(no subject)
P is for V
Patterns (of Behaviour)
It was another week inside and Lincoln had managed to avoid Pre… avoid Michael who was sticking pretty close to T-Bag. Sucre approved of this new attitude and now Lincoln had a table of ‘friends’ (if they could be called that) to sit with at lunch and a group to hang out with. In no way were they gang minded but just the fact they were in a group gave the impression they were not a force to be threatened with. The group consisted of Linc, Sucre, Westmoreland, Sucre’s cousin Manche Sanchez, and three others Williamson, Berk, and Garridon. Linc didn’t know what all of them were in for, he knew the rumour that Westmoreland was supposedly the infamous DB Cooper, and he knew all about Sucre and his troubles with the beautiful Maricruz.
Things were just starting to settle own. Patterns were developing. And that was when Lincoln saw it happen. For the past few days he hadn’t seen hide or hair of Michael and T-Bag except in their positions by the bleachers in the yard surrounded by the other white supremacists. Michael - who had been holding T-Bag’s pocket in a way that was both disturbing and oddly natural - started to wonder off by himself near to the fence as he watched a load of new prisoners be brought in through the main gates. T-Bag walked over to the kid and kicked him in the back of his legs, not hard but enough that Michael fell to the ground of his knees. From that position he was dragged over to the bleachers where the some of the others were laughing while a few remained quiet, watchful. Lincoln snorted. “Why don’t you do anything about that?” He called out to the nearest guard, disgusted with the lack of response by the two uniformed men. Linc knew prisons, he knew prison guards, but he also knew that the system was fucked and he hated it. And it was not in him to have the strength to ignore suffering and not lash out - at either T-Bag or the P.O.’s. At least if it was just verbal he wouldn’t get into too much trouble.
Bellick heard Lincoln’s words, his eyes turning cold faster than any good man’s would and he strode over to the rowdy prisoner with purpose, his baton swinging in his hand. “You got something to say to me, Burrows?”
“Yeah,” Linc retorted without thinking, “how come I say something loud and you amble over here as if to take me down a peg or two yet you don’t care if T-Bag’s over there beating that kid senseless?”
Bellick brought the stick down hard upon Linc, and he fell to the ground. Bellick leant down and whispered “Bagwell pays me well to turn the other eye to what he does with his property. And truthfully I’d do it for free.” Linc rose quickly and threw himself at Bellick, a lucky punch in his rage had the man bleeding profusely. Another guard flew to Bellick’s rescue and between the two of them Linc was manhandled out of the yard and into solitary. One week for attacking a guard.
But Linc wasn’t in there for more than an hour before the sound of a woman’s voice had the door busted opened. Light flooded his sight and suddenly an attractive brunet in a lab coat was next to him, asking him if he was okay.
“Huh?” He asked.
“Were you injured?” She repeated, taking the initiative and pulling and prodding his flesh.
“No… just my head. Hurts.” Linc managed. He really did have the worst headache and his mind was a little fuzzy; unfocused like the beginnings of a hangover.
“Yeah - you have quiet a nasty bump there. I am the prison doc, Dr Tancredi. And you have a minor concussion.” She revealed after flashing a light in his eyes and examining his bump.
“Figures.” Linc said.
“It’s not enough to have you moved to sick bay, unfortunately. Just try to stay awake until tonight and I’ll have a guard check on you ever few hours. Do you know why you are in here?” She asked, putting her med kit away.
“Uh huh. Took a swing at a bull. The nasty one with mean eyes. Got a hell of an attitude too.” Linc said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall.
“That’s probably what he says about you. What is his attitude about?” She asked, knowing he was talking about Bellick because she had cleaned his nose up. After being told how he had gotten it she had come down here as soon as possible knowing the guards weren’t exactly gentle when attacked - or whatever the real story was.
“Michael.” Linc said shortly.
Tancredi froze, and then gave him a double take. “Michael Scofield? What kind of attitude?” Michael had been someone she had tried to help - to this day he remains her deepest failure.
“I asked why no one stopped Bagwell from beating the kid. And whatever else he does to him. Bellick got in my face about it.” Linc knew he couldn’t say the rest. It was just a con’s word against a CO that Bellick was taking kick backs from the scum inside.
Sara nodded. “Michael was just a kid when he arrived inside, you know. Just sixteen. His crime… we aren’t supposed to know everyone’s crimes, it’s supposed to keep us unbiased otherwise we might withhold treatment from a child molester just long enough to do him damage. Truth is we all know. Child molesters get outted first - my the media or a cop who wants the guy to suffer. T-Bag was outted less than four weeks inside - but he just acted like it made him famous, not infamous. Michael killed his foster parents. I looked into the case - apparently there was lots of misconduct because the couple had a good record and even raised a kid who grew up to be a policeman. That and the level of violence meant Michael was tried as an adult. When he arrived T-Bag preyed upon him almost immediately. One of the other inmates got their first - you know that huge guy in cell 14? Avocado he is called - he raped Michael badly. I stitched the kid up and convinced him to go into Administrative Segregation.” Dr Tancredi took a breath, as if what was to come next was worse. “With two days he had started having nightmares. A week and he wouldn’t eat. Thirteen days and he collapsed. I found the self harm marks on his skin when I attached the IV to get him some nourishment. I talked to him - had a psychiatrist talk to him - but he was adamant that he wanted to go back into Gen Pop. Three weeks later and I hear he transferred to T-Bag’s cell.”
“That sounds unpleasant.”
“His lawyer found new evidence about a year later. Evidence that proved Michael had been severely abused; sexually and emotionally. Never any bruises or broken bones in the Mills household - no visits to the hospital, nothing on paper. Later the cop admitted to having repressed the memories of being locked in a cupboard for weeks on end during the summer. Another child from their care was called in and he told the judge about a scar Matthew Mills had on his upper thigh. Apparently the kid had given it to them. They looked into the present day lives of other foster kids - two were dead, one from an accidental drug over dose and another hung himself. Three were in therapy and one was a child molester himself. In light of the new evidence Michael had a choice - a reduced sentence or a change of prison to a lower level. But Michael chose a reduction in his sentence. The judge refused to call it manslaughter because technically Michael’s life was never in imminent danger, and he refused to speak about the abuse personally.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Lincoln asked, his heart beating strongly in his chest. He felt sick and dizzy and he knew it wasn’t because of his head injury.
Dr Tancredi smiled at him. “I can’t help him anymore - he won’t let me. He still has several years to serve. If you can get to him in Gen Pop, you can save his soul.” She said and then left the room, leaving him to his darkness and dark thoughts.
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More coming soon….