Chapter Seven: A Chance to Help
There wasn't much we could do after that. Harry was dead, we couldn't bring him back. It felt like a big hollow emptiness inside of each of us. Dean's wildness was restrained, Brutal didn't make so many jokes, and he finally let go of everything he had against Percy. I think Percy's pleading for Harry's life changed Brutal permanently. As for Percy himself, he was quieter, didn't talk as much, and was sort of numb. He couldn't reconcile the fact that John had been able to save him, and not Harry.
"He was twice the man I was," Percy said to me once. "But I was the one he could save."
I knew exactly how he felt. There was just a sense of defiled justice about the whole thing. Sure, Wharton was dead, but an innocent man had been killed, too. There was only Coffey left on the Mile now, but it was rumored we were getting another prisoner, Jacob Kingston, a few days before John's execution, which crept steadily closer.
We were on our second game of rummy in a night when I finally asked the question that was on everyone's minds.
"So what do we do now?"
Dean sighed. "There's nothing we can do. I mean, what is there? We can't bring Harry back to life- he's dead. And Wharton's burning in hell."
"Hope he has a special hot seat." Percy slammed his card on the table, causing a loud, echoing boom in the little alcove. Brutal nodded fiercely.
"Percy, that card doesn't even play," I observed.
He swore. "Never mind it. I can't keep my mind on anything for three minutes at a time. I'm out." Placing the rest of the cards on the table, he stood up and started pacing back and forth. It was then I noticed the cut at the nape of his neck, freshly made.
"What happened to your neck?"
He touched it gingerly. "A piece of glass attacked me. Last night."
"Glass ATTACKED you? How did it manage that?" Part of me was worried, and the other part was genuinely curious. It isn't often that your friends can get the back of their neck sliced open by glass.
"It had a little help," he admitted. "The window in front of the house is going to need a little bit of repairs now."
So. His father had come back again after all. At least this time Percy looked better, except for the cuts I could now see- standing out on his arms and one on his jaw.
"What are you two talking about?" Brutal asked irritably.
"Percy getting shoved through a picture window," I answered without thinking, then flushed. I wasn't sure Percy wanted anyone to know about that. I shot him an embarrassed look.
He shrugged. "By my father," he continued for me. "The sad thing is, I think he was pretty sober, too. He didn't walk crooked."
Brutal and Dean looked like someone had slapped them.
"A picture window?" Dean asked, aghast.
"By your father?" Brutal's face was glowing with anger.
"Unless he has a twin, which I don't think so."
Dean threw up his hands in disgust. "And no one has a problem with this? Everyone's okay with Percy getting beaten up? Everyone? Everyone? Paul? Did you know about this?"
"Yes."
"Why doesn't anyone tell ME anything?" he continued. "Brutal, did you know?"
"No."
"Okay, so there's two of us. Now why is Percy's father shoving his son through windows?"
"Because I knocked the knife out of his hand before he could use that like he did last time," Percy answered honestly.
"Last time? When was last time?" Brutal's jaw was hanging slack.
"The day after my sick day when I had that bruise."
"He cut Percy's chest from here to China," I put in, remembering in sickening detail the old and new scars that had covered him.
Dean was starting to recover. "How long has this been going on?"
Percy shrugged. "I don't remember exactly. My brothers took care of it when I was little, then my father stepped in when my mother got sick. I'd say since I was six- but there were sometimes long breaks in the middle, once I moved in with my aunt."
"Well, why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Why? They wouldn't be able to help."
"We can help," Brutal said firmly, and he actually put his hand on Percy's shoulder. "I think this is what everyone has been waiting for." He looked around. "It is, isn't it? A chance to help."
There wasn't much we could do after that. Harry was dead, we couldn't bring him back. It felt like a big hollow emptiness inside of each of us. Dean's wildness was restrained, Brutal didn't make so many jokes, and he finally let go of everything he had against Percy. I think Percy's pleading for Harry's life changed Brutal permanently. As for Percy himself, he was quieter, didn't talk as much, and was sort of numb. He couldn't reconcile the fact that John had been able to save him, and not Harry.
"He was twice the man I was," Percy said to me once. "But I was the one he could save."
I knew exactly how he felt. There was just a sense of defiled justice about the whole thing. Sure, Wharton was dead, but an innocent man had been killed, too. There was only Coffey left on the Mile now, but it was rumored we were getting another prisoner, Jacob Kingston, a few days before John's execution, which crept steadily closer.
We were on our second game of rummy in a night when I finally asked the question that was on everyone's minds.
"So what do we do now?"
Dean sighed. "There's nothing we can do. I mean, what is there? We can't bring Harry back to life- he's dead. And Wharton's burning in hell."
"Hope he has a special hot seat." Percy slammed his card on the table, causing a loud, echoing boom in the little alcove. Brutal nodded fiercely.
"Percy, that card doesn't even play," I observed.
He swore. "Never mind it. I can't keep my mind on anything for three minutes at a time. I'm out." Placing the rest of the cards on the table, he stood up and started pacing back and forth. It was then I noticed the cut at the nape of his neck, freshly made.
"What happened to your neck?"
He touched it gingerly. "A piece of glass attacked me. Last night."
"Glass ATTACKED you? How did it manage that?" Part of me was worried, and the other part was genuinely curious. It isn't often that your friends can get the back of their neck sliced open by glass.
"It had a little help," he admitted. "The window in front of the house is going to need a little bit of repairs now."
So. His father had come back again after all. At least this time Percy looked better, except for the cuts I could now see- standing out on his arms and one on his jaw.
"What are you two talking about?" Brutal asked irritably.
"Percy getting shoved through a picture window," I answered without thinking, then flushed. I wasn't sure Percy wanted anyone to know about that. I shot him an embarrassed look.
He shrugged. "By my father," he continued for me. "The sad thing is, I think he was pretty sober, too. He didn't walk crooked."
Brutal and Dean looked like someone had slapped them.
"A picture window?" Dean asked, aghast.
"By your father?" Brutal's face was glowing with anger.
"Unless he has a twin, which I don't think so."
Dean threw up his hands in disgust. "And no one has a problem with this? Everyone's okay with Percy getting beaten up? Everyone? Everyone? Paul? Did you know about this?"
"Yes."
"Why doesn't anyone tell ME anything?" he continued. "Brutal, did you know?"
"No."
"Okay, so there's two of us. Now why is Percy's father shoving his son through windows?"
"Because I knocked the knife out of his hand before he could use that like he did last time," Percy answered honestly.
"Last time? When was last time?" Brutal's jaw was hanging slack.
"The day after my sick day when I had that bruise."
"He cut Percy's chest from here to China," I put in, remembering in sickening detail the old and new scars that had covered him.
Dean was starting to recover. "How long has this been going on?"
Percy shrugged. "I don't remember exactly. My brothers took care of it when I was little, then my father stepped in when my mother got sick. I'd say since I was six- but there were sometimes long breaks in the middle, once I moved in with my aunt."
"Well, why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Why? They wouldn't be able to help."
"We can help," Brutal said firmly, and he actually put his hand on Percy's shoulder. "I think this is what everyone has been waiting for." He looked around. "It is, isn't it? A chance to help."