AN: Here is Chapter two. If you haven't already noticed, basically this Fanfiction is dedicated to the guards. John Coffey won't be in this...maybe later in the story; but this is a story based on the guard's everyday lives. Maybe their lives aren't as boring as we think they are. Please read, review and enjoy!

Chapter two: The Night Shift

It was around midnight, and Brutal and the young floater were busy playing a game of cards; eating corned beef sandwiches and a bag of crackers. Again, it was a long and boring night; the inmates would never talk or do much in their cells. It had been ages since Brutus had used his size against another; or threatened another man; co-worker or convict alike. In other words, he wanted some excitement to happen in E block. He had read the notes Paul had left him, explaining that they would be getting another prisoner that night. The floater hadn't been much better; he wasn't a big talker himself. Just an ordinary guy from "A" block; that didn't know much about Death Row the way Brutus did. Brutus had been working on the Green Mile for almost as long as Paul, and had seen almost anything and everything. Although something new would come along and amuse the poor man.

Brutal had taken a look at the questionnaires, and he agreed with Harry. It was complete and utter bullshit. Maybe instead of filling out bubble sheets, the least the prison could do is walk over and see the situation with their very own eyes. It was boring there for the last month. What else were the guards supposed to say? Brutal skimmed the rules and regulations. He rolled his eyes at the paper several times. The officer squinted at the first question:

Has paperwork been filled out the last month?

Yes

No

Not sure

I never fill out the paperwork

He was tempted to pick "d". Brutal licked the tip of the pencil in his hand, and circled "a". For the next half an hour, Brutal went through the excruciating pain of the booklet. Afterwards, he tossed the book aside and threw the pencil over his shoulder; angered at what the Warden forced him to accomplish along with his co-workers. They weren't doing a checkup. It was obvious what the test was for. They were going to lay off workers, and like Harry stated, in a hard economic crisis, losing your job would be one of the worst feelings ever. Brutal knew about the harsh reality of life; he had seen people kill themselves over a situation like that.

Brutal grabbed the other two questionnaires, along with a chair, and carried everything over to the first cell. He knocked the bars loudly with his baton. "Hey, Alex, wake up for a minute." Brutal stood his ground, and knocked his baton against the cell again, hoping to wake the convict up; but he was dead asleep. Brutal really didn't feel like opening the door, and giving the man a beating. Dumping a bucket of ice cold water on him would be another option. There was no such thing as hot water on Cold Mountain, so cold water was the only water supply that they could afford; lucky him. "Alexander, wake up!" Brutus exclaimed, but it was no use. The man was caught in a deep sleep, and the questionnaire had to be completed in the morning. Suddenly, a small knock was heard behind him. Brutus shifted his body around, and noticed the other inmate, Winnie, wide awake, and peeking his head through the bars.

"He's a deep sleeper," Winnie pointed out the obvious.

"Well, no shit Sherlock." Brutal moaned.

"What are you doing boss Howell?" Winnie questioned.

Brutal raised both his eyebrows, and placed the chair in front of Winnie's cell. "I guess I'll start with you now." The officer made himself comfortable in the middle of the hall; he stared into the soul of the prisoner. "We have to fill out a questionnaire for all our sakes. I was going to start out with sleeping beauty, but obviously I'm too busy to waste my time. You ready?"

"Yes boss."

"Gooood," Brutal said with a sleek smile.

And so he continued with the questionnaire. Forty five minutes had passed, and they were still moving slowly. Out of the twenty pages, only five were completed. There were quite a few "Yes" answers coming from Harry; which made Brutus question himself. A question such as, "Are the guards treating you with upmost respect, and sympathy?" "Yes" was Winnie's answer, but that was their jobs. They had to keep the prisoners calm by talking. They had to use their brains, and not entirely their brawn. There were other questions that meant nothing towards the occupation at hand; it drove both Brutus and Winnie mad. Brutal could see the look in Winnie's eyes; he was getting irritated, and was constantly wondering when the pain and suffering of this questionnaire would end.

