he'd been waspish before to Bellick, who said nothing and faced the elevator. Standing to Bellick's left was Michael, who leaned forward to observe Alex. Mahone raised his chin, daring him to say something, but to his chagrin, Michael remained stoic, cool and determined.
The elevator doors slammed open, the sound reverberating off the walls. It was time to move—and quicky. Together with his brothers in arms—at least that morning, they were like fellow soldiers—he hastily helped them to move the tabletop, the empty oil drums, and the other items onto the car. Bellick had also brought a flashlight, offered to him by the man recommended by El Cura, who'd also provided the rope. A big, gray, bulky old flashlight, one of those quirky and innocuous items, invaluable now to them, that had found its mysterious way into Sona. Once they were all in, Alex watched as Michael hit the button on the control panel.
The elevator delayed for some seconds…and then the doors closed and they made their descent. By then Alex was shaking and twitching so badly that it took monumental effort to try and control himself.
"This is the craziest thing!" Bellick exclaimed.
Michael chortled. "Yeah, isn't it?"
"You guys told me about it, but I gotta admit, I almost didn't believe it."
"That's okay. A freight elevator down here in Sona. Who'd believe that without seeing it?"
"Tell me about it. And it works, too!" Bellick's laugh sounded jittery. "Doesn't that strike you guys as…I don't know. Kinda like somebody might still be using it?"
"That'd make sense. But, uh, let's not go there right now. All right?"
Their small talk had begun to relax Alex. That is, until he sighed and it sounded like a raggedy, pitiful choke that turned their attention to him.
He didn't want to be asked how he was doing. That was pretty obvious anyway, wasn't it? Hell—how stupid a question could you get? How was he doing? He was miserable. Period. He couldn't stop moving. His stomach was upset and he felt about ready to throw up.
And all because he needed a fix. Alex could have gotten one, too. He could have gotten one and Michael wouldn't have known a damn thing about it, unless, like last time, he'd reacted badly to whatever crap they'd given him. But he'd chosen not to do it, not to surrender to that monkey on his back.
Besides, today they'd be free. He'd be getting out of there. Once out of Sona, he would get clean. Then he would flee Panana, go back to the States and do his time, and somehow reunite with his family.
Then again, something told him that would never happen.
The car stopped moving. The doors opened.
"This is it," Michael announced. "Let's move, guys. Fast."
Alex was the first off the car, dragging the tabletop with him. Without being too conspicuous, he slapped at his arms and sides. It felt like there were bugs crawling on his skin. Bugs—big, black, ugly things, hidden under his skin, crawling all over him. Again, that had to be the withdrawal, he reminded himself. The lack of drugs was driving him crazy.
In time, it would pass. In a few days he'd be in a nice, clean American hospital. Cleaned up and a lot better than he'd been in a long time. This terrible morning, with the symptoms worse than ever, would become nothing more than a distant memory.
Coughing, he glanced at the underground lake. It lay still and peaceful before them. But it was all a deception.
The ghosts of Sona would be a memory soon, too. All he had to do was get through the next hour or so.
Please, God. Let that be true.
"We'll do that, Alex," Michael told him. "Brad—can you help me with this?"
"Sure," Bellick said, turning to him.
Alex slapped his hand away like it was a pesky fly and continued to tie—or try to tie—one of the drums to one end of the table.
"I can do it," he insisted petulantly.
"C'mon, Alex. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but we don't have much time. Let me and Bellick do it."
Dropping the rope, Alex waved his hands in the air and moved aside. He crouched down, looking away from them and sulking.
That was the voice of reason. Deep down, he understood that, even if he wouldn't outwardly admit that Michael was right. He glanced around, watching with hawk-like intensity. For the guards, who could suddenly appear and drag all three of them back upstairs. For the inmates, who could likewise appear and kill them for the raft.
And for the dead of Sona. His head whipped around when he heard a sound—something subtle and low, almost inaudible. It sounded like the growl of a dog. Yet there was nothing out there on the water, nothing out of the ordinary.
"What was that?" Bellick asked.
Alex ran a hand through his hair. "You heard it, too?"
"Yeah? What was that?"
"A ghost." Alex refrained from adding, Duh! He was too grateful, having learned that someone else had heard the sound. It was no hallucination.
Not that the alternative was any more comforting.
"You can't leave me here," Alex told Michael then. He knew that sounded like some random thought, but to him it wasn't random. He'd been fretting about that for days, ever since Scofield had threatened to do just that.
"I'm not going to, Alex."
"Damn straight, you're not. I won't let you. I'm not—okay, I'm a little screwed-up right now, but I didn't take anything. You told me not to and I didn't, so this—this is what you get."
"I know you didn't take anything. And I respect you for that."
"You respect me? Wow. The great Michael Scofield looks at me with something other than disdain. I'm so honored!"
Bugs. Creepy-crawlies. He rubbed at his arms and legs, wishing he could scratch away at them, even if he drew his own blood. He stopped when he saw Michael and Bellick staring at him as if wondering what he was doing.
"I hope neither of you ever has to go through this," he remarked gruffly. "This is hell."
"I'm sorry you're going through it now, Alex."
"Yeah, sure, Michael. You're probably enjoying this."
"No, I'm not. I…I want to see you get better. Alex, look…this, too, shall pass. You'll be out of here soon. You'll be free."
That was a new one. Michael Scofield was being kind—to him?
Alex calmed down slightly, though he wrapped his arms around himself and rocked himself back and forth.
Michael was showing him compassion. Real or feigned, he needed another human being to take compassion on him. Compassion—not pity. It was ironic, of course, that the one showing him empathy was the same person who'd landed him in that place by setting him up.
Yet right now, none of that seemed to matter.
