Chapter One: Prelude

I mopped at his forehead, the handkerchief sticking to the thin, sticky layer of sweat that clung at my brow, and stared at the rim of the porcelain sink, where a few day's worth of my stubble gathered. The confounded heat down here was unbearable, especially on E Block, and I didn't even have a dime to buy something from Old Toot. A root beer or something would've felt like heaven( but( I sighed and resolutely took up my razor again, running down my face in careful lines. Del's execution was getting closer and closer, Percy getting more irritating, and John Coffey was just that- John Coffey, who barely knew his left from his right, and carried healing power in his hands.

Not that I wanted to think about that. I had wished to tell at least Brutal about it, but there was no way the man would believe it, one didn't believe a thing like that, not without seeing it first. I still wasn't even sure if I was certain about it, to begin with. It was certainly an incredible thing.

I wasn't paying attention to what in the world I was doing, and the razor slipped across my face, cutting a thin bloody line on my cheek that stung something awful. I swore, wiping the blood away, and turning the faucets on full-power. The water turned a pale pink as it washed the blood down. I was resuming my shave when a knock almost made me cut myself again.

"Paul," Dean called in, "Wild Bill's pitching a fit again!"

"He's faking it!" I threw the razor down on the sink in disgust, couldn't someone else deal with it? I was busy! "Can't you get him to stop, for heaven's sake?"

"Brutal's trying- but you know it isn't a good idea to get in the cell with Wharton."

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

I slid my baton off my belt, opening the door. Dean, who had looked harried, snickered and tried to cover it with a cough. I was well aware of how idiotic I looked just then, cut standing out sharply on a half-shaved cheek, but I wasn't in the mood.

"Are you going to stand there and laugh, or are we going to go figure out what's the matter with Wild Bill?"

"Sorry, boss." Dean grabbed at his own baton. "How'd you do it, though?"

Another glare silenced him. "Coming or not?" I jerked my head in the direction of the doorway, and Dean quickly followed me. When I got there, Brutal had one hand on the bars, looking at Wharton cautiously, and the man himself was thrashing about on the bed, drool working its way down his chin.

"Brutal!"

My friend spun around. "I don't think he's faking this time. I can't even get near him."

"Dean, run down and get a doctor from the infirmary." I laid my hand on my gun, trying to reassure myself that Wild Bill couldn't really do anything, not with Brutal and I both armed.

Dean nodded and was off in a flash, his hat falling to the floor in his haste. I started to call after him, but he had already vanished.

"We need another man to handle Wharton, where's Percy when you actually want him around?" Brutal muttered, staring at Wild Bill's arching back.

"Called in sick, for once. At least he sounded it."

"Hope he's puking his lungs out." Brutal whipped into a sound lash of profanity at that point that I'd rather not repeat. "Harry? Where's Harry?"

"Not his day, Brutal, you know that. It's just us."

He swore again, finally nodded, and flung open the door. I stepped in right behind him, and together, we pressed down Wharton's back and stopped the fit for a moment. Brutal looked up at me.

"He ain't faking."

Dean came back in at that moment, with his tagalong Doc Jim. Jim took one look at Wharton and gave us conformation- it was a real fit this time. He slid inside as Dean held Wild Bill's wrist and Jim pumped him full of some kind of drug. In a few minutes, we had a team of doctors and nurses in, and they carried off Wharton. As soon as they were gone, I collapsed against the bars.

"You don't look so well yourself, Paul," Brutal noted. "You sure you don't have whatever Percy carried in here?"

"Might." Not that it would be any problem- not with John Coffey on the block. "But I don't think so." I placed his hand on my stomach. The muscles had been all tight there for a while now, and I felt faintly nauseous. "It just feels like something's eating me. Like I'm worried- only I don't know what about."

"You should get some rest," Dean suggested. "We can watch over the Mile."

