AN: Thanks to all my readers, thus far! Hope you are all enjoying the story. Remember to read, review and most of all, enjoy! Also, favourite and follow!

Again, I do not own the Green Mile. Wish I did though, I would have made like ten thousand sequels! :D

Playing with the Mind Part 1:

"I said hold still," the inmate spoke softly, attempting to calm the young officer. He let go of Dean, but tended to struggle, so grabbing a hold of him once again seemed like the best option. He needed somebody to talk to. "I want to just talk, okay?"

Dean nodded hesitantly.

Freddie spoke again, "You are an officer. You still have one free hand. I'm sure that you have a key."

Dean shook his head. "No I do not," his statement was muffled. Dean bit the offender's hand, but he didn't move in the slightest.

"Well that makes things a whole lot more interesting." The man snarled, still grasping Dean's body. "Now, listen to me. Like I said before, I just want a little chat. Do you think we can accomplish that without you calling for aid?" The man pulled a key from the inside of his shoe. "I have a key myself. When I say we are done, then we are done. I'm sure we will be done our little conversation before those two get back." The inmate looked down upon Dean. "Do you think you can handle that, quietly?"

Dean dipped his head. "Good." He released Dean from his grasp, and let the young officer take a couple of deep breaths before speaking. "Mr. Stanton, I think it would be a pleasure to get to know you a little more. You seem like a very young and sophisticated man."

Dean attempted to free his hand from the cuffs, but it was no use. "Yes, you are true on both parts, but we are not allowed to share such private information with convicts such as yourself; or anyone in the workforce."

The inmate cocked his head to the side. "But you share it with your co-workers."

"They are my friends," Dean said with authority.

"The depression sure has settled down here in America, hasn't it?"

Dean silently agreed whilst playing with the cuffs. "Yes, everyone knows that."

"Tell me, what do you think about our world? What is your philosophy on life?"

Dean thought for a moment, but nothing really came to mind. It was blank space.

"It's a stupid, cold hearted bastard. That is what the world is…Dean."

Dean shuddered. He shouted at the prisoner. "Don't call me that!"

"It's a free country, Dean! I can call you whatever I want; just like I call Mr. Howell, Brutus, and Mr. Edgecomb, Paul. But back onto the subject, life sucks…and that's how it is. Wouldn't you like to change that, change the world, fight for what you believe in?"

Dean shook his head and laughed. "What are you trying to get at Freddie?"

The inmate scratched his head. "You closed your accounts, yet you are still worried about your money; I can see it in your eyes. You are overly tired, the redness accompanies the worry. Your hair isn't as neat as it was before, and there are specs of dirt on your uniform. Not to mention that it is only eleven o clock, meaning that you didn't wash it the night before." There was an awkward pause, before Freddie finally broke the silence. His voice carried throughout the corridor. "You are filthy, and I'm sure you are tired of it; along with the rest of the world. But now it is time to change that filth, it is time to change you. It's what you want and everyone else wants. Be who you want to be, don't let others push you around. You want to know why?"

"Why?" Dean challenged.

Freddie sported a menacing expression. "Because I believe in you, and I believe in the best of your ability. Don't be scared of this cruel world; it's a bully. Fight for what you believe in, no matter what situation. That way, you will be recognized, and people will treat you with more respect. The Earth is just a bully, but only you alone can stand up to that. I want you to think about that Dean…I want you to think about that real hard." The inmate waved the magic key, and removed the handcuffs from Dean's wrist. "I'm done talking. Thank you for listening attentively. But let me tell you one more thing."

"Yeah," Dean responded while rubbing his wrist. He detached the cuffs from the metal bars.

"They are going to find you, and rip you apart."

"Who is?"

But Freddie didn't answer the question. Instead, he casually walked back towards his thin bed, and lay down facing the wall. Dean could hear strong footsteps pacing through the hallways. He hurried to his feet, turning to look, finding both Paul and Brutus meeting at the main desk. Dean ran towards the two men, slowing down as he drew closer.

Paul scanned Dean from head to toe. He noticed Dean feeling his wrist occasionally. Paul raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright, son? Your wrist is raw."

Dean shook his head. "My wrist is alright, boss."

Dean couldn't believe it; he didn't say a word about Freddie's lecture, and how he had handcuffed him to the cell bars. He didn't talk about their struggles, or the pain he was dealing with; he was silently defending the inmate. The guards were unaware of the commotion that took place ten minutes ago. Paul turned his back, blocking Dean, most likely talking private matters with Brutal. Dean was the baby of the family, the newcomer. He had worked at the mile for a little over five years, but to them, he was still the baby, and sometimes the unreliable one. He's proved himself before, but he never got much say in anything considering that Harry, Brutus and Paul were his superiors.

