Smoke and Mirrors - Prison Break (1/1)
Title: Smoke and Mirrors (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Sara Tancredi, Susan B Anthony, various nameless original characters
Genre: Post-episode, Alternate Universe
Length: 1,101 words
Rating: PG-15 for language
Summary: It's all done with smoke and mirrors. Spoilers for Good Fences. Set in the same universe as Sacrifice.
Author's Note:I believe that this is where canon and I officially part company, folks. If I want to keep writing Prison Break fan fiction, this is - at least for now - the way I need to go. There will also be RPF, but that's another story, no pun intended. All concrit is welcomed with open arms.
~*~
“That’s not going to be easy.”
She glared at him. “Make it happen.” She wondered why she’d ever thought he’d be an asset, and made a mental note to reassign him to a less important task. Fetching her coffee, perhaps. “We put her in there, after all, even if it was a mistake. May as well make good use of her.”
“I agree the similarity of the facial structure was uncanny,” he hedged, his fingers tented nervously in front of his chest. “But there’s a world of difference between fresh and three days old.”
She smiled. “Formaldehyde is a wonderful thing.”
~*~
“Time to take a walk.”
Sara darted a quick glance at the frightened teenaged boy who sat across from her, then gave the dark-haired woman an exhausted, loathing glare. She was vaguely pleased to see that the scratches on her face, while well disguised with a thick layer of makeup, were still visible. “Thank you, but I’m comfortable where I am.”
The woman smiled. “Still feisty, I see.” She clicked her fingers at the man standing silently at her shoulder - delusions of grandeur, anyone? - then Sara was lifted roughly from her chair. A hot spurt of fear roiled up in her belly, but she kept her expression as blank as possible, painfully conscious of LJ’s terrified gaze. The woman smiled again, and the fear in Sara’s belly bleached clean through to her bones. “Let’s go.”
They blindfolded her, and the strip of cloth was rough and far too tight, the sudden darkness sending panic skittering through her blood. When the blindfold came off, she was in a different room, a small, cramped space with no furniture other than a dilapidated camp bed with a thin, stained mattress. “I need to stay with LJ,” Sara said flatly, drawing herself up to her full height. The man behind her tightened his grip on her arms, wrenching her shoulders backwards, and she caught her breath on a gasp of pain.
The other woman sounded bored, but her eyes glittered with anger. “And we need to make sure you won’t be using that clever brain of yours to play any more clever word games with your clever boyfriend.”
Despite the fear that clawed at her, Sara felt a grim sense of satisfaction, both in her own quick thinking and Michael’s instinctive understanding. She returned the other woman’s glare with one of her own, letting her contempt slide into her voice. Kiss my ass, bitch. “What can I say? Some people are just more intelligent than others.”
The brunette’s face hardened, her lips pressed into a thin, tight line as she raised her hand. Sara flinched, expecting to feel the sting of a palm against her cheek, but the woman reached for her left ear instead, her fingertips touching the small hoop in Sara’s earlobe. A few seconds later, she had yanked out both earrings, leaving Sara’s earlobes stinging. “Cuff her to the bed,” she ordered, once again in that bored, flat voice that made Sara yearn to dig her thumbs into her eyeballs and press until they popped. A few days ago, such an impulse might have shocked her. Not anymore.
As the woman walked towards the door, Sara struggled against the tight grip of the man behind her, twisting around to say in a loud, clear voice, “Why can’t I stay with LJ?”
The woman breathed out a long suffering sigh as she swivelled on her heel. “You know, you really should be thanking me. If I didn’t think it would be a waste to halve our leverage, this would be much simpler.” Her smile was warm, her pale eyes as empty as the blue sky outside the tiny window. “Well, for me, anyway.”
Her mind racing, Sara stared at her, feeling as though ice was trickling down the length of her spine despite the heat, and wondered if it were possible to hate anyone more than she hated this woman. “I would have thought those earrings a little plain for your tastes.”
“Oh, I won’t be wearing them.” The other woman curled her fingers over the tiny hoops in her palm, the gleam of her manicured fingernails matching the one of satisfaction in her eyes. “You will.”
