AN: R&R!

Playing With the Mind Part 2:

The guards returned in a haze; they didn't know what to do next. They were still trying to comprehend what had just occurred. A man practically committed suicide that night before his execution. It angered the guards, for how could they not have prevented such an action from happening? Harry and Brutal slowly marched past Alex. Harry noticed that his eyes were puffy and red; as if he was crying. They inspected Winnie's former cell; Brutal snatched the key from the floor. The guards were curious as to how on earth a simple key could have slipped from under their grasp, and into the hands of a cannibalistic murderer. Brutus scanned the environment surrounding him, and witnessed what Harry saw in Alex; he was fearful and distant, huddled by the cell bars, escaping from all reality. He focused his attention towards Freddie; who calmly returned a pained expression. The two prisoners knew that there would be an investigation, and that various questions would need answering; not just from the guards or reporters, but from the crime unit.

Paul casually stepped in Alex's direction, and knelt to his level. Brutal slid the magic key into Paul's hand. Paul elevated the key at eye level; he breathed deeply before speaking. "You know what this is?"

Alex replied, his voice dry and raspy. "Yeah, it's a key."

Paul wrinkled his nose. "And what does this key do?"

Alex hesitated to answer; hoping that he was providing the right answer. "It opens something."

"Like a door?"

Alex slowly nodded, while staring at the green linoleum.

"Alex, there is always a witness in a crime. This is a brutal offense. Now, can you tell me how on earth Winnie was able to get his hands on this key?"

Alex peered over Paul's shoulder, gawking at Freddie, who was staring creepily with his silver eyes. The two prisoners had made a pact. Winnie threw the first punch, they were just innocent bystanders told to shut up. As long as Freddie didn't get into serious trouble over the situation, then Alex would be protected from harm. In that case, Freddie would make sure that the mind's eye wouldn't overpower Alex like it did to Winnie. The mind is a powerful weapon, and Freddie knew that, that power should never go to waste.

Alex lied, "Winnie stole the key from you guys when you were not looking. It must have been another guard, because his back was foolishly close to his cell. He just reached out, snatched it, and hid it under his pillow case."

This was all too familiar with Dean.

Paul continued questioning, "Why didn't you tell any of us, if you saw it happen?"

Alex didn't know what to say; he was backed into a corner. Freddie decided to intervene. "I saw it too boss. The reason I didn't get you guys was because I wanted to teach you all a lesson." Freddie turned his head towards Dean; he shuddered. "Take good care of your stuff, because one day you may get stabbed in the back; or worse, shot."

Brutal took a hold of Paul's arm, and murmured into his closest ear. "So what are we going to do?"

Paul puckered his lips. "Well, the whole prison heard the shot. It isn't unlikely that Hal already knows."

"They'll want to do an investigation."

Harry grew worried; an investigation wasn't the most welcoming thing in the world. Especially if the human race knew that a prisoner was able to pick pocket a key when their backs were turned. Brutus saw the worry upon Harry's face; he accompanied him. "They will ask further questions to the inmates. If Freddie stays true to his word, and says that the mistake wasn't on our hands, then it will be a message directed to all guards. This isn't the first time something like this has happened on Cold Mountain prison; just not on the Green Mile."

Brutus' reassuring was enough to convince Harry that nobody's jobs were on the line; something like this was extremely rare. It was chaotic, and a constant freak show. Brutal saw Paul, and noticed that he wasn't worried in the slightest; which reassured Brutal himself. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Paul spoke, "Well, he's dead. And we carry on with our lives."

That night, Harry got an unexpected surprise; he was to work the night shift. In return, he would have all of Sunday off; the day of Paul's dinner invitation that he accepted long ago. He found himself at the desk, still shaken by the incident that occurred only a few hours ago. The investigators arrived earlier, questioning the Warden, the sniper who killed Winnie, and the prisoners on E block. It was a surprise that none of guards on the mile were questioned. Freddie stayed true to his word like Brutal said. It was three o' clock in the morning, and each minute did not pass quickly. He was alone on the mile; which was considered dangerous, but he doubted that anything out of the ordinary would occur. He was actually pleased that some excitement finally came back into their jobs. It was an adrenaline rush so powerful that his hands were still shaking. The death of Winnie was a cruel tragedy, yet he couldn't help, but smile.