"You know what?" Brutal started, tossing the pencil aside. "Fuck this questionnaire." The guard firmly gripped the booklet, and ripped it in half. He continued to do so until there was nothing left. Once letting out his frustrations, he clumped the tiny fragments of paper together in his fist, and exhaled. Several papers soared into the air, and scattered amongst the mile. "I'm going to go insane if we keep this up. If they like me enough they will keep me."

Winnie nodded. "You are a very good man boss Howell, they will keep you. They'll keep all of you. You treat us well, where no one else would; and you keep both Alex and I company every day when we've got nobody else. I know I ain't much of a talker, but I don't have much time boss. I'm dead in three days."

Brutal couldn't help but smile. "Thanks for your support Winnie, but trust me, we aren't that perfect either. I'm bored out of my mind, and Mr. Floater over there isn't much help in keeping me occupied. Let's say…would you like to play a game of cribbage?"

"What's that?" Winnie questioned.

"You shitting me, it's a card game. The best two handed one too. I just know that you'd love it. You seem like the guy who likes to play a game of cribbage." Brutus snatched a deck of cards beside his feet, and began shuffling them. "I'll teach you how to play."

"Okay," the prisoner complied.

"So first, there is the Draw, Shuffle and Cut. From a shuffled pack face down, each player cuts a card, leaving at least four cards at either end of the pack. If both players cut cards of the same rank, each draws again. The player with the lower card deals the first hand. Thereafter, the turn to deal alternates between the two players, except that the loser of the game deals first if another game is played. The dealer has the right to shuffle last, and he presents the cards to the non-dealer for the cut prior to the deal. (In some games, there is no cut at this time.) Then there is the Deal. The dealer distributes six cards face down to his opponent and himself, beginning with the opponent. Oh, I almost forgot, the object of the game is to be the first player to score 121 points. Players earn points during play and for making various card combinations. Now, each player looks at his six cards and "lays away" two of them face down to reduce the hand to four. The four cards laid away together constitute "the crib". The crib belongs to the dealer, but these cards are not exposed or used until after the hands have been played. After the crib is laid away, the non-dealer cuts the pack. The dealer turns up the top card of the lower packet and places it face up on top of the pack. This card is the "starter." If the starter is a jack, it is called "His Heels," and the dealer pegs or scores 2 points at once. The starter is not used in the play phase of Cribbage, but is used later for making various card combinations that score points. After the starter is turned, the non-dealer lays one of his cards face up on the table. The dealer similarly exposes a card, then non-dealer again, and so on - the hands are exposed card by card, alternately except for a "Go." Each player keeps his cards separate from those of his opponent. As each person plays, he announces a running total of pips reached by the addition of the last card to all those previously played. For example: The non-dealer begins with a four, saying "Four." The dealer plays a nine, saying "Thirteen". The kings, queens and jacks count 10 each; every other card counts its pip value; the ace counts as one." There was a long pause of silence, before Brutal spoke again. "Did you get all of that?"

Winnie nodded. "I think so."

Brutus waved a hand towards the desk, in which another guard was quietly working. He tried to get the young man's attention, "Might as well get the floater in on it too." Brutal whistled sharp, causing the guard to look up, and stare at Brutus. "Hey, floater, come and join us!"

The guard shook his head.

Brutus scoffed. "No?" he paused, and then spoke his mind, "Bastard." Brutal turned his attention back towards Winnie, "Looks like it is just you and me then."

The game of cribbage had ended about an hour and a half later, and Brutal had to admit that he really enjoyed himself. After their game, a little chit chat came into play. Brutal was never an expressive man, but when he had a little one on one with another human being, you got to know the individual a little bit more closely. According to the guard, there was nothing too impressive about him; just a single man trying to make a living out in the country side. And for Winnie, besides his cannibalistic nature and sense of murder, he was an interesting man. The dark side of life was cruel, and the events that occurred in the prisoner's lives, were the main cause of the crimes they committed. However, they still did wrong, and they still were murderers; they deserved to fry, but might as well make their last moments worth it.

