Broken Wings
Chapter 2
Michael awoke to a throbbing pain in the side of his head. His whole body felt numb as he tried to gather his thoughts. He attempted to move his arms when in a sudden relapse of memory he remembered walking toward the café before everything went black. His heartbeat increased when he felt coarse rope digging into the raw skin on his wrists and his arms pulled tightly behind him. Letting out a small groan, he slowly opened his eyes, feeling damp blood covering his left eyelid, most likely from the wound on his head. He could taste a filthy rag pulled across his mouth and tied securely at the back of his head. His whole mouth felt dry and his body tired and aching.
Surveying his surroundings as much as he could from his position, he found himself propped up against a wire fence between two old buildings. He guessed that it was close to where he had been attacked from the distinguished, fresh smell of peaceful night air. He spotted his cell phone on the ground a few feet out of reach of his feet. Struggling to free his arms from the rope, he realized they were secured to the fence behind him as well, preventing him from moving from his vulnerable position on the ground. There was an old wooden dumpster directly in front of him, shielding him from what he guessed was the same road he'd been walking down earlier that night. Between him and the dumpster was what looked like the bottom half of a broken metal street sign pole. It stood on a small stand, vertical, with it's sharp end pointing up. Michael guessed it was probably thrown behind there on it's way to the dump.
Twisting his neck to try and get a look at his bindings, he heard footsteps coming from the other side of the dumpster. Michael pressed his back up to fence and his body tensed as he saw the shape of a large man striding towards him. The man looked to be in his early forties and well-built. He was wearing a black suit and carrying a large coil of rope with his as he moved to stand directly in front of Michael and looked down at him.
"There's quite a price on your pretty little head…Michael Scofield," he said in a deep, sinister voice. Michael's eyes widened as he struggled desperately with the rope binding his wrists.
The man smirked as he watched Michael helplessly wrestling with the expertly tied rope. "Nothing to worry about, I'm not going to turn you into the authorities if that's what you think." Michael stopped struggling and unsuccessfully tried to yell out to the man through his gag.
Strangely calm and sporting a smug look, the man in the black suit continued looking down at Michael adding, "Our use for you is much more fun than that." With that the man bent down and grabbed both of Michael's ankles and roughly started to bind them with the thick rope.
Instinctively, Michael kicked out at the man and succeeded in knocking him backwards and off of him. Chest heaving, he then shook the rope off of his legs and bending his knees up, straightened his back against the wall, desperately looking around the alley for a means of freeing himself and quickly at that.
Angered, the man wiped the blood off the side of his jaw where Michael's foot had connected with him and spat, "We're not playing games here Michael. Either you cooperate or things will get rough."
Overloaded with confusion as to the motive of the man's attack, Michael knew one thing for sure. If he let the man tie his legs, he'd be completely at his mercy and unable to yell for help, which would still be useless anyway at that hour of the night. His head was pounding from where he'd been hit earlier and refused to let the man render him defenseless. Preparing to kick out at the man again, he froze when he watched the man's hand reach into his coat and retrieve a small, rusted dagger.
"A little security," he said as Michael watched him with fearful eyes. Before Michael could process his intentions, the man thrust the dagger into Michael's lower stomach. Sneering, he twisted it, forcing Michael to fall forward, letting out pained cry though the gag. The man then let go of the handle of the dagger, leaving it lodged in Michael's body and watched his strained breathing rapidly increase and shivers wrack his body.
Michael had never experienced agony like he was then before in his life. His whole body hurt with each breath he inhaled. He felt like his entire lower body was on fire as he gasped for breath. He couldn't help but fall as far forward as his bindings would allow, forcing the weight of his upper body to strain his aching shoulders.
Blood flowed freely through the open wound in his lower stomach, soaking Michael's previously white shirt a dark red. His vision blurred as the world around his body shook and he felt the life draining out of him. Instantly, his eyes began to feel heavy and his whole body tired. He knew that if he let himself succumb to welcoming darkness that was beckoning him, all would be lost. Fighting to remain conscious, he moaned and face contorted in pain, he tried his best to set his eyes back upon his attacker through his fading vision.
The man readjusted himself so he was about to bend down on the right side of Michael. In a last attempt to protect his already greatly battered body, Michael summoned all the strength that still lingered in his crumbled frame and with a grunt, slammed his back against the fence, bent his knees up, and pushed outward with immense force for an injured man.
Taken off guard by the sheer strength of Michael's last attempt at defending himself, the man was thrust backward and off of his feet. Unable to catch himself, his large shape went barreling into the wooden dumpster behind him before propelling back forward. His right foot tripped on a small stump of pavement, causing his whole body to fall down directly on top of the protruding end of the broken street sign in front of Michael.
Michael's eyes instantly expanded in horrified shock as he watched in what seemed like slow motion. With a gasp, the man's body came to final stop laid out in front of Michael just out of reach of his legs. The old, metal street sign pole was stuck through his chest. Michael couldn't take his eyes off of the man's face as his dead eyes were fixed on Michael's shuddering form. Gasping for breath, Michael choked on the dirty gag restricting air from entering his needy lungs.
Blood seeped from the man's chest, pooling into a puddle and staining the pavement in front of Michael. Michael's lungs felt like they were about to explode as he felt himself starting to hyperventilate at the sight. So much blood.
Michael's own blood continued to flow through the wound caused by the dagger still lodged in his stomach and he could feel himself weakening from blood loss. Too panic-striken from the fact that he had just killed a human being and was now forced to watch him bleed out, he had flashes of nightmares from his childhood. Still choking on the gag and desperately trying to fill his lungs with the oxygen they so dearly craved, his body was racked with convulses as his eyes continued to stay fixed on the gruesome horror before him.
In shock, Michael's upper body once again began to fall forward, but his eyes never left the dead man's pale facing staring back up at him. All of a sudden between his rasping for air he heard a ringing coming from nearby. Recognizing the ring as that of Sara, his eyes left the tormenting sight in front of him to lay upon the sight of his fallen cell a few away from him. Unable to call out for help or reach the phone, he heard the familiar voice of Sara on the other end. His shaking body froze as he listened to her voice.
"...Michael are you there?...If you're getting this please pick up." There was a long pause and then the line went dead.
Michael's shivering body slouched forward again, increasing the strain on his arms. His raw wrists had already gone numb from his struggling earlier and were still securely fastened to the fence behind him. His eyes once again came to rest upon the horrifying dead eyes of the man in front of him as the puddle he shifted his left foot inward to prevent the puddle of blood from connecting with it.
Help me Sara.
Author's Note: First things first, thank you thank you thank you so much to everyone who left lovely reviews, it touched me very much that people actually liked my first chapter. Secondly, I want to apologise for the length of time it took me to post the next chapter. I wrote this chapter shortly after the first, but never felt it was quite good enough to post. (Being the angst junkie that I am I wanted to get it right). Anyway I became busy with school, and drifted from my writing until I forgot about the story. Then Sara's death on Prison Break really shattered the fandom for me, and I no longer found myself interested. With the recent news that she will be back next season, it makes me hopeful that the show will get back on track. (MiSa is the heart of PB!) Anywho, today I decided to take another look at chapter two, so I dug up the file, tweaked it a bit, and posted. I hope you liked it and again, I'm very sorry about the horrible wait if any of my previous readers are still here. To be honest, I'm not totally sure whether or not I will continue from here. Again I extend my hugest thanks to anyone who has read and/or reviewed, your support means the world! xoxoxox