After working long and hard on what he does best; paperwork, Harry decided to take a quick lunch break. He swiveled his body around, and grabbed his silver lunch box. He slammed it against the table. After opening the box, he withdrew a sandwich, fruits, vegetables and a small carton of milk. As he took a bite of his sandwich, he decided to peer at his personal paperwork. The crash was taking a toll on his bank statements, and if he didn't close his accounts soon, he could potentially be in debt. The crisis unnerved everyone in some sort of way. In Harry's case, he was extremely anxious. He bottled his emotions frequently, causing him to explode over the tiniest of situations. He scared his wife last night, and felt terrible afterwards. He'd been married for twenty five years, and snapping at his wife for something totally unrelated to his financial problems was unacceptable. He never raised a hand to the very woman he loved before; it was his first time. Harry never mentioned their financial crisis; it was the cherry on top. Harry convinced himself that he would tell his wife about their bank statements before dinner at Paul's, or else trust issues would ensue if she found out by surprise. Harry scanned his accounts, and nothing was getting any better; everything seemed to be getting worse. He licked his fingers before flipping the page, and discovered a family portrait of his wife and three daughters attached to the page with a paper clip. The picture was taken five years ago, and hasn't been updated since, but it was still the family that Harry loved and treasured to this day. Harry managed to walk all three of his girls down the aisle, and it still pained him to this day. He missed them. But he didn't fail at being a caring father and a loyal husband; he was proud of that.

Whistling was heard at the far end of the mile. Harry slowly removed the glasses from his face and gazed into the distance. He knew that Alex was in a deep slumber, so Freddie was the only one making unnecessary noise. He couldn't carry a tune whether his life depended on it. Harry was too tired and lazy to get up from the chair, "Shut the hell up, Freddie!"

Freddie stopped. "Boss, I need to talk to you."

Harry shook his head, "I'm not interested." He picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing on a piece of parchment.

Freddie was persistent. "No, I really need to talk to you."

"About what," questioned Harry. "What would you possibly need?"

"What crawled up your butt and died?" the inmate scowled.

"Sorry," Harry hesitantly apologized, "I'm having some issues right now."

Freddie took advantage of the situation. "What kind of issues?"

"Nothing of your concern, got it?" Harry placed a small mug in front, and poured alcohol into the glass. Drinking alcohol during working hours was an offense, but it had been a long and stressful day. He needed to drown his many sorrows as quickly as possible. Harry never drank, so the gin was probably over twenty years old.

Freddie pressed his face against the bars, seeing with his parallel vision, the alcohol. "Boss, can I have some?"

Harry took a swig and laughed aloud.

The prisoner continued, "It looks like you had a long and stressful day; with Winnie's death and all of your…bank problems."

Harry sat frozen in his chair, "How did you know about that?"

"I observed you well, and noticed that anytime somebody brought up the issue of finances, or even the possibility of losing your job, it worries you, and stresses you out. You need to learn how to relax. If you keep this up, you are going to die of a heart attack way before your fifties." Freddie admitted.

Harry angrily rose from the desk, and hurried to Freddie's cell. He stopped in front, and pointed a finger. "What do you know? Right now, you've got it easy. You are getting free food, health care, and you get a bed to sleep on every night until you die! Unlike you, I've got to fight for it."

Freddie shrugged, "It doesn't concern me, but it seems that you don't express your emotions often."

Harry nodded, and looked down at his feet. "I don't."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry didn't want to talk about it. In fact, he wanted to walk away, but he needed somebody to talk to. A murderer or not, the man was still willing to listen. Harry stayed firm in his position and started to speak about his private matters. It was against the rules, but Harry didn't care at this point; everything was going to shambles.

But in mid-sentence, he changed his mind. "No."

Freddie tilted his head upwards, staring at the ceiling. "I see that you are a married man."

Harry scratched his head in irritation. "Yes, I am a married man; twenty five years and counting."

Freddie raised both eyebrows. "Congratulations, and you have children?"

He shook his head up and down. "Yes, I have three girls. They are all married now."

Freddie smiled with satisfaction. "Boss, the way I see it you are very stressed and anxious. It's tearing you apart. I believe that it affects your family regardless of whether you are humble or not."

Harry clenched his fists. "Are you saying that I abuse them?"

Freddie shifted his eyes to the side. "Not particularly. You are a humble and gentle human being. I couldn't see you doing such a thing."

"Because I don't," Harry cut into the conversation.

"Do you love them?"