Brutal glanced over to his left, staring at the restraint room; they haven't had much use of it. As long as the new prisoner wasn't a crazy block head, the restraint room wouldn't be needed for another few months or so; maybe even a year. Brutus glanced back at Winnie, who obviously needed sleep. He rose from his chair, and glanced around the mile; he noticed all of the clutter around the prison; chairs, desks, and other stuff that could be put away somewhere; and Brutal needed something to do. First, he started with a simple chair, and placed it inside the padded room; he continued to do so with the other chaos that was hoarding the mile.

Brutal was done at approximately five in the morning. The place was cleaner than it had ever been before; or as long as he could remember. He and the floater were playing their game of cribbage, eating their sandwiches and other assortments of food as they carefully placed their cards amongst the table top. They didn't talk much. Brutal couldn't wait for his shift to be over. He'd have the day off at noon, and would return to a morning shift; which was a good change for once. Then, there were the dreaded questionnaires. He had completed two out of the three; the third he shredded to pieces; making the excuse that one of the prisoners refused to take the test. He was a gentle giant, but when it came to unnecessary things, he didn't have the time or patience for it. He wrote random answers inside his test to make himself look good – like everybody else – and forged Alex's test. Brutal placed the last booklet inside the nearest garbage bin; the Warden would understand.

Brutus eyed the clock above the desk. Time passed fairly quickly; it was six thirty. Paul would be arriving soon, along with Dean, Harry and the new prisoner. Home wasn't too far around the corner. Brutal rose from his chair, and headed towards the mile's office. He went inside, and snatched the questionnaires from the desk. He placed them into Harry's folder; making sure that it was neat and organized. Brutal was convinced that Harry had OCD. He wanted everything in alphabetical order, organized, and he did the same tasks over and over again in a repeated pattern that he just couldn't break. It was the same for Brutus and his pencil licking. He was sure that one day he would die from lead poisoning.

Brutal gently closed the door to the office, and headed through the hallway. He noticed that it was unnaturally dirty. Along with habits, Brutal liked everything exceptionally clean; he was a perfectionist you could say. He would have to get the floor spit shined before he could go home; it was just another thing on his plate. Brutus continued down the hallway, and he noticed that he was becoming tired. He shifted to the right slightly, his shoulder brushing against the brick wall. He heard a tear, but ignored the strange noise. Once Brutus reached the desk, he tossed the folder aside, and took a sharp look at the floater.

"Your shift is over, you can go home." Brutus said to the young officer, softly.

The floater gawked at Brutal. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks for all of your help. You did great with the paperwork, and we should play cards again some time."

The young officer grinned as he stood up, and grabbed all of his belongings. Brutal nodded his head towards the door, gesturing that the boy should get going before Brutal changed his mind about letting him go home ten minutes early. Once the floater was out of sight, Brutus leaned the back of his body against the desk, and he stared down the mile. He swore that he could hear crickets through the tiling. The inmates didn't make a sound; they were fast asleep.

Brutal spent another five minutes in peace, until he suddenly felt something wet running down his leg. He could feel the wetness against his ankle, and strolling over his black shoe. Brutus glanced downwards, and noticed a small pool of blood lacing around his right foot. He bent over, and examined his leg further. He obtained a large cut almost two inches in length, and half an inch deep. It bled with no mercy; however Brutus did not panic, he simply grabbed the handkerchief from the back of his pocket, and dabbed it against his leg; the hanky collecting blood quicker than expected. Brutus casually walked towards the washroom, and once reaching the sink, placed the handkerchief under the water; rinsing it thoroughly before placing it back onto his wound. He must have snagged it on something when he leaned against the wall earlier. The cut was large in length, but did not need stitching. Brutal sat inside the bathroom, leaning his back against the brick wall on the ground, waiting for the blood to clot.

