Life, Love & The Forbidden

His Angel

Chicago on a Saturday was the worst time of the week to go anywhere and it was certainly a form of suicide to try and do so in your car. Rush hour traffic was not limited to a specific hour, but instead to the whole day. Michael sighed, his hands resting lightly on his steering wheel tapping impatiently as he sat. The architectural engineering student watched cars crawl by him in the next lane and his senses were invaded by abuse and honking.

His car crept forward but only an inch. Michael pulled up his parking brake and took his foot from the brake pedal, resigned to the fact he wasn't moving anywhere fast. In front of him was a cab, a man in the back was busy shouting at the aging driver for taking them the direction they had gone. To his left was a big truck, full of kids and suitcases and he chuckled to himself when the parents squeezed their tired eyes shut in realisation that it was too late to turn back home.

On his right the sidewalks heaved with people rushing in both directions. He thanked the fact that it wasn't hot out today and switched his radio off when the babble from the DJ was just too much for his intelligence to handle. With nothing left to distract him, his mind drifted back to the party and that girl. That girl who was like an angel incarnate, sipping nectar from a disposable chalice in his castle. He had never seen her before and not seen anything since.

The traffic line moved and Michael quickly filled the empty space with his hood. The taxi ahead of him braked suddenly as the passenger stormed from the rear, throwing some bills into the front window followed by some more abuse at the driver. Michael's eyes went wide as he slammed on his brakes, his car screeching on the asphalt. Another screech behind him and a crash made Michael's head hit the wheel as his car was shunted.

Dizzily he reached for his head, blood staining his fingertips. He winced from the pain and shot a look into his rear view mirror. The car was big and black with a silver trim around the front grill and a heavy door swung open as a tall guy in a flat black cap stepped out. He was wearing a suit and white gloves and immediately opened his passenger door, letting Governor Tancredi step out into the street.

"You got to be kidding me," Michael shook his head from side to side, feeling like the unluckiest man in the world. He reluctantly reached for his door handle, pulling it towards him to release the latch. His car door opened and he stepped out into the stationary traffic. Governor Tancredi was too busy shaking off his chauffeur to realise he was approaching them.

"I am so sorry," he announced, breaking up their riff. The driver shot him a glance but before he spoke he was cut off by the Governor.

"It's ok son," he assured him, noticing the gash on his head. "It was nobody's fault," he glared to the taxicab passenger that was disappearing into the crowd ahead of them. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he tapped his forehead with his finger at the same spot Michael was injured. Frank looked him over. Michael's dark blue shirt was long sleeved but the sleeves had been rolled up and his light jeans displayed a blood smear where Michael had wiped his hand earlier.

Following his gaze Michael shook his head, reassuring him he was fine. "Oh no, that's from my head," he told him flinching at the stinging on his temple. Frank nodded and looked at the damage done to his car. Michael did too, heat prickling his body while he contemplated kissing goodbye to his college course so he could pay for the repair costs.

"It doesn't look too bad," Frank suggested. "I'll just take your name and contact number in case it costs a lot to repair," he smiled at Michael. "Then we'll get insurance companies involved." Understanding his cooperation Michael smiled and thanked him profusely. For a politician, he wasn't half bad.

Frank turned to his open rear door and sucked in a large gulp of air. "Hey Sara, bring me a pen would you?" he called. Michael watched the car bounce and a slim teenager step from the car. She threw her head back her wavy reddish-brown locks fell from her face and landed on her shoulders. Michael's eyes widened and his stomach fell away from him. It was his angel.

Sara blushed as she handed her father the pen, locking eyes with Michael briefly. He gave her a crooked smile as his heart skipped a beat in his chest, the blood leaving his face, as he stood with his mouth open in awe, staring at her beauty. Oblivious to their interaction, Frank proceeded to ask Michael his name.

"Michael Scofield," he stuttered directly at her and not her father. She smiled at his revelation and pointed to her head indicating his wound with a questioning look. Michael raised his blood encrusted eyebrow and rolled his eyes upwards to try and see his wound. He shrugged to her as he gave her father his telephone number, his blue green eyes drinking in her perfect figure.

"Oh Michael, this is my daughter Sara," Frank motioned with his pen around his arm towards her. Sara blushed again when Michael smiled.

"Nice to meet you Sara," he began. "Sorry about all of this," he apologised waving a flat palm to the connection between their two cars. She let out a small laugh at his attempts and pushed her hands into her back pockets.

"You should get that cut seen to. You're going to need stitches," she told him matter of factly with a nod. Frank smiled at himself in pride before handing Michael a piece of paper with his name and contact details on it.

"Sara wants to be a Doctor," he told him with a fulfilled grin. "Listen to her," he ordered in a light tone.

"Yes sir," Michael told him and pushed the folded paper into his jeans and watched them step back into their car. Michael stepped backwards to his, wanting to take in every last view of her before she disappeared again. She smiled at him one last time before the large silver trimmed door was shut behind her.

The Governors car reversed in the lightening traffic and swung out around Michael's. He watched the car drive past and smirked. He had found her.