"Ready?" Michael asked. He stepped away from the raft with Bellick and smiled at Alex. "You got a glass of champagne? We can christen this baby."
"Hey," Brad interjected, "I'll go you one better."
Alex rose to his feet. He frowned, watching Bellick pull something from his pants' pocket. A necklace? That's what it was, all right—a beaded necklace with some small charm hanging from it, much like the one Brad himself was wearing.
"You need to wear this, Michael," he said, placing it over his head. "It's a macuto. It'll protect you from…whatever's down here that would try to hurt you. Or at least, it'll try to help you."
Mahone shuffled his feet. Swallowing his pride, he asked, "You have one of those for me?"
Brad smiled. He took another necklace out and placed it over Alex's head.
Instantly, Alex touched the amulet, inspecting it. Seeds and a tiny seashell. That was all that was standing between him and being drowned, this time possibly fatally, by the supernatural.
"Thanks, buddy," he murmured softly.
Brad did a double take at that last word. He gave a little nod of his head and a half grin.
Alex stared at him before looking away. Gingerly, he joined them on the makeshift raft and accepted one of the long pipes from Michael's hands.
"I don't mean to sound like your doting grandma," Michael jested, "but you can do this, right?"
"I'm okay. It's passing. A little."
Thankfully, that was the truth. The tremors were lessening in strength. That wasn't to say they wouldn't return, but at least there was some relief coming. Even the nausea was easing up a bit. Alex imagined it was probably because his fear was growing stronger than anything else happening to him at the moment. He kept a wary eye on the water. Ready for the hands with the claws to come out again. For something to grab him.
Maybe David Apolskis himself would reach for him, drag him down beneath the surface and exact justice with his own, dead hands. A part of Alex actually understood that, grasped it. He'd murdered that young man in cold blood.
Sure, he could continue to make excuses. Try to justify it. He could blame Bill Kim and the Company, lean on his reasoning that he was just doing what he needed to do to keep his family safe. Even if there was no justification for many of the things he'd been forced to do.
But the fact remained that David "Tweener" Apolskis was a kid who'd landed in prison with no blood on his hands. He could have been reformed. He could have straightened out his life, made something of himself.
Thanks to him, David never would.
"He visited me, too, Alex."
Shakily, gripping the pole with both hands, he looked at Bellick.
"Who are we talking about?" he wanted to clarify.
"You know who we're talking about." Brad, not knowing what to do with himself while the other two propelled the raft forward, sat down with his arms wrapped around his knees. "He visited me last night."
"Yeah? He told you what he told me?" Alex stopped, sniffling. "That I won't have any peace until he rests?"
He noticed Michael watching them, his lips parted in surprise.
"No. He didn't tell me that."
"Nah, I didn't think so. You didn't executive him. I did. I shot him. Over and over and over again."
"No, I didn't do that, you're right."
"Hmmm. Let's drop this, oh—"
"I put him in the same cell with an animal who raped him. Over and over and over again." Brad paused. There was remorse in his eyes as well as empathy. "You're not the only one who did wrong by that kid."
"Still doesn't make it right."
"I didn't say it did."
Alex licked his lips. He looked around at the water. Watching. Watching.
Why was it so quiet? Why hadn't anything happened? It was still. So, so still.
"Did he say I'm gonna have to die?" he demanded. "Tell me. I have to know. What did he say to you? Because maybe that's what he wants, you know? That I'm taken away in cuffs and some—somebody like me gets me someplace where he can fill me up with bullets like I did to him?"
"Tweener wasn't a bad kid. Mixed-up, but not bad. He said you won't have peace until he has rest." Brad took a deep breath. "That's not a threat. That's a fact."
That brought Alex a grain of relief. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know. But it'll be made clear to you."
It was quiet, with no one speaking. Only the sounds of the pipes moving up and down in the water and the raft cutting across the surface. Finally, Michael asked Bellick, "Did you—you get visited by anyone else?"
"No." Brad shrugged apologetically. "Were you hoping for someone?"
"Well…uh…"
"I'm sorta new at this."
"That's all right." But something in Michael's demeanor indicated that it wasn't all right, that Brad Bellick hadn't given the answer he was hoping to hear.
It had to do with his angel. Alex knew that, even if he hadn't said it in so many words. His guess? Michael didn't want to come out and say, Brad, did Sara come to see you? Did she tell you what happened to her? He also felt compassion now, his designated for Michael. He didn't even want to imagine how devastated he would be, if he escaped Sona and Panama and returned, only to learn that something terrible had happened to Pam and their son. Yet Alex kept his thoughts to himself.
They continued on down for a few minutes. It was dark in the cave, save for the light from the large flashlight. It was like a single headlight on the raft, dancing on the walls, lighting the way through the tunnel ahead, into the nothingness that filled that cave.
Momentarily, suddenly, the temperature dropped. Alex shivered at the cold and sniffed sharply. He was surprised to see a puff of white air coming out of his mouth, and his surprise was matched by Michael's and Brad's, who were noticing the same thing. Was it because they were getting deeper in the cave? Funny. He didn't remember that from the first time there, when it had been just him and Michael. He became aware also of a sound—something faraway and muted, like a distant roar.
"The hell's that?" Brad asked.
Alex turned. Every hair on the back of his head stood on end. "Oh…shit…"
Barreling toward them from the direction they'd just come from with savage force was a huge wave. Water so dark it appeared black, coming at them, over twenty feet high. Their shouts were drowned out as the wave crashed down on them and their raft, swallowing them whole…
Note to Readers: Hey! Thanks for reading! I love to read your comments, so feel to send 'em on in. And Darlian--thank you! I don't know how William Fichtner (who's so cool an actor) kept a straight face during the real doughnut scene. LOL! Cheers--Seabluemermaid