Post by Audio Pineapple on Feb 4, 2007 22:56:23 GMT 1
Because I wanted to try and get into Mahone's head lol. This is set at the end of Scan (episode three.)
------
Staring at the wreckage Mahone almost expected them to jump out at him, grab his gun, shoot his men and run away into the distance. It almost felt as though they had done it already, every single time that their photos appeared on the news or on the front page of another tabloid rag it reminded him that they were winning, and, despite all his bravado about how they would make mistakes, despite the mistakes that most of them had made, he couldn’t manage to feel anything but helpless.
He was used to capturing convicts swiftly, but, more importantly, he was used to capturing them one at a time. The heaviest break he had dealt with earlier had been three people and they had all had the idiocy to remain together as one group.
Michael and Lincoln were the ones that he needed to find first, the ones who needed his due attention, he had decided as much the moment he had read the street names on Michael’s body and now it was like some sort of perversely pleasuring scavenger hunt where he was edging ever closer to the next clue; the other escapees weren’t as important, he had underlings who were able to work on them.
He smiled to himself, trying to remain positive, reminding himself that he was going to capture Michael, capture Lincoln, capture all of them, one at a time if it needed to be, and that he had come a long way in his career already; that at one point he would have been an underling going around Sucre’s multitude of cousins for information or having to have the harsh but mandatory interviews with Bagwell’s sobbing victims.
“Sir?”
“What?” He snapped the word a lot harsher than he had meant to but he wasn’t pleased that some scuttling specimen had come to interrupt his daydream.
“There’s been a… development.”
“What development.”
The man fished into a folder, pulling out a photo that made Mahone wince, “I don’t have time to work on other cases. I’m just doing Fox River.”
“That’s what I’m saying sir, this was Fox River.”
Mahone looked at the photo again, swallowing hard while his brain felt like it was starting to burn, Michael wasn’t capable of murder, he had proved it at the courthouse and Lincoln had barely been out of his sight but somehow they had managed to prove him wrong. “What happened?”
“His name is Doctor Gudat, he worked at a veterinary clinic; we got the security footage from inside the place when the police found his body and…”
“Get on with it!”
The man flinched, stammering for a moment before continuing, “it seems that he was forced at knife point to perform an operation…” he let out an appreciative breath, obviously impressed by what he was reading, “reattaching Theodore Bagwell’s hand and then Gudat was put to sleep by lethal injection.”
“Are we sure it was Bagwell?”
“Yes Sir, and we have a new picture to give out to the media, he’s changed his appearance. They’re waiting for you to start a new press conference and Gudat’s widow wants to talk to you about getting her husband’s body released for burial…”
Mahone sighed, rubbing his fingers along his pen, “tell her to talk to someone else about it.”
“She said that she wanted to talk to, and I quote, ‘the one on TV who said he could catch them.’ So should I schedule her interview before the conference or the conference before the interview because if you talk to her first the public will want to know why they weren’t warned about Bagwell as soon as we knew but if you warn them first then she’ll become a pretty good human interest story and you’ll be painted as uncaring.”
“Just… sort it out.”
“But which should be scheduled first?”
“Just do the conference!”
The man walked away quickly and Mahone pulled his pen out of his pocket, his plans quashed when a woman came up beside him, “there don’t seem to be any bodies in the car.”
“Of course there aren’t,” he walked away from her, knowing that she was confused by him but not caring. He felt as though the world was crumbling around him, Michael and Lincoln would be far away by now, and he had no idea which the next segment of the tattoo he needed to study was and now people would expect him to leave his obsession alone to deal with Bagwell and to allay their fears with meaningless speeches about Presidents.
But, more than anything else that was weighing down on him, it was the feeling that he could have stopped Gudat’s death if he had been an underling. He would have focused on the less interesting criminal, the more boring interviews and the less glamorous locations but, for all his success he’d had in the past, it just led to having to lie and tell a widow that there was nothing that anyone could have done.
------
Staring at the wreckage Mahone almost expected them to jump out at him, grab his gun, shoot his men and run away into the distance. It almost felt as though they had done it already, every single time that their photos appeared on the news or on the front page of another tabloid rag it reminded him that they were winning, and, despite all his bravado about how they would make mistakes, despite the mistakes that most of them had made, he couldn’t manage to feel anything but helpless.
He was used to capturing convicts swiftly, but, more importantly, he was used to capturing them one at a time. The heaviest break he had dealt with earlier had been three people and they had all had the idiocy to remain together as one group.
Michael and Lincoln were the ones that he needed to find first, the ones who needed his due attention, he had decided as much the moment he had read the street names on Michael’s body and now it was like some sort of perversely pleasuring scavenger hunt where he was edging ever closer to the next clue; the other escapees weren’t as important, he had underlings who were able to work on them.
He smiled to himself, trying to remain positive, reminding himself that he was going to capture Michael, capture Lincoln, capture all of them, one at a time if it needed to be, and that he had come a long way in his career already; that at one point he would have been an underling going around Sucre’s multitude of cousins for information or having to have the harsh but mandatory interviews with Bagwell’s sobbing victims.
“Sir?”
“What?” He snapped the word a lot harsher than he had meant to but he wasn’t pleased that some scuttling specimen had come to interrupt his daydream.
“There’s been a… development.”
“What development.”
The man fished into a folder, pulling out a photo that made Mahone wince, “I don’t have time to work on other cases. I’m just doing Fox River.”
“That’s what I’m saying sir, this was Fox River.”
Mahone looked at the photo again, swallowing hard while his brain felt like it was starting to burn, Michael wasn’t capable of murder, he had proved it at the courthouse and Lincoln had barely been out of his sight but somehow they had managed to prove him wrong. “What happened?”
“His name is Doctor Gudat, he worked at a veterinary clinic; we got the security footage from inside the place when the police found his body and…”
“Get on with it!”
The man flinched, stammering for a moment before continuing, “it seems that he was forced at knife point to perform an operation…” he let out an appreciative breath, obviously impressed by what he was reading, “reattaching Theodore Bagwell’s hand and then Gudat was put to sleep by lethal injection.”
“Are we sure it was Bagwell?”
“Yes Sir, and we have a new picture to give out to the media, he’s changed his appearance. They’re waiting for you to start a new press conference and Gudat’s widow wants to talk to you about getting her husband’s body released for burial…”
Mahone sighed, rubbing his fingers along his pen, “tell her to talk to someone else about it.”
“She said that she wanted to talk to, and I quote, ‘the one on TV who said he could catch them.’ So should I schedule her interview before the conference or the conference before the interview because if you talk to her first the public will want to know why they weren’t warned about Bagwell as soon as we knew but if you warn them first then she’ll become a pretty good human interest story and you’ll be painted as uncaring.”
“Just… sort it out.”
“But which should be scheduled first?”
“Just do the conference!”
The man walked away quickly and Mahone pulled his pen out of his pocket, his plans quashed when a woman came up beside him, “there don’t seem to be any bodies in the car.”
“Of course there aren’t,” he walked away from her, knowing that she was confused by him but not caring. He felt as though the world was crumbling around him, Michael and Lincoln would be far away by now, and he had no idea which the next segment of the tattoo he needed to study was and now people would expect him to leave his obsession alone to deal with Bagwell and to allay their fears with meaningless speeches about Presidents.
But, more than anything else that was weighing down on him, it was the feeling that he could have stopped Gudat’s death if he had been an underling. He would have focused on the less interesting criminal, the more boring interviews and the less glamorous locations but, for all his success he’d had in the past, it just led to having to lie and tell a widow that there was nothing that anyone could have done.
