Sandcastles (Prison Break Fanfic)

Chapter Eight

Five hours later, Bryce was feeling much better. Not yet okay, but better.

No bad guys had come when mom said her name aloud. No one had taken her away. Laura excused herself and disappeared through the door behind her, only to return a couple of minutes later with a man in a grey suit that was clearly trying to hide how perplexed he was. He led them upstairs, to a large office with a roundtable. There was a jug of juice on it and a box of both croissants and donuts. They smelled so nice and were still warm and it made Bryce feel a little bit hungry. Bad guys wouldn't give him food, right? But the circles under mom's eyes were still in stark contrast to her pale skin. He decided not to eat until mom would, too.

Every time they heard a sound of steps, mom squeezed his hand so hard it hurt a little. But nothing bad happened. A woman took mom's photograph while another distracted him with a bunch of T-shirts with American motives. He asked if they had any books about New York, and she gave him three different ones! He got a toothbrush and could finally clean his teeth, and mom looked a bit better after she washed her face and brushed her hair. They got to call Aunt Moni and Selena (she had woken up in time for school. But she told him that she had decided to stay home, as they were all idiots and there was only a week left before the summer break anyway). The day was really looking up at that point, but he knew better than to assume everything would be fine. He may be only five and a half years old, but he had witnessed himself how something promising can turn into a calamity in a blink of an eye.

Last year, Selena's father had parked his truck in front of their home. He had a chip he was very proud of and had brought Selena cake, presents and promises of a large house, and even though she had thrown the cake in the trash, refused to open the presents, she eventually asked if there would be a microwave in the house. Bryce didn't like the prospect of his sister moving out, and when he tried to picture his day without her, she kept popping up in his plans. But he was happy for her, for you were supposed to be happy when people you loved were happy, and he knew how ecstatic he would feel if one day a car would stop in that spot and his dad would step out.

Three days later, Selena's father found out that Aunt Moni sometimes spent a night at another man's house, and it enraged him so much that he hit her so hard Bryce's mom couldn't patch her up and she had to go to the hospital. Selena threw all the shoes he had bought her in his head, cursed him, cursed himself, and then the police came and put him in prison.

And Bryce still wasn't sure whether his dad was a good man or not.

The next person that came to him and mom was a man with a badge. He called himself an agent, and mom's face turned even pastier as she asked him not to do it in front of her son. Bryce didn't know what she meant by "it", but then the man took mom's fingerprints and not only let Bryce watch, but took his as well. Honestly, he couldn't understand why mom wouldn't want him to have his fingerprints taken, as it was fun.

Besides, Bryce knew that agents were a special kind of police officers. And should dad turn out to be a bad guy, he was certain agents would stop dad before he could hurt him or mom. Surely mom had to realize that as well? So while the idea of seeing dad still terrified him, he was sanguine enough to have a little faith again.

By all accounts, Lincoln Burrows was having a time of his life in Panama. He started his mornings just before the sunrise and headed for a run along the beach. On his way back, he stopped at his favorite bar and had his first beer of the day. He was usually joined by a pair of leggy blondes in a skimpy bikini. Some days he relented and put tanning oil on their backs before they handed to the beach, but most mornings he just kissed them both on a cheek before heading home. There he showered, put on one of the multicolored Hawaiian shirts he kept in his closet and got into his 1972 Vista Cruiser, which he had bought for a bargain unattainable in America. He drove five miles up the coast – the cruiser likely wouldn't take him much farther anyway – to a bar where a group of expats congregated every morning until early afternoon.