"Maybe." I straightened myself and smoothed down my blues. "Dean, can you make the report to Hal? I think I'll take you up on your offer. I'll be in my office."

"Right." Dean walked briskly out, and got halfway to the door before he turned around, pulling at his hair. "Hey, has anyone seen my hat? I don't know- I don't think I put it down."

"It put itself down." Brutal pointed at it on the floor. "It fell off when you ran out."

He flushed and retrieved it, then left with Brutal going to the far end of the Mile, looking back at me curiously.

"Are you going, Paul?"

"Oh- that. Right away." I walked into my office and closed the door, leaning against the wood, hoping my profile didn't show up on the clouded glass. The muscles in my stomach had gotten tighter than ever, and I slid into a sitting position on the floor, knees held up against my chest.

I wonder what's the matter with Percy.

I did wonder that, off and on for the rest of the day, what was the matter with Percy. It nagged at me- I knew, or felt, like I shouldn't really care whether Percy Wetmore was sick or not, but I did. I finally left my office and relieved Brutal- and tried to talk to John.

"Do you know what's wrong with Percy?"

John closed his eyes, like he was thinking. "Boss Percy not so bad," he said finally. "He human like everybody else- just 'fraid to show it, tha's all."

Percy and human were not to words that commonly fit together. Let alone "not so bad." Still, John hadn't answered the question, not really.

"Is he sick now?"

"Not sick." John shook his head. "I don't know anything else."

I handed him a peppermint that I'd bought from Del. "Thank you, John."

He nodded absently, as if he had already forgotten what the conversation had been about, and laid back down on his bunk.

"Boss Percy not so bad. He human like everybody else- just 'fraid to show it, tha's all."

What had John seen in Percy? I'd worked with the man for a few months now, and had found no redeeming quality in him. He was a braggart, not to mention a cruel one, and he was- for another thing- obnoxious.

But if John said he was human- then he was human. John didn't have wits enough to lie, and I almost believed he couldn't, anyway.

Yet the man who couldn't lie had killed those two girls. I shook off the feeling. Percy would likely be back tomorrow- he still didn't get paid for sick days, and I could forget about the whole thing.

I played a few games of cribbage with Dean and listened to John Coffey sobbing quietly in the background for the rest of the evening.

Chapter Two: Old Scars, New Wounds

Percy did come back the next day, and he kept his head down and his lips tight, which was a good thing, considering the fact that Brutal had an awful cold and wasn't in the mood for any smart comments or attacks on the prisoners. Wild Bill was back, a little phased from his fit, and he was mostly quiet, too, except for occasional minor misbehavior like him singing out crude songs. Harry threatened him with the restraint room, and he basically shut up. I was glad of it.

But back to Percy. By lunchtime, I was actually a little worried about him, because for Percy not to make cracks at Delacroix was just plain abnormal. He patrolled the walk occasionally, didn't argue when I asked him to go get the meals for Coffey, Del, and Wharton, and when he handed Wharton the tray, he did it carefully, and looked in the man's eyes like he was seeing someone else.

Even Brutal was starting to realize that something was wrong, or he must have, because he finally invited Percy to play a game of cards with him, Dean, and Harry, which he never had done before. Percy sat down, his face flushed and sweaty, but almost milky in some parts. He looked like a dead man, almost, and moved with a mechanical slowness that wasn't like him. As I mentioned before, it was hot on E Block, and most of us had our jackets off, sleeves rolled up as far as we could, and no one had their hat on.

Percy hadn't removed any part of his uniform, and sat there sweating- you could smell the sourness, hat on, blue coat buttoned to the collar, and so clearly uncomfortable you felt sorry for him. Finally, it was Dean who brought it up, eyes intent, and speaking slowly.

"Why don't you take off your hat and things, Percy? We all have- and it's as hot as hell in here."

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, quite the wrong thing. He recoiled like he'd been bitten by a snake, almost toppling his chair back over.

"Percy!" Brutal exclaimed.

