A long, quiet moment passes before Mahone says, "There's a way out." Haywire looks up at him, his eyes wide. As the unsettling, haunting strains of "Home" by Alexi Murdoch start up, Mahone nods. Haywire sobs, "Out of this maze." Mahone -- his face a study in regret -- whispers, "Yeah."
The guitar picks out its tense, throbbing melody and we zoo to Chicago. Inside a stolen car, Kellerman is explaining to Dr. Sara and Michael, "There are private humidors in the back. Each member's name is on the box." Then he points out, "I'm not a wanted fugitive. Give me the key. I'll do it." Michael just grins at him like, Yeah, right. He turns to Sara, and in a voice that locks out everyone else around them, asks, "You want to take a walk?"
We cut to Mahone saying, "I know you killed your parents because they hurt you. And I know you killed that guy yesterday because he was hurting Sasha, but what you did -- it was wrong. You know that." Haywire sighs, more in sorrow. He looks up at Mahone and says tremulously, "I want to go." Mahone's face smoothes into a blank and he says, "You can." Haywire pulls himself to his feet and says, "I want to go now." He looks over the rail. Mahone looks faintly nauseous at Haywire actually getting up. He quickly looks down too. Haywire looks at Mahone, and Mahone says, reluctantly, "It's okay." And Haywire jumps.
We cut back and forth between shots of his falling body and Michael and Dr. Sara walking up the stairs. As Dr. Sara opens the door, Michael says, "Oh, Sara... about before. Me too." These two have the most inarticulate, nonspecific courtship. What must their Valentines look like? Little candy hearts reading "The first rule... " and "Me too"? The two of them head inside, smiling slightly.
Mahone watches Haywire all the way down, all the way to the point where we hear a moist and splintering thud. Then he turns away. On the ground, Bellick looks sick. We cut to Haywire, who's looking remarkably good for someone who hit the ground at a fair clip. As the music plays, "Gently down the stream... " we see that his map of Holland is laying inches from his fingertips. Rest in peace, Haywire. Here's hoping there's windmills where you're going.