~*~
“I have a local couple coming in to make a possible ID on our Jane Doe in ten minutes.” He flicked through the paperwork in front of him, then pushed it aside with a weary sigh. “Make sure she’s presentable, would you?”
Two minutes later, his assistant was back, pale-faced and sweating. “Uh, the Jane Doe?”
“What about her?”
His assistant was wringing his hands, he realised suddenly. “She’s not there.”
The coroner blinked. Obviously, he’d misheard. “What do you mean, she’s not there?”
The other man looked as though he’d rather hose down the autopsy benches than have this conversation. “I went to prepare her, like you said, and she’s gone.”
“That’s impossible.” Swearing under his breath, the coroner led the way to the morgue, his assistant trotting at his heels, silently fuming at the incompetence of this new wave of graduates. The idiot had probably checked the wrong drawer.
A moment later, he stared in disbelief at the empty drawer, then at his still-sweating assistant. “No one else came in to make an ID this afternoon?”
The younger man shook his head. “Not since the American man a few days ago.”
The coroner felt his bowels shrivel. The body may have been a Jane Doe, but misplacing any corpse could be a death blow to even the most secure of careers. “Call security. Search the building. Find that body.” He wiped his sweating palms down the front of his coat, noting with alarm that his hands were trembling, then glared at his white-faced assistant. “Now!”
~*~
“He might wonder why the head’s in liquid.”
She smirked. “Trust me, he’ll be too busy puking his guts out and beating his manly chest with grief to wonder about semantics.”
He gingerly lifted the box into the back of the van, his nose wrinkling in distaste as blood dropped onto his right shoe. Catching his expression, she raised her eyebrows. She’d spent the last forty-five minutes sawing the head off a naked cadaver, but she hadn’t even broken a sweat. “Why so squeamish? It’s your blood, after all.”
Her mocking words brought a flush to his face and a sting to the fresh wound on his forearm - dead women don’t bleed, so that’s going to be a problem - but he said nothing. Her eyes met his, reading his thoughts with obvious ease, and she gave him a condescending look that made his fingers itch to snap her pretty little neck. “We’re all soldiers, remember?”
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Sara Tancredi, Susan B Anthony, various nameless original characters
Genre: Post-episode, Alternate Universe
Length: 1,101 words
Rating: PG-15 for language
Summary: It's all done with smoke and mirrors. Spoilers for Good Fences. Set in the same universe as Sacrifice.
Author's Note:I believe that this is where canon and I officially part company, folks. If I want to keep writing Prison Break fan fiction, this is - at least for now - the way I need to go. There will also be RPF, but that's another story, no pun intended. All concrit is welcomed with open arms.
~*~
“That’s not going to be easy.”
She glared at him. “Make it happen.” She wondered why she’d ever thought he’d be an asset, and made a mental note to reassign him to a less important task. Fetching her coffee, perhaps. “We put her in there, after all, even if it was a mistake. May as well make good use of her.”
“I agree the similarity of the facial structure was uncanny,” he hedged, his fingers tented nervously in front of his chest. “But there’s a world of difference between fresh and three days old.”
She smiled. “Formaldehyde is a wonderful thing.”
~*~
“Time to take a walk.”
Sara darted a quick glance at the frightened teenaged boy who sat across from her, then gave the dark-haired woman an exhausted, loathing glare. She was vaguely pleased to see that the scratches on her face, while well disguised with a thick layer of makeup, were still visible. “Thank you, but I’m comfortable where I am.”
The woman smiled. “Still feisty, I see.” She clicked her fingers at the man standing silently at her shoulder - delusions of grandeur, anyone? - then Sara was lifted roughly from her chair. A hot spurt of fear roiled up in her belly, but she kept her expression as blank as possible, painfully conscious of LJ’s terrified gaze. The woman smiled again, and the fear in Sara’s belly bleached clean through to her bones. “Let’s go.”
They blindfolded her, and the strip of cloth was rough and far too tight, the sudden darkness sending panic skittering through her blood. When the blindfold came off, she was in a different room, a small, cramped space with no furniture other than a dilapidated camp bed with a thin, stained mattress. “I need to stay with LJ,” Sara said flatly, drawing herself up to her full height. The man behind her tightened his grip on her arms, wrenching her shoulders backwards, and she caught her breath on a gasp of pain.