Paul peered over his shoulder. "Is there a problem, Dean?"

"No sir," he replied hastily.

"A light needs to be replaced in the office, could you go fix that, please?"

Dean acknowledged. He had no choice but to follow orders; it wasn't all right. They were a team, family, wasn't that true? Maybe Freddie was right, maybe he should stand up to this hard, cruel world and fight for what he really stands for. Dean no longer wished to be pushed around; it was time for him to become a part of the conversation.

Freddie sat politely inside his cell, singing a tune. He wasn't a great singer, which angered the guards; for their ears were bleeding because of it. Twice a day, they would tell him to either hum, or speak the words; a singing career wasn't worth it. It had been a day since Dean's interaction with Freddie, and none of the guards were anywhere in sight. They had gone into rehearsal for Winnie's execution. While they were away with Toot, the imaginative trustee, Freddie decided that there would finally be a little one on one interaction with the other convicts. Alex and Winnie never talked; it seemed like they needed some company; especially Winnie, who was to die in a couple of hours.

"Winnie," Freddie whispered. Winnie was in the cell across from him, staring at the wall blankly. He gracefully turned his head to find his neighbour pointing a finger at him. "Winnie!"

Winnie bit his cheek. "What do you want, loser?"

Freddie placed a hand on his chest; his mouth was in the shape of an 'o'. "I'm offended."

"Don't sound so sarcastic," Winnie replied.

"Oh come one now. I just want to talk."

Winnie rubbed his forehead. "And lecture me like you did to Mr. Stanton. I don't think so."

Winnie was in the middle of turning his back towards Freddie, but a quick question from the other prisoner stopped him from doing so. "What did it taste like?"

Winnie glanced over his shoulder, confused. "What?"

Freddie clutched onto the bars. His hands wrapped firmly around the metal. "I said, what did it taste like? You are convicted of murder, and cannibalism. What did brains feel like? Warm?"

"How did you know that?"

"Tell me Winnie, are you sorry for what you did?"

Winnie frowned. "Of course I'm sorry. I'm on Death Row for god sakes."

"Did it feel good to kill them? Did it feel good to eat them?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Winnie. "It felt absolutely great!"

Freddie locked his eyes with Winnie. He stared deep into his soul; like he was sucking the life right out of him. "Then why are you sorry?"

Winnie was speechless. What was he supposed to say?

Freddie continued, "If it felt so good, why are you sorry?" He took another breath, "If you can answer that question Winnie, then you are truly sorry for what you did. Let me tell you from my standpoint."

"Enlighten me!" Winnie yelled, wakening Alex from his constant slumber.

Freddie slightly tilted his head. "I'm not sorry for what I did. In my point of view, those sixty plus people had it coming. The world didn't need crazy activists like them; not when the world was still recovering from the war." He ascended, still clutching the bars, banging his head against them. "But I'm not sorry, because it made me feel good. How can a drug addict stop? He can't. Not when he feels good as he does it; so why stop? There is a saying I go by: if you are going to die, die by doing something you love. Don't you agree?"

Winnie bit his tongue, agreeing with his point of view.

"Are you afraid of dying?" Freddie hurled the question.

Alex's voice echoed. "Stop it, Freddie."

Winnie ignored Alex, "I am, just like everybody else. And I am dying because of something I did."

"No," Freddie shook his head, and stalked around the cell. "You committed the crime, but you are dying as punishment for your actions; you are sorry. If I was shot on the spot at the massive suicide I took part in, I would have died knowing that I died by something I loved. In your case, you are dying because you are sorry."

Winnie clenched his fists; his knuckles turned white. "Fuck you," he cried.

Freddie laughed as he continued to speak, "If you can prove me wrong, then do so! You know that I am right!"

"Fuck you!"

Alex raised his voice. "Leave him the fuck alone, man!"

Alex received a heart piercing glare from Freddie instead; it felt like he was being stabbed with a dagger. He drew back in fear. He was afraid; even when he was protected behind bars.

The lights above started to flicker as the controversy heightened.

"Do you want to die, Winnie?" Freddie screamed.

"NO!"

"Then find a way not to die!" Freddie lowered his tone of voice; he became calm and collective once again.

Winnie clenched his jaw. "The only way is to get out of this hell hole."

Freddie winked. "You die in two hours. Only two guards will come back to greet you in ten minutes. Boss Howell and Terwilliger will still be accompanying the electric chair. That just leaves boss Edgecomb, and Stanton."

Winnie shook his head. "I cannot do that. I wouldn't get very far."

Freddie disapproved. "Ten minutes is a long time."