"What kind of god damn question is that? I love all my girls." Harry paused to catch his breath. "If I lost any of them, I wouldn't know what to do."

Freddie shot his arms into the air, and stretched. Was he mocking Harry? "I guess that is up to you." A shiver ran down Freddie's spine. "I sense that a bad aura is in the air."

Harry shook his head in disbelief, "Why am I talking to this guy?"

"The bank will swallow you whole. If that happens, don't take it out on your family." Freddie placed the tip of his fingers underneath his chin, focusing his attention back onto the brick wall.

The offender made Harry seem like an asshole, but that was not the case. Again, he was a humble and gentle human being. Like Brutal, he wouldn't dare hurt a fly; he just did his job. Every now and then, fights between him and his wife would occur over the strangest things. But they would forgive each other in the end. Many couples disagreed; it's what tests the relationship. Freddie said the weirdest things. Did he really sense that an unfortunate event would occur at the mile, in his life, or in the world? Harry didn't have a clue what the man was talking about in the slightest; to him, it was all garbage. Harry sighed, and slowly walked away from the cell; thinking about his family, and how he couldn't wait to go home, and caress his loving wife in his arms. As he left the scene, Freddie piped up again. Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Can I still have some of that drink?"

Harry glimpsed at the glass of alcohol clenched inside his fists; he thought to himself. He never drank, and he was doing so because of a bad day? It was a terrible habit that one may never break. He was disappointed and disgusted in himself for doing so. Harry nonchalantly made his way to the washroom, and dumped the remainder of the alcohol into the sink; he washed it away with water. When all was said and done, he threw the mug into the nearest trash container, and carried on with his work at the desk.

Paul remained at home, assisting his wife, who was preparing the feast for Sunday evening. The dinner was a gathering of friends and family; something that they seldom did, three times a year maybe. There was going to be at least thirteen people attending the dinner; and enough food to feed sixty individuals. Brutal, Harry, Mary, Dean, his wife Emily and two young children, Paul, Jan, his son, accompanied with his wife, and Hal and Melinda Moore. Paul's son was in town, running his own errands; while his wife was helping Paul and Jan around the house for the dinner. It was a barbeque more or less. Steak, lobster, potatoes, gravy, steamed vegetables, homemade soup and bread, fruit platters, and two apple pies were to be served. Paul wasn't sure whether or not there would be leftovers, but if there was, there would be enough to feed everyone at E block for at least a good week. The Edgecomb family was pleased with the result, and they were expecting guests at any moment.

Jan rubbed the back of her hand against Paul's shoulder; who was staring out of the kitchen window. "Honey, what are you thinking about?"

Paul fully buttoned his dress shirt to the collar, and wrapped a blue tie around his neck. It was going to be a dry and humid evening; he didn't want to dress too formal. Janice wore a beautiful blue sun dress with sunflowers sewn around the hem. She wore a sunhat over her blonde hair, and looked as beautiful as ever in Paul's eyes. He was a lucky man to be married to such a gorgeous woman; and some days, he wasn't able to comprehend it. "I'm thinking about the wonderful time that we are all going to have tonight."

Janice grinned, "I'm sure it will. Come along, we haven't finished."

A loud knock roared throughout the Edgecomb residence.

"I'll get it," Paul shouted as he burst to the door. He quickly opened it, and found Brutus with a small pot in his hands. He was wearing dress pants, and a green shirt accessorized with a black tie. He was sweating along the forehead; it was most likely a result from the constant heat. He bent forward, walking inside the large house; Paul was filled with glee.

"Hello Paul," Brutal greeted with a raspy voice. "Wonderful day, isn't it?"

"Sure is," Paul replied.

Brutal coughed slightly, "Where's your boy? I didn't see his truck on the dirt."

"Oh, he's in town running a couple of errands. His wife is here though." Paul stated as he tossed a thumb over his shoulder. "What's that?" He pointed at the pot in Brutal's hands.

Brutus gawked down at the pot, "Oh, cabbage rolls."

"Did you make them yourself?" Paul questioned jokingly.

Brutal chuckled. "A single man can cook, Paul." He coughed again as he followed Paul into the main kitchen area.

Paul spoke aloud, "Brutus is here."

Janice quickly spun on her heels, facing Brutus. She clamped her hands against his cheeks, and kissed both sides. "It's good to see you again," she smiled. Paul loved it when she smiled.

"Where should I put this?" Brutal asked.

