Sorry for posting such a depressing chapter this close to the holidays :P
The weather has been nasty all weekend, so I have been able sit inside and write all day long, watching the movie again :D (specially Brutus punching Percy, I probably love that scene more than I should...) Feels good to have it out of my system, the next couple of chapters won't be so grim, I promise :P

Thank you for the fav, the follows and the wonderful reviewes and PM's!

Merry Christmas, everyone :)


Chapter 28 – A horrible death

The hands on the clock in the infirmary ticked past half past ten, then a quarter to eleven, but there were still no signs of any guards from E-block. Alice was sound asleep, so Ellie moved her chair back, so she had a clear view of the entrance, but the door kept shut and locked. The feeling of unease intensified every minute; like a stone nagging in her shoe and she wasn't able to shake it of.

She shouldn't be worried. The execution was probably delayed. Perhaps one of the witnesses had caused a scene – or Delacroix. Perhaps Percy had gotten cold feet, so one of the other guards had to take his place (was it wrong to hope?). Or perhaps the generator had died – the thunderstorm had been quite intense around ten o'clock and had only just now started to wear of.

So why this horrible feeling? Ellie glared at the clock: Five minutes to eleven. Brutus should have been here by now…

The guard who had the night duty didn't seem quite as concerned though when she told him about it:

"I'm sure everything's all right, miss. The weather had probably caused 'em some trouble."

But when Ellie finally got him to call E-block from the infirmary's office, no one answered. The guard frowned slightly.

"Probably just the weather…" he repeated murmuring and tried again. Nothing.

"I have to go back," Ellie said worryingly, when a thought crossed her mind and made her stomach twist unpleasantly: What if something had happened to Brutus? What if he had stood between Delacroix and a vindictive witness?

If he was hurt, he would have been here… she tried calming herself down, but now the thought had clawed her mind, it was impossible to ignore. Brutus was so unbelievable stubborn – he would probably refuse to go see a doctor, even if he was stabbed half to death.

After another unsuccessful call to E-block, the guard gave up and walked with her to the other end of the prison. It was still raining, but the storm had run out of steam and the claps were fewer.

The big, grey building with the painted E on the front lay still and dark in the rain, but the unusual darkness didn't worry Ellie, until the guard locked them in and the first step on the green linoleum crunched underneath their feet.

Both Ellie and the guard stopped dead, puzzled. The floor was strewn with pieces of glass all the way down the Mile. And there was something else, too: A faint smell that brought Ellie back to the burn unit at the hospital.

"What the…!" the infirmary guard began and looked up at the ceiling, where half of the lamps rested in darkness. "What's going on here?"

"We had ourselves a little barbecue!" Wharton giggled from his cell. "Fried that little French faggot long and good. Can'ya smell it? Stinky, pinky, phew-phew-phew!"

"Shut up, boy," the guard growled, but Ellie didn't have time to Wharton's sick amusement. The smell of burned flesh had left a lump of nausea in her throat and she hurried past the abandoned desk and through Paul's office.

. "Wait, miss, I don't think…" the guard called after her, but she didn't listen. She ripped the door open and stepped into the pitchblack hallway behind the office. When she finally reached the execution room, she was nearly knocked over by the horrible, intensified smell of cocked flesh and hair and vomit.

The execution room looked like it had been ravaged by a herd of stampeding cattle: Van Hay and some of the floaters walked around among tumbled chairs and puddles of vomit, trying to clean up after whatever God awful thing that had happened during the execution. The doors at the back of the room had been flung open and the declining rain streaked the floor. The witnesses were all gone and there were no sign of any of the permanent guards.

Ellie swallowed her nausea and her nervousness spoke out loud, before she could stop herself: "Where's Brutus?"

Van Hay glanced up, looking more than ready to gag all over the floor. He tilted his head to the left.

"Down the tunnel," he said, very quietly, so he didn't have to open his mouth more than he had to. Ellie turned around and headed for the stairs, but hesitated on the top step. She hadn't been in the tunnel before; it was where the bodies were stored after the execution, until they were ready to be wheeled outside for the final ride to the morgue, a cold, damp place that no one, not even the guards visited unless they had to.

