AN: Alright, sorry for the slow update, but I promise I'll be faster. School is a little hectic at the moment, but will ease up in the next week or so, YES! Hope you all are enjoying the story. Thank you to you readers, and for those who Favorited and reviewed thus far. Please Drop a review, all those who do will get imaginary cupcakes! LOL!
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P.S. I don't own the Green mile.

Brutal vs Freddie part 1:

Paul Edgecomb and Brutal Howell both walked the mile, with a checklist in hand. They were completing an hourly cell check. Everything seemed up to snuff on the Green Mile. Alex was quiet as usual; and Freddie was staring at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Paul sat at the desk, filing some paperwork. He shifted upwards and observed Brutal doing a thorough search throughout each cell. Brutus attempted to make conversation with Alex, but he was as quiet as a mouse; and wouldn't make a peep, a noise, nothing. It was odd. He used to answer the guards when he was asked a simple question, but nowadays, Alex was silent; as if there was something bothering him, someone making him shut up. Whatever was in the air that day; it wasn't right.

Brutal stopped at Freddie's cell. He was flat on his back, counting the many cracks on the ceiling. Brutus heard quiet speech escape Freddie's lips as he passed, "There's a strange aura in the air."

Brutal shook his head, ignoring every word of the inmate; some days, Freddie didn't make sense at all, and had nothing beneficial to say; yet he was an intelligent man. Brutal stopped and glanced at his pocket watch; it was ten thirty five.

"He's late." Brutal started in a raspy voice.

"Are you getting sick, Brutal?" Paul asked his