There was a large clang heard as Paul entered the mile. He greeted an empty desk, and an extremely quiet prison. No guard was heard nor seen. He knew that the floater had left an hour or so ago, but Brutal was nowhere in sight; Paul guessed that he was either inside the washroom or in the office; either way, he'd be back soon. Paul sauntered further, and noticed that the mile was cleaner than usual; most of the extra and unnecessary furniture was missing. He had wondered where it had all mysteriously gone to. He stalked around the desk, and stepped onto something wet. He gazed downwards, and noticed a pool of blood on the floor. Did something happen last night?

Paul looked around the prison; discovering a long, thin trail of blood. He saw a few small spots that accompanied the sides of the trail. Paul followed it carefully, and noticed that the evidence lead to the bathroom door. Once he reached the door, he knocked lightly.

The body inside heard the knock loud and clear. "Paul?"

Paul took a quick breath. "Brute, are you alright in there?"

Brutal replied calmly, "Yeah, I'm fine. You can come in you know."

Paul slowly pulled open the bathroom door. He was hoping to find Brutal with a bloody nose or something, but instead found him on the floor; with his back against the wall. There was a bloody handkerchief against his ankle. Brutus dabbed at it every so often, for the wound started to clot. Paul noticed that he was a little pale. "Are you alright Brutal?"

Brutus nodded, and slightly smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine," he continued to dab at the wound. "I cut my ankle on something ten minutes ago. It's starting to clot. It doesn't need stitching, but I'll put a little something on it tomorrow." He explained softly. "When is the prisoner showing up?"

Paul raised an eyebrow. "About an hour…Harry and Dean still have to arrive."

Brutal stood up. He winced slightly; as the wound stung too much for his taste. He turned the tap on the sink, and placed the handkerchief back under the water, squeezing the blood from the cloth.

"Did you finish the assignment?" Paul suddenly questioned.

Brutal nodded. "I finished mine, and Alex finished his. Winnie refused to answer anything, and ripped the booklet to shreds." He was lying, and Paul was well aware of it. He wasn't the greatest liar in the whole wide world, but Paul had known Brutus for years, and a small perk would always show. In this case, Brutal tended to furrow his eyebrows after he lied; however, Paul didn't mention anything about it. He figured that Brutus ripped the booklet to bits, and forged Alex's test. Brutus probably completed his questionnaire with his eyes closed.

"What did you think?" Paul asked, leaning against the door.

Brutal shrugged. "It was a waste of time. That's all I can say about it." Brutus tossed his handkerchief into the garbage beside him. "Diseased…poor Harry, he's probably stressing over the situation like it was the end of the world." Brutal rolled down his pant leg. Paul took a small glimpse of the wound; it was a beauty.

The two guards exited the washroom. Brutal adjusted his uniform, making sure that everything looked flawless; such as wrinkles. Paul spoke, "Harry lost money in his bank account last week, a lot of it. Dean went and checked his account last night. He said that when he noticed that fifty dollars was taken, he quickly closed all of his accounts and ran with the money. It's a world crisis, and that's why the questionnaire was a serious test." Paul lifted the booklet above his head. "And yours is a piece of shit. I expected better from you."

Brutal chuckled. "Like I said boss, it was a waste of time. The Warden knows me. I've been here for years, along with you. Hal is most likely going to go to you for a reference on every worker on E block; you are our Supervisor. Trust me Paul. They did this to everyone at the prison."

Paul slowly lowered himself into the nearest chair, and pulled out his pocket watch. He glanced at the time. "Everyone wants to save money Brutus, and if they want to save money because there isn't much action here at E block, then they will do as they please."

Brutal shook his head. "It won't happen."

"Tell that to Dean and Harry when they get here. I'm sure you will lighten their spirits then."

"Yes boss."

Paul scanned Brutus from head to toe; he was still as white as a ghost. "I do agree with you Brutal, but we've already lived through a war. You and I were lucky enough to not have been involved with such things. You were sixteen, still in High School; and I was twenty two, taking care of my child. We were safe here in America, but in twenty plus years, another one could potentially occur. Let's hope not, alright?"

Brutal stood firmly with his hands behind his back, "Alright?"