The tunnel was quiet, when she walked down. At first Ellie thought they might had left already, but then a voice exploded out of nowhere, causing her to freeze halfway down the steps.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

It was Paul's voice, but she had never heard him sound so angry. Ellie bent down, nearly hidden behind the curved ceiling. They were all there: Paul, Dean, Harry, Percy and (the knot in her stomach loosened) Brutus. And a sheet-covered body that Ellie assumed was Delacroix' maltreated body, resting on a gurney between Brutus and Percy. The white sheet could hide the body, but it couldn't conceal the horrible smell of burned flesh that hang in the air, thick and sticky like oil. Ellie had to fight back her nausea again.

Dear God, what has happened?

"Answer me, Percy, God dammit!" Paul exclaimed hoarsely, when Percy made no effort to speak up.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" Brutus asked in a quiet, cold voice. Ellie couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were tense and he clutched the edge of the gurney so hard his knuckles had turned white. "You left the sponge dry on purpose!"

Percy's Adam's apple bobbed up and down and Ellie reached out for the railing, when she finally realised what had happened.

"I didn't know the sponge was supposed to be wet," Percy whispered.

Brutus slugged him without warning.

It wasn't a clean punch – the gurney and Delacroix' covered body was in the way – and that was Percy's luck. If Brutus had been able to use his entire strength, he would doubtlessly have broken the boy's neck. But there was still enough force in his blow to knock Percy of his feet and Brutus lunged forward and grabbed him.

"Brutus, stop it!" Ellie exclaimed in aghast as Percy cowered and squealed like a pig at the slaughterhouse, while Brutus tried to haul him to his feet, so he could beat the life out of him. She and Paul rushed forward at the same time, but Paul was closer to the brawl: He tackled Brutus and shoved him aside, away from the terrified boy.

"No, Brutal – NO!" he shouted and his voice echoed through the tunnel. When Brutus tried to push him aside, Paul grabbed him by his uniform. "I said NO!"

"No?!" Brutus roared in anger. "What do you mean 'no'! How can you say no! YOU SAW WHAT HE DID! "

"Delacroix's dead!" Paul said harshly. "Nothing can change that and Percy's not worth it!"

"So he burns a man alive and now he just gets away with it?!" Brutus shouted back, his eyes bright and livid with rage. "Is that how it works?!"

Paul never got to answer. Someone came hurling down the stairs behind Ellie and everyone went quiet. Even Percy, who had his back pressed against the tunnel wall like a petrified dog and both hands clasped over his bleeding mouth, stopped whimpering.

Warden Moores was pale as a ghost, when he appeared in the tunnel. A thin layer of sweat on his forehead shimmered in the dirty light from the ceiling bulbs, as he stared at each one of his guards. Then he exclaimed, with a voice that trembled from the shock: "What in the blue fuck was that?!"

None of the guards were able to look him in the eyes, not even Brutus whose shoulders still rose and fell in step with his enraged breathing. He caught Ellie's eyes in a quick glance before looking away, both ashamed and agitated.

"Jesus Christ," Moores muttered hoarsely and ran a hand down his face. "There's puke all over the floor up there! And that smell…" He shook his head in disbelief, like he couldn't understand it himself. "I've got Van Hay to open both doors, but that smell won't go out for five damn years, that's what I'm betting!" He gestured up the stairs. "And that asshole Wharton's singing about it! You can hear him up there!"

"Can he carry a tune, Hal?" Paul asked quietly and his question was followed by such a massive silence, you could hear water dripping from the ceiling.

Moores white face twisted into a grimace and then he broke into a breathless snort of laughter. He rubbed his forehead.

"Okay boys, okay." His hand dropped. "Now, tell me: What in the hell happened?"

"An execution," Paul answered calmly. "A successful one."

Brutus glanced at his side, his jaw tensed, but he didn't say anything.

"How in the name of Christ," Moores said quietly and pointed upwards, "can you call that a success?"

Paul shrugged lightly. "Eduard Delacroix is dead," he said and turned to Percy; Ellie saw nothing but unveiled contempt in his eyes. "Isn't he?"