He jerked his head up reflexively, realized it, and quickly lowered it. It was too late, though, we had all seen the deep purple bruising that went from his cheekbone right up to his temple. He'd been trying to hide it all day, obviously.

I had been just sitting there watching the game, but when I saw the bruise, I stood up and laid a hand on Percy's shoulder.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing- nothing," Percy muttered, shaking his head rapidly, keeping it down. "I'd( ah, I'd better go and see if- see if Old Toot needs any help."

He scurried off almost like Mr. Jingles had, and we four stared after him, card game abandoned on the table.

"Since when does Percy want to help Toot with anything?" Brutal asked. "And where in the world did he get that bruise? The man looks like he came out second best in an argument with a jackhammer."

I shook my head. "I've never seen Percy have so much as a black eye- from anything, and that bruise is worse than any I've ever seen."

"I can think of lots of people who'd want to give Percy Wetmore what for," Brutal admitted, "but most of them are standing here in this room. I'd be the first to hit him, probably, but I swear I haven't."

"So who did?" Harry stared at the door, then turned back to me. "Man alive, Paul, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"I was thinking that I don't want to meet anyone who would hit Percy that hard," I said slowly. "He's an obnoxious little braggart, but he doesn't deserve to be thrashed like that."

"Thrashed?" Dean arched one eyebrow. "Let's not get carried away- it's a bad enough bruise, truth be told, but what makes you think that he was thrashed?"

"Did you ever get a look at his arms- or his chest?"

Brutal bit his lip, realizing what I had. "It's sweltering in here. It's one thing to keep his hat on and face down so no one could see the welt- but it's quite another to keep his jacket on the whole day, buttoned right up to his chin, didn't you see it? He's hiding some others, too- and he never even opens his shirt. Remember, in July, when it got so hot in here? We all had our shirts off- professionalism didn't matter- except for Percy. He kept his on."

I found Percy not helping Toot, but crying in the basement bathroom, head against the mirror, leaning over it so that he was almost face-down in the sink. Surprisingly, I was didn't lose any time in going to him, but Percy didn't even notice me until I spoke, in a voice that I thought sounded oddly gentle.

"Percy- Percy, take off your shirt."

The man cringed. There was no other word for it. He cringed, like he thought I were going to beat him up myself, or something. Normally, I would have gotten sharp with him, but something deep inside of me told me to not say a word.

"No," Percy said, his voice weak.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Percy." I took a step closer. "I just want to see what other bruises you've been hiding. I'm your friend."

"No, no, you aren't. You hate me- everyone here hates me." His tearstained face searched for confirmation in my own. I was shocked, but he was right. I did hate him- or had- but(

"Percy." Just his name, and that was enough to bring the man back to his senses, and he slowly unbuttoned his guard coat.

That in itself was enough- Percy's thin white shirt was stained with blood from badly bandaged cuts- he'd probably wrapped them himself- and I gasped, but he unbuttoned it, too, and let it fall to the ground around his feet.

Cuts, scars, and bruises- his chest was covered in them. Even Coffey hadn't had wounds that bad, old or new. A painful, bloody one traced it's way up his side, and some of them still were bleeding.

I swallowed. "Who-?" But that was all I could get out.

Percy came back to life, animated in a rush of horror. He spun around and collapsed against the sink again, at the same time trying to pick up his clothes off the dirty floor, but then we saw his back. I think that was what made me lose my lunch then and there. I could have gone the rest of my whole life without seeing the mess of whippings that had scarred Percy Wetmore's back. I fell to my knees and threw up then and there in the toilet, and when I was finally able to rise, he had everything back on, and his eyes were still red and puffy from crying.

"Don't you tell," he snapped, splashing water on his face to wipe the streaks away. "If you ever say a word about this, Paul Edgecombe, I'll get you fired. I swear I will."

He pushed past me, hand brushing against my shirt. It left a small smudge of blood.

I started to vomit again.