Suddenly, a long key was thrown across the mile, sliding perfectly under Winnie's cell; it lightly touched the tip of his toes.

Freddie placed his hands upon his hips. "It's up to you."

Winnie raised an eyebrow.

Freddie answered the question that was playing in Winnie's mind. "The guards walk past me every day and night, and yet cannot feel their items being stolen from their pockets."

"That's where you got the handcuffs," Alex murmured under his breath.

"Hurry," Freddie started, "Ten minutes is a long time, but can pass quickly."

Quick as a flash, Winnie got up and wrapped his right arm around the bars, finding the key hole. He placed the key firmly inside, and slowly unlocked the door. Like a serpent, he slid from the opened cell, and crawled down the green linoleum. Once he reached the main desk, he glanced both ways, making sure the guards weren't coming out from the execution room. He examined the door on the other side; it wouldn't be long before they returned. Winnie gazed upon the desk, and observed a gun. He snatched it, placed it behind the back of his trousers; and exited the prison with a BANG!

The guards on E block heard the sound clear as a whistle; they stared at each other for a couple of seconds. They had almost finished cleaning, and putting up chairs in the execution room; and the many people ready to witness the convict in the electric chair would be at the prison in less than two hours. They waited a moment until all was quiet, too quiet. Without another thought, the four guards quickly hustled from the execution room, and sprinted into the mile. Paul's first instinct was to check the prisoners. See if there was any confrontation between them; or if one of them was hurting themselves because of the constant strain they were under. Paul peeked into the first cell; Alex was quiet as a mouse; yet attentive. Paul continued to run down the Green Mile, and found one of the inmates screaming at the top of his lungs. "Boss, boss, he couldn't handle it!" Paul snatched his baton from its holster and hit the bars.

"Jesus," Paul started. "What in Christ's name are you yelling about?"

"Paul!" Brutal shouted from the other side of the room. His voice echoed.

"What?" he glanced over at his three coworkers who were now a whiter shade of pale.

"The gun is gone."

Paul focused back onto Freddie, who was pointing over Paul's shoulder. "Boss, he's gone! He's gone!"

Paul shifted his body 180 degrees, and stared in absolute horror; staring into an empty cell. He slowly looked down at his feet, only to find a key on the floor. Paul had never sprinted so hard in his life. He ran to the steel door, where Winnie exited, and fiercely opened it.

Harry spoke, "Paul, what's wrong?"

Paul bolted out of the prison; the other guards didn't question. Instead, they followed; all pulling their revolvers from their belts. All four guards looked around the prison yard in the dark. There was no sight of the escapee.

The sound of a gunshot was heard. The four guards twisted their heads in several directions, trying to figure out where the shot had been fired. Paul peered at a spotlight; which was now placed into one position. He drew towards the light; the others quickly trailed behind. As they turned the corner, they found an empty area in the yard by a barbed wire fence. And just below the fence, there was a silhouette. The guards had their guns raised above their heads. As they drew closer and closer towards the figure, their eyes widened as they observed a body, crumpled onto the gravel; not moving. They didn't say much; they just stared at the body.

Finally, Dean broke the silence. "Oh, shit."

Winnie didn't get very far that night. He had beaten the main security, but couldn't stand up to the fence; it was more than ten feet high. At the top were razor sharp barbs that could cut a man's hand to scraps. As he climbed the fence, the light of doom had spotted him; and in less than two seconds, a sniper attacked Winnie from behind. He died instantly, and hit the hard ground with a large THUMP! He died an hour before his execution; and they all knew that both the witnesses and the Warden would not be pleased.

On the inside, Alex collapsed leaning against the bars, weeping. Both Freddie and Alex heard the piercing gunshot, and knew that Winnie was dead. Alex was shocked at first, but then realized that a close friend of his was killed in an instant; life can be so cruel. Freddie was the exact opposite; he was pleased with himself. His back was against the wall in proper stature, and he stared down at poor Alex; who was new to the world of life and death. He had a different perspective on how one's decisions can affect an individual's fate. If Winnie wouldn't have attempted the escape, he would have died peacefully. Alex glanced upwards, growling at Freddie from under his breath; Freddie could hear the other prisoner loud and clear.

"What?" Freddie started, "I'm just doing what I love, and I'm not sorry about it."

Just then, Freddie pulled a cigarette and a lighter from under his pillow. He placed the cigarette into his mouth, and lit it. He inhaled and exhaled the drug slowly, "Now you are the first to know Alex."

Alex breathed quickly. Tears strode down his face, he couldn't help it. It was too much all at once.

Freddie stared at Alex with a disinterested expression; not one emotion withdrew from his face. It scared Alex, it scared him good. "Alexander, now you know just how dangerous I can be."

Chapter five is next...