Post by Audio Pineapple on Nov 10, 2007 2:58:34 GMT 1
I promise I'll update my serials, I really will - I've even got a chapter of Simpsbreak lying around my room somewhere from a couple of weeks ago and most of the next chapter of Crahsing done. I'm gonna really push with them over the weekend but for now, I present Mahone......
Why did he have to pick Holland? He could have chosen any of the dozens of countries across the globe but he had picked Holland. He had the picture of the perfect place, the windmill and the grass and the bright blue sky and as Mahone climbed back down the ladder he considered taking the picture from him. Too many people had crowded around the scene now, hands in their mouths and eyes downcast, averted, as though if they didn’t look at his body, the body wouldn’t be there anymore.
Too many people and taking the picture would be impossible. It would be removed by the police, catalogued as evidence and eventually stored somewhere in a small box on a high shelf, far away from everyone.
He could have used his powers, claimed that the picture was important in his investigation. That it would lead him towards finding the other escapees but how important could a crumpled painting of somewhere none of them had ever been be? He would have to make up another lie and that would take up time that he didn’t have. If he wanted to keep Pamela and Cameron safe, he couldn’t waste a second.
But he found his eyes glued to the drawing as he took the final step onto the ground, making his already hoarse throat croak further. “I tried to get him to stay… he… he said he didn’t want to go back to prison. I… tried…” he let the sentence trail off, willing for tears to start falling when he had worked hard to banish those years before. The voice should be enough though; it should convince the witnesses that he’d tried to save Charles. That would keep the media at bay and stop them figuring out that somehow convicts never seemed to survive when he was around. Faint murmurings reached his ears and they sounded positive, he was almost certain one man had muttered “I’d have jumped as well” and it gave him hope.
He knew that protocol would suggest he stayed with the corpse until the police arrived to remove it, to take his false statement and the misguided beliefs of everyone in the immediate area but he couldn’t stand it any longer, there was something that he had to do and he wasn’t about to do it with strangers watching, much less the bastard he’d hired. “I’ve got a lead on Bagwell, stay here until the police turn up.”
Bellick nodded and he walked away from the scene, each step he took making the air feel cleaner, purer, as though he deserved to breathe it.
It was ten minutes before he stopped, looking behind him at the faint footprints in the ground he couldn’t see anyone, he could see a speck in the distance that was obviously the structure and considered continuing but the desire was too strong to move any further. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and noticing that his hand was already starting to shake as he dialled the familiar number.
“Hello?”
He could picture her sitting on the couch, surrounded by pictures of happier times, of vacations and weddings and parties and lazy days spent messing with the first camera they had owned, the pictures echoing with laughter so innocent that he couldn’t even remember how it sounded. “It’s me.”
“I’m busy Alex.”
“I know,” she was always busy these days, it didn’t matter what time he rang and it wasn’t surprising. She was, for all practical purposes, a single mother now and in getting to have that privilege she didn’t have time for him. He felt like scolding her for it, declaring that no matter how hard she thought her life, he thought of it as an unattainable paradise. Instead he settled for simply requesting to speak to his son.
“He isn’t in at the minute,” he scoffed, the right hand beginning to shake alongside his left and he gently massaged his temple, wondering why anybody did that when it never took away the pain. “What’s wrong, did something happen?” Her voice was gentle, the busyness evaporated from the tone and he was taken aback by it; that she was worried after everything he had put her through.
“It’s nothing, I was just thinking about Holland.”
“The windmill?”
“Yeah, the windmill,” despite the pain he found his mouth twitching at the memory, the corners turning upwards.
“It was beautiful wasn’t it?” He heard her sigh with happiness, and for a moment it felt to him as though they were both back there, arriving at what Pamela had picked as a dream honeymoon destination, her giggling and spreading her arms wide, stating that she was determined to show him why things outside of a city were beautiful. But she composed herself, shattering the brief images as she put the front back up to protect herself from him, “was there something you wanted with Cameron? I have lots of things to do.”
