He truly had wanted her to answer.

When he said, "What were your parents like?", he ached to know. When he asked her, "Was your father a good man, was he a kind man?", he longed to hear something. When the Warden let him run amuk, he had visited Van's gravesite to ponder on it, on him. His epitaph made him seem like a good man, a son he would have been proud of: Beloved husband and father. Looking at the headstone beside it, he had wondered who this Sally was. He wondered about the woman his son had given his love and his ring and his name to. Would he have liked his daughter-in-law?

But all she did was tell him to shut up. Maybe she thought he didn't have a right to know? He did, damn it, he did. Van had been his son, and he wanted to know what happened to him. He knew Ray had raised him, and he knew his son was dead. He knew he had gotten married and fathered a daughter. He knew that daughter had also been raised by Ray. But Van and Rebecca were still his blood, still his family.

"You think because we're blood, that makes us family?

"I don't know you." That's what she said. She had this look on her face, a look that spoke of anger and curiosity and and spite. What was he to her? Not her grandfather. Not her beloved uncle's brother. He was no one to her; just another 63, just another murderer.

So she was no one to him.

But that wasn't true. When he stabbed her, he felt the pain. When her blood spilled out on the pavement, he gasped, because that was his blood pouring out her body. When he left her there (though her partners were right behind them, so he didn't really leave her) he cried because he hadn't wanted to do that. He had wanted to talk to her, to explain things to her, to apologize to her, to protect her.

He failed at that, didn't he?

And as he drove away, back to the Warden, away from her, he thought only two words: I'm sorry. He repeated the words over and over, like a mantra. I'm sorry, Rebecca. I'm sorry, Ray. I'm sorry, Van, I'm sorry Sally. I'm sorry, Stillman, I'm sorry Ghost.

...I am so sorry...Agatha.

I am so sorry.

That's all he could think as he drove away from the only woman in this odd, cold, cruel new world he loved.


A.N-Oh my gosh, does anyone else hate the producers for having such a horrible and heartwrenching CLIFFHANGER? I felt like crying when she didn't open her eyes. The season finale was EPIC! But we have to wait a whole year! :,( I am so sad. And mad. But thrilled at the same time. In regards to "Garrett Stillman", when he was talking to the 'handler', I had a tiny, tiny suspicion it might be Tommy, and lo, and behold, it was. My brother was surprised. But oh my gosh the SUSPENSE!

Ah hem, sorry about rambling about the (awesome) show, but I need to talk to other ethusiastic fans. My mom and brother just don't get into it as much. And the people I know watch Alcatraz need to catch up. So I need you guys to leave long and thought-provoking reviews!

This, as I'm sure you can tell, is what I think might have been going through Tommy Madsen's head just before and after he stabbed his granddaughter. As I was watching "Tommy Madsen", I was like, 'Oh, I thought he might want that', or 'I knew he was going to say that.' It was so cool to see my predictions come to life!

I'm not sure how many other Alcatraz fics I write, at least for this season...I don't want the year to go by fast, but I want Season 2 now...dilema. Ah well. To all you Alcatraz fans out there, I say: Good watching, good reading, good writing, and good night.