"What did you cut yourself on?"

Brutus tilted his head slightly, "Must have snagged it on something. Didn't notice it till later, but I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Paul continued, "You are pale, and swaying from side to side."

Brutus frowned and held his breath, "I'm fine." He escalated his rough voice, causing Paul's eyes to widen, and shut the hell up.

Suddenly, both Dean and Harry entered the scene. Paul and Brutal were so deep in their conversation that they didn't notice the two bringing the prisoner inside the Green Mile. Paul quickly stood up, banging his knee against the table. Once he finally managed to get onto his feet, he met with the other three guards. He took a long glance at the prisoner before him. Again, he was an average sized man, nowhere near the height of him nor Brutus. Though this man was different…most men on death row were rough and ragged, it didn't matter what their personality traits were; the physical features were the most evident. The convict was slightly dirty, but clean shaven. He had incredible posture, and looked almost as if he was pleased to be on Death Row. He wasn't the stereotypical murder machine that E block had seen for years. The man was incredibly skinny, his lanky body wouldn't match any of the guards on E block; not even toot. He wore his prisoner's uniform like everybody else. The man obtained piercing silver eyes, and bright blonde hair; brighter than Brutus'. His hair was slicked back, and the majority of his face was so sharp that you could cut yourself just by touching; the cheekbones especially. Paul felt something strange. The prisoner stared into his eyes, causing a shiver to roll down Paul's spine. It was as if a ghost had walked right through him. He didn't know what it was, or why, but there was something mysterious about the offender. He'd have to check his case file after his declaration regarding the rules and regulations to the prisoner.

"Follow me," Paul said with an aggressive tone. He, the prisoner, along with the rest of the guards slowly made their way towards the end of the mile. As they strode by, both Paul and the new inmate noticed the other two prisoners; Winnie and Alex. They were curious; their faces smothered within the bars of their cage. Once the guards reached the end of the mile, Dean took snatched the keys attached to his belt, and opened the rusty cell. The prisoner did not fight, nor did he hesitate to go inside. As he brushed past the boss, he offered a smile of gratitude; neither something Paul nor any of the other guards were willing to accept at the moment. Paul entered after, Harry trailing behind with the keys for the cuffs.

Paul raised his voice, "My name is Paul Edgecomb. People around here call me "boss"; and that's what I want you to call me."

The convict nodded.

Paul huffed. "If you need anything, you can call either boss Howell, boss Stanton, or boss Terwilliger. Either one of us will be on shift day and night…" Paul trailed off; he saw the man's eyes shine bright again, and stare back into his soul. Paul ignored the action and took another breath. "Can you talk? What's your name?"

The new convict blinked twice, and looked to the side. His voice was light, calm and collective; you wouldn't have known that he had committed a crime. He never fit the profile; at least not back then. "My name is Frederick Schnaps. And I know you like to give people nicknames; I've heard the stories and the rumours. Please, call me Freddie." He paused and stared at the guards for a moment or two before continuing the rest of his statement with his arms stretched outwards. "Now, I've had these on me all morning. Can you please take them off?" Freddie turned his attention towards Harry, ready with the keys.

None of them could believe it. The man was calm and courteous. He wasn't wild like all of the others; and there was no need to punish or beat him from what they could see in their perspectives. All of the guards were curious to see his profile; and the crimes that he had committed.

Paul nudged Harry, who fumbled with the keys. "Mr. Terwilliger is going to take your cuffs off now. If you try anything, we will shoot you."

Freddie acknowledged Paul's threat.

Harry squeezed his way between Paul and prisoner. He stood before the convict, and released the chains from his wrists and ankles. Once finished, he rose to his feet, and left the cell, waiting for the others. Paul took one last look at the new inmate before leaving the enclosed area. When no one but Freddie was left inside, Dean quickly closed and locked the cell tightly. The guards all left, casually walking towards the office. They were all ready to analyze Freddie's profile, and learn the truth about the man they were going to execute.

Chapter three is next...