The other woman sounded bored, but her eyes glittered with anger. “And we need to make sure you won’t be using that clever brain of yours to play any more clever word games with your clever boyfriend.”
Despite the fear that clawed at her, Sara felt a grim sense of satisfaction, both in her own quick thinking and Michael’s instinctive understanding. She returned the other woman’s glare with one of her own, letting her contempt slide into her voice. Kiss my ass, bitch. “What can I say? Some people are just more intelligent than others.”
The brunette’s face hardened, her lips pressed into a thin, tight line as she raised her hand. Sara flinched, expecting to feel the sting of a palm against her cheek, but the woman reached for her left ear instead, her fingertips touching the small hoop in Sara’s earlobe. A few seconds later, she had yanked out both earrings, leaving Sara’s earlobes stinging. “Cuff her to the bed,” she ordered, once again in that bored, flat voice that made Sara yearn to dig her thumbs into her eyeballs and press until they popped. A few days ago, such an impulse might have shocked her. Not anymore.
As the woman walked towards the door, Sara struggled against the tight grip of the man behind her, twisting around to say in a loud, clear voice, “Why can’t I stay with LJ?”
The woman breathed out a long suffering sigh as she swivelled on her heel. “You know, you really should be thanking me. If I didn’t think it would be a waste to halve our leverage, this would be much simpler.” Her smile was warm, her pale eyes as empty as the blue sky outside the tiny window. “Well, for me, anyway.”
Her mind racing, Sara stared at her, feeling as though ice was trickling down the length of her spine despite the heat, and wondered if it were possible to hate anyone more than she hated this woman. “I would have thought those earrings a little plain for your tastes.”
“Oh, I won’t be wearing them.” The other woman curled her fingers over the tiny hoops in her palm, the gleam of her manicured fingernails matching the one of satisfaction in her eyes. “You will.”
~*~
“I have a local couple coming in to make a possible ID on our Jane Doe in ten minutes.” He flicked through the paperwork in front of him, then pushed it aside with a weary sigh. “Make sure she’s presentable, would you?”
Two minutes later, his assistant was back, pale-faced and sweating. “Uh, the Jane Doe?”
“What about her?”
His assistant was wringing his hands, he realised suddenly. “She’s not there.”
The coroner blinked. Obviously, he’d misheard. “What do you mean, she’s not there?”
The other man looked as though he’d rather hose down the autopsy benches than have this conversation. “I went to prepare her, like you said, and she’s gone.”
“That’s impossible.” Swearing under his breath, the coroner led the way to the morgue, his assistant trotting at his heels, silently fuming at the incompetence of this new wave of graduates. The idiot had probably checked the wrong drawer.
A moment later, he stared in disbelief at the empty drawer, then at his still-sweating assistant. “No one else came in to make an ID this afternoon?”
The younger man shook his head. “Not since the American man a few days ago.”
The coroner felt his bowels shrivel. The body may have been a Jane Doe, but misplacing any corpse could be a death blow to even the most secure of careers. “Call security. Search the building. Find that body.” He wiped his sweating palms down the front of his coat, noting with alarm that his hands were trembling, then glared at his white-faced assistant. “Now!”
~*~
“He might wonder why the head’s in liquid.”
She smirked. “Trust me, he’ll be too busy puking his guts out and beating his manly chest with grief to wonder about semantics.”
He gingerly lifted the box into the back of the van, his nose wrinkling in distaste as blood dropped onto his right shoe. Catching his expression, she raised her eyebrows. She’d spent the last forty-five minutes sawing the head off a naked cadaver, but she hadn’t even broken a sweat. “Why so squeamish? It’s your blood, after all.”
Her mocking words brought a flush to his face and a sting to the fresh wound on his forearm - dead women don’t bleed, so that’s going to be a problem - but he said nothing. Her eyes met his, reading his thoughts with obvious ease, and she gave him a condescending look that made his fingers itch to snap her pretty little neck. “We’re all soldiers, remember?”
~*~