Jan tucked in a lone strand of hair behind her ear. "Just place it on the counter. Now you boys go outside, and get the grill going."

And both Paul and Brutus did so. They shared a beer together as they huddled around the barbeque, cooking cow. The slabs of meat were marinated the night before with several herbs and spices that no man could resist. It smelt even more decadent while placed on the heated grill. The two boys stared into the wheat field, enjoying the skyline during its sunset. Once the dinner was complete, Paul planned on using the fire pit; this time, hoping that the flames wouldn't get out of hand. Brutal shared a long glance at Paul before speaking.

"What're you thinking about?"

"About work," Paul answered quickly.

Brutal raised an eyebrow, "You do know that we try not to talk about the mile after work hours." He took a swig of beer.

Paul nodded in agreement. "I agree. We can discuss it over a plate of leftovers tomorrow."

Brutus rubbed the side of his head, "So, how's your family?"

"Good," Paul started. "My boy just married."

"Yeah, I heard," Brutus commented. He had remembered that the marriage was small and was in secrecy, but Paul still approved of the woman. "Why didn't he invite you to the wedding?"

"He's nineteen, Brutal."

Brutal shook his head. "So? You were nineteen when you got married."

"But unlike me, he's still in school."

Brutus sighed, "What's he taking again, law?"

Paul downed half the bottle of beer, before flipping the steaks on their backside. "He wants to be a lawyer."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Brutal gazed down at the meat on the grill; the smell was overwhelming.

"That's almost eight years of school, and he's married now." Paul paused for a moment. Brutal grew concerned for his long-time friend. "We are in a depression. And his wife barely has a stable job."

"It's his life," Brutus started, "And he's an adult. We will have our own opinions, but we can only guide our children so far. Kids make mistakes, and this might be a hard lesson to learn. And when they do finally realize that they made a huge mistake, we can't say I told you so. Like you said, our job at the prison is talking, not yelling. That goes the same for kids, when we have to teach them the right from the wrong."

Paul was impressed with Brutal's lecture. There was a reason that he was Paul's best friend; when in doubt, go to Brutus for advice. "Why aren't you a father?"

"Not everyone has to be."

Paul snickered as he took another gulp of beer. "So, how are things with you?"

Brutal furrowed his brows, "My life is pretty god damned boring." He coughed again.

"You got a tickle in your throat?"

Brutal placed a large hand on his chest. "You could say that. It'll go away eventually."

There was an awkward silence, but it wasn't long before Brutal's voice came into play.

"I'm concerned about something, Paul."

Paul focused his complete attention towards Brutus. "What are you concerned about?"

"Dean."

Paul was shocked to hear such a thing come from Brutal's mouth. "Why, what's wrong with Dean?"

Brutus wiped the sweat along his forehead. "He snapped at me."

Paul stared back at the steaks. "It's not like Dean, but every man is under strain at some point in his life. He's probably tired" –

"No, Paul." Brutal interrupted, "This is different. I asked him to do a simple task, and you know what he did? He gave me a five minute lecture on his duties at Cold Mountain. He feels inferior to all of us. He practically boycotted his whole shift! I wouldn't be surprised if the kid decided to go on strike."

Paul shifted his eyes from side to side. "That isn't like Dean at all."

"After his shift, he apologized." Brutal finished his beer. "Dean is an easy going guy who goes with the flow. And I appreciate his hard work and company. But I've been thinking…" Brutal trailed off, thinking through his thoughts before saying them.

Paul grew irritated, "Spit it out."

"To me, Winnie's death is suspicious. He didn't seem like the man who would try to escape the vicinity hours before his demise."

Paul answered, "I'm sure that any convict there would do anything to escape Death Row."

Brutal bore a gloomed expression, "That may be true Paul, but you have to hear me out. Deans irritated, Harry's anxiety has shot through the roof, and Winnie's death seemed coincidental. They are all linked somehow; and someone isn't speaking aloud."

Paul cut into one of the steaks; checking its consistency. "What is your hypothesis?"

Brutal shrugged, "I'm sure one will come to mind, eventually."

"But there are no hard feelings between you and Dean?"

Brutal smirked, "Hell no, it's just work. What happens on the mile stays on the mile; always has."

A woman's voice was heard from behind.

"A guest is here!"

"Tell them we are outside!" Paul answered.

"Will do," the woman shouted back before entering the house once again.

Chapter six is next...