Escape (Book 1)

Chapter 3

*Michael's POV*

Later, I sit in my cell and begin to make an origami crane. As I fold the paper, I'm reminded of one of the many times I visited Lincoln here. . .

"They denied the motion." Lincoln told me.

"Then do it again." I said.

"Michael, I can't. May eleventh is the final date. That's the day they, uh. . .you know. . .execute me."

"I know."

"I didn't kill that man, Michael."

"The evidence says you did."

"I don't care what the evidence says. I didn't kill him."

I wanted to believe him so badly, but everything pointed to the same answer: my brother was a murderer. My logical brain told me that he was a killer and that I shouldn't care what happened to him now. But on the other hand, my heart kept telling me that he would never do something like this, that something was wrong. And I didn't know which to believe. Ever since this whole thing started, I had been at war with myself over how I felt towards Lincoln, and I just couldn't take it anymore.

"Swear to me." I said, breaking out in tears.

Lincoln looked me straight in the eyes and calmly said. "I swear to you, Michael."

"Then how did they get it wrong?" I choked out.

"I don't know." Linc shook his head sadly. "When I look back, all I keep thinking is that I was set up. And whoever it was that set me up wants me in the ground as quickly as possible."

I'm pulled back into the present when Sucre breaks the silence. "What's another word for 'love'?" he asks. He's hunched over the tiny desk in the corner of our cell, writing a letter.

"What's the context?"

"Oh, you know, the 'I love you so much, I ain't never knocking over a liquor store again' context. Except, you know, classy."

That makes me laugh, which is something I haven't done very often as of late.

"If you must know, I'm proposing to my girl."

"In a letter?"

"Do you have a better way?"

"Face-to-face works pretty good."

"This place isn't exactly a 'romantic' spot. I'm gonna have her get on the Staten Island Ferry. Then, once she can see the Empire State Building, she opens the letter, and bam! It's like almost being there! Except for the fact that I won't be there."

I chuckle. "Try 'passion'."

"Ooh, passion! That's dope." He puts the pencil back on the paper to begin writing once more, but then pauses before writing anything. A confused look comes across his face. "How do you spell that?" he asks. "'P-A-S-H-. . .?"

I give him a disbelieving look. "Nuh-uh."

"No 'H'?" he says.

Oh my god. . .

*L.J.'s POV*

I pedal my bike as fast as I can to reach the alley where he told me he'd be waiting. I glance behind me to make sure that my friend Brian is still with me. He is, just a few feet behind me. As we enter the alley, we cross over a huge puddle that splashes the bottom of my jeans. Then we park our bikes and dismount, and I go up to one of the doors. As I raise my hand to knock, Brian cuts me off.

"L.J., hold up. I don't think I can go through with this."

"Trust me, everything's going to be fine." I assure him.

Suddenly the door opens and out walks a man wearing all black and wearing sunglasses. He nods in the direction of his car and we follow him. Once there, he opens the trunk and pulls out a giant bag of marijuana. He hands it to me and I quickly stuff it in my backpack before slinging it over my shoulder.

"We understand each other?" he asks.

"Yeah." I say.

"Friday. Not Saturday, not Sunday; Friday."

"I totally understand."

"I don't want hundreds, I don't want fives, I don't want ones."

"I know, I know. Tens and twenties only. Got it!"

Without another word, he goes back inside and Brian and I get back on our bikes. As we head back out of the alleyway, I can tell that Brian is still nervous, though he's trying not to show it. Just before we reach the end, I hear a siren and a police car pulls into the alleyway in front of us. We leap off of our bikes and run in the opposite direction, only to be stopped by a second police car.

Crap!

*Michael's POV*

That evening, we're back in the yard, and I find John Abruzzi playing cards with a group of guys.

"Abruzzi," I say as I approach the table. "I need you to hire me in P.I."

"Beat it." he tells me without bothering to look up.

"Maybe you ought to hear what I have to say." I tell him.

"You got nothing I need." he replies.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that." I say, placing the paper crane on the table in front of him.

"My mistake. Just what I need; a duck!" he says sarcastically,

"You might find that I can be of more assistance than you think."

For the first time since I came over here, he turns around to face me. He gives me a warning glare as one of the other men starts to get up and come towards me. I back away. "Mull it over." I tell him. "Come find me when you're ready to talk."

He picks up the bird from the table and throws it into the grass.