Percy, now with a handkerchief against his bruised lips, looked down. Moores turned his attention to him.

"Percy?" he said portentously gently. "Something so say?"

"I…" Percy mumbled. "I didn't know the sponge was supposed to be wet."

The warden's face hardened, like a lake freezing over in an ice cold winter. He stepped forward and Percy's head snapped up; next to Moores towering figure, he looked like a terrified, little kid.

"How many years you spend pissing on the toilet seat," Moores said coldly, "before somebody told you to put it up?"

Paul touched his arm, as if he was afraid the warden was going to start for Percy, like Brutus had done.

"Percy fucked up, Hal," Paul responded, surprisingly calm, on the boy's behalf. "Pure and simple."

Moores turned to him, looking rather disbelieving. "Is that your official position?"

"Don't you think it should be?" Paul asked him. He cocked his head towards Percy. "He'll be putting in a transfer request to Briar Ridge tomorrow. Moving on to bigger and better things. Isn't that right, Percy?"

Percy touched his pale, bloody lip with the tip of his tongue and nodded carefully.

oOo

With so much cleaning to do, before they could even think of going home, Ellie was sent upstairs to gather whatever she could find of cleaning implements. Halfway down the hallway she heard someone else walk up the stairs, but she didn't turn around to face him, until they were far away from anybody in Paul's office.

Brutus hesitated on the step between the hallway and the office, almost like he wasn't sure whether he was allowed to be close to her or not. His strapping frame took up most of the doorway, even though it looked like he just wanted to crumble in shame.

He cleared his throat. "I…" he began, but the rest of his apology was drowned in a sudden outburst from the Mile.

"Barbecuuuuue, me and youuuu!" Wharton sang at the top of his lung and Paul's question could be answered with a firmly 'no': The boy probably couldn't carry a tune if his life depended on it. "Stinky, pinky, phew-phew-pheeew!"

Brutus crossed the floor in three long strides and shut the door closed. Still with his hand on the door, he breathed in heavily and tried again:

"I'm sorry, about what happened down in the tunnel," he said in a very low voice. "It won't happen again, I promise."

His heart-melting guilt made Ellie's heart wrench more than it already did and she found herself forgetting all about her orders, as she closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his chest in a tight hug. Brutus returned the embrace without a word.

"You should have hit him harder," Ellie said and meant every word.

Brutus' muscles relaxed under her grip and he let out a half-hearted exhale of laughter.

"Yeah, well… my friends wouldn't let me."

"They don't want you to get into trouble," Ellie said quietly. "And neither will I, but he still had it coming. I don't understand how he could do such a despicable thing."

"We should never have let be out front in the first place," Brutus said grimly. "We all knew how much he despised Del."

"It's not your fault."

"No, maybe not…" he mumbled.

Ellie looked up at him.

"It's not," she repeated resolutely. "There's something wrong with that boy. But Paul is right: Delacroix is dead and there is nothing we can do to change that. You are just going to make it worse for yourself, if you try,"

Brutus touched her cheek with a small smile and held her close again. Then out of the blue, he said: "I know about Alice."

Ellie closed her eyes. God, Alice… She was still in the infirmary, hopefully asleep. This brutal event had nearly made Ellie forget all about her – and the transfer.

"Did Paul tell you?"

"I forced him to tell me. I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you, it's just… she deserved to know it first."

"I know," Brutus muttered softly and Ellie hugged him tighter, until 'clinging' was a better word to describe it. He stroked her hair and shifted his head, so he could kiss her temple. After a quiet moment, he continued: "I'm driving you to New Roads after this."

"But…"

"I am, Ellie," he said in a gentle, but firm voice.

Ellie wanted to protest – she should ask doctor Briscoe instead. If Brutus had to drive all the way to New Roads first, he wouldn't be home until late that night – but she couldn't. Caught up in his warm, secure embrace, she felt like a shipwrecked who had finally washed ashore after days at sea, now safe from the foaming waves that had threatened to drag her down. The thought of him leaving her was suddenly unbearable.