"She's safe?" Kellerman asks.
On the other end of the line, Perry answers, "Yeah. Just walking around, from what I can see. She might catch a cold—she doesn't have her coat on. But nothing worse than that."
"Good."
"You want me to stop following her?"
"No. Keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn't run into trouble."
"You got it, boss."
Kellerman hangs up. He's not the man he once was, the ruthless man who would do anything for Caroline Reynolds. But he still has people who are willing to do what he wants at a moment's notice.
It's a good thing to be connected, to have power. He's going to need it.
An hour later, he's called half a dozen people from all over the world. Anyone who might know something about the location his people flew to, in Yemen, the place where Michael was being held.
"Look, I shouldn't be telling you this."
"Come on, Tony," Kellerman says, in that cajoling voice he knows so well. Threatening, precisely by not sounding threatening at all. "You owe me. You know you do."
"Yeah, yeah."
"And that line's as secure as they come."
"It's just—there's things going on, a lot of people would kill to keep secret."
Kellerman smiles. "I'm familiar with the MO. But if you don't tell me, I'm just going to keep digging. Someone's going to talk, eventually. Might as well be you. I'm not the sort of man you want as your enemy."
Tony sighs. "Officially, it's a scientific company. It's called Odysseus. The C.E.O. is some kind of genius. Runs all sorts of experiments down there."
"Can I get a name?"
"You Google his business and you'll find it. It's not a secret. Jacob Ness."
"And the whole company's a front? Look, Tony, I don't care what these people do or what their goals are. You know I'm out of business. I'm a senator, not a secret agent. There's only one thing about them I'm interested in. One man, who I know for a fact has been their prisoner for over four years. Michael Scofield. What they did to him, and how to undo it. That's all I want to know."
Another sigh. "Paul, I'm telling you, you don't want to get on the bad side of these people."
"You're right. I don't. Michael Scofield, Tony. You find give me the information I want, and I'm out of your hair. Just like that."
A beat of hesitation wriggles between them.
"You owe me," Kellerman says, a notch darker than the friendly-neighbor tone he usually favors. "This is me, collecting my due."
"Yeah. Sure, Paul. I'll find out what I can."
Kellerman hangs up, and uses his phone to check on Sara's. It's still in her purse, on the floor of her bedroom.
Sara is nowhere to be found.
He has a good view of Michael, though.
And Christ. They say good looks fade with age, but no one should have theirs melted out of them. To imagine Michael with Sara now, it's a genuine beauty-and-the-beast tale.
True, Kellerman is working to that end. Give Sara her husband back, honor his end of the deal, and all that jazz.
But to picture Sara's lips on that disfigured face—it's the stuff of horror stories.
Kellerman's never been Hollywood-handsome, maybe not even handsome-handsome. Compared to Michael, now, though, he probably comes out on top.
Not that what Michael looks like must matter to Sara, at this point.
Kellerman slips his tie through his fingers, nonchalantly. It was a mistake to think of it. Sara, kissing Michael.
The feel of her flesh around him, the taste of her skin on his tongue—it burns him, now, like a vengeful ghost. But the kiss she gave him prickles, almost gentle. Butterfly wings, batting against his lips. Softly. Oh so softly.
He told her to kiss him like she would kiss her husband. To make her angry, he supposes. Because would you know it? Her anger is kind of a turn on.
But then, she actually obeyed him, and he hadn't expected it. Hadn't braced himself to resist. The taste of her mouth melted through his organs like butter in the sunshine. Her skin so smooth, he could have been kissing silk. He pressed her against him and she responded, she kissed him back, for all her show of hatred.
Maybe she was still in character, picturing her husband. Maybe Sara's just that good an actress.
But Kellerman doesn't think so.
There was a tinge of fire in there—not just lust, but murder.
That kiss was all theirs, tinged with the colors of their back and forth, their twisted dance. Kill me love me kiss me. Destroy me. Haunt me.
That's it, Sara, he thinks. I've done all this to get rid of you, to get you out from under my skin. Well, go ahead then. Just dig your claws in, deeper. Drive me mad. See where it leads us.
One thing is for certain.
He's not getting out of her skin, this time, until she's gotten out of his.
And he can't seem to see that happening.
A laugh tears out of him, dry, as he watches Michael onscreen. His good looks, gone. His mind berserk. An empty shell of a man.
What do you know? Kellerman thinks.
Maybe he's the better man, now. At least, he's a man. Not some automaton with death in his eyes.
Maybe Sara will come to see that.
Follow Kellerman into hell, if she can't get to paradise.
The phone vibrates, and Kellerman starts out of his reverie. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, thinking of Sara. His thumb, he realizes, is absently brushing his lips.
The kiss was a mistake. Now how is he supposed to stay sane?
The text is from Tony: 'Can't talk about this over the phone. Meet you at your office in 1 hour. I'll tell you everything you want to know about Michael Scofield.'