“No, it’s okay. Just… just tell him that I’m still taking him to Holland for his birthday. I won’t break my promise.”
Why did he have to pick Holland? He could have chosen any of the dozens of countries across the globe but he had picked Holland. He had the picture of the perfect place, the windmill and the grass and the bright blue sky and as Mahone climbed back down the ladder he considered taking the picture from him. Too many people had crowded around the scene now, hands in their mouths and eyes downcast, averted, as though if they didn’t look at his body, the body wouldn’t be there anymore.
Too many people and taking the picture would be impossible. It would be removed by the police, catalogued as evidence and eventually stored somewhere in a small box on a high shelf, far away from everyone.
He could have used his powers, claimed that the picture was important in his investigation. That it would lead him towards finding the other escapees but how important could a crumpled painting of somewhere none of them had ever been be? He would have to make up another lie and that would take up time that he didn’t have. If he wanted to keep Pamela and Cameron safe, he couldn’t waste a second.
But he found his eyes glued to the drawing as he took the final step onto the ground, making his already hoarse throat croak further. “I tried to get him to stay… he… he said he didn’t want to go back to prison. I… tried…” he let the sentence trail off, willing for tears to start falling when he had worked hard to banish those years before. The voice should be enough though; it should convince the witnesses that he’d tried to save Charles. That would keep the media at bay and stop them figuring out that somehow convicts never seemed to survive when he was around. Faint murmurings reached his ears and they sounded positive, he was almost certain one man had muttered “I’d have jumped as well” and it gave him hope.
He knew that protocol would suggest he stayed with the corpse until the police arrived to remove it, to take his false statement and the misguided beliefs of everyone in the immediate area but he couldn’t stand it any longer, there was something that he had to do and he wasn’t about to do it with strangers watching, much less the bastard he’d hired. “I’ve got a lead on Bagwell, stay here until the police turn up.”
Bellick nodded and he walked away from the scene, each step he took making the air feel cleaner, purer, as though he deserved to breathe it.
It was ten minutes before he stopped, looking behind him at the faint footprints in the ground he couldn’t see anyone, he could see a speck in the distance that was obviously the structure and considered continuing but the desire was too strong to move any further. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and noticing that his hand was already starting to shake as he dialled the familiar number.
“Hello?”
He could picture her sitting on the couch, surrounded by pictures of happier times, of vacations and weddings and parties and lazy days spent messing with the first camera they had owned, the pictures echoing with laughter so innocent that he couldn’t even remember how it sounded. “It’s me.”
“I’m busy Alex.”
“I know,” she was always busy these days, it didn’t matter what time he rang and it wasn’t surprising. She was, for all practical purposes, a single mother now and in getting to have that privilege she didn’t have time for him. He felt like scolding her for it, declaring that no matter how hard she thought her life, he thought of it as an unattainable paradise. Instead he settled for simply requesting to speak to his son.
“He isn’t in at the minute,” he scoffed, the right hand beginning to shake alongside his left and he gently massaged his temple, wondering why anybody did that when it never took away the pain. “What’s wrong, did something happen?” Her voice was gentle, the busyness evaporated from the tone and he was taken aback by it; that she was worried after everything he had put her through.
“It’s nothing, I was just thinking about Holland.”
“The windmill?”
“Yeah, the windmill,” despite the pain he found his mouth twitching at the memory, the corners turning upwards.
“It was beautiful wasn’t it?” He heard her sigh with happiness, and for a moment it felt to him as though they were both back there, arriving at what Pamela had picked as a dream honeymoon destination, her giggling and spreading her arms wide, stating that she was determined to show him why things outside of a city were beautiful. But she composed herself, shattering the brief images as she put the front back up to protect herself from him, “was there something you wanted with Cameron? I have lots of things to do.”
“No, it’s okay. Just… just tell him that I’m still taking him to Holland for his birthday. I won’t break my promise.”
