Escape (Book 1)

Chapter 2

*Veronica's POV*

That night, I can't sleep. So I get up and make myself some hot chocolate and stand in front of the huge window in my apartment, staring at nothing in particular while I take occasional sips from the mug in my hand. My life just doesn't feel real right now. Both of my best friends, whom I've known since childhood, are now in prison. One is getting sent to the electric chair very soon, and the other one. . . I don't know what he's doing, but I can tell he has some sort of a plan. And something tells me that whatever it is can't be good.

Behind me, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. "Do you want to talk about it?" I hear my fiance ask.

I shake my head. "It's not worth talking about." I say as I stare at the brown liquid in my mug.

"If it's keeping you up, it is." Sebastian says.

I turn around so that I'm facing him. "It's nothing." I say, trying my best to give him a convincing smile. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I know he's not buying it. "Okay." I sigh. "It's just. . . Michael's case."

"You did the best you could." he says in a comforting tone.

"Yeah, I know, but he didn't. He just sort of. . .rolled over. He didn't even try to put up a fight. That's not like him. I-" I stop when I see the look on Sebastian's face. He can get jealous sometimes when I talk about other guys. I don't know what he's so worried about though. I agreed to marry him, didn't I? But knowing how it makes him feel, I apologize. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking about him."

"Hey, if it's on your mind, it's on your mind." he tries to assure me. I nod my head. "Okay, well, goodnight." Sebastian says, turning around and going back upstairs, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.

*Michael's POV*

The next morning after breakfast, we're allowed to go out into the yard. On the way out, Sucre tells me that he'll show me around and tell me how everything works here. When we get outside, he points to a group of guys who are playing basketball on the other side of the yard. "Trey Street Deuces got the hoops." he says. Then he points to a set of wooden bleachers where a group of men are sitting and talking. "Nortenos got the bleachers." Then he points to a spot in the yard where there's some exercise equipment set up. "Woods got the weight pile. And the C.O.s got the rest. If you ask me, the guards are the dirtiest gang in this whole place. The only difference between us and them is the badge."

I take a minute to look around the yard and spot an elderly man sitting on a bench, holding a cat that is wrapped in his jacket. "Who's the pet lover?" I ask, although I know full well who he is.

"He'll deny it, but he's D.B. Cooper. He parachuted out of a plane thirty years ago with a million-and-a-half in cash."

"He doesn't look the type." I say.

"Who does?" Sucre chuckles.

As I continue looking around, Sucre sees someone walking our way and he shouts a greeting. "Hey! What up, Wholesale?"

"Hey, what you doing with this fish, man?" he asks.

"He's my new cellie." Sucre explains. Then he says to me, "Wholesale's got it wired up at the commissary. If there's anything you want, he can get for you."

As the two of them continue chatting, I finally find what I'm looking for and walk the few feet over to it. It's a drain right in the center of the yard. I then pull a magazine out of my jacket and drop it on the ground. After looking around to see if anyone noticed, I crouch down a slip it through the grate. It lands upright against a small gate that keeps anything too big from going further down the drain. Perfect! Then I turn back to Sucre and his friend. "I'm looking for someone." I say. "A guy named Lincoln Burrows."

"Linc the Sink?" Sucre asks.

"Is that what they're calling him now?" I ask.

"Yeah." Wholesale answers. He looks me over, then says, "Snowflake."

So I guess I have two nicknames now. . . "Where can I find him?"

Sucre takes me to the edge of the chain-link fence that separates the yard from a paved area where all of the death row inmates are. There I see Linc crouched against a wall, but he doesn't see me.

"That man killed the vice president's brother. In a month, he's going to the chair, which means no one up this river's more dangerous than him. 'Cause he's got nothing to lose now! What are they gonna do, kill him twice?"

"Is there a way I can get to him?" I ask.

"Oh no! The only time those boys get out is for chapel and P.I."

"What's that?"

"Prison Industry. The guys that get along get to work. Painting, scrapping, making mattresses, you name it. I wouldn't get excited though if I were you, Fish. You'll probably never get into P.I."

"Why is that?"

"Because John Abruzzi runs it."

"John Abruzzi John Abruzzi?" I ask.

"John Abruzzi John Abruzzi?" he confirms. "Hey, why do you want to se Burrows so bad anyway?"

"He's my brother." I answer, earning me a wide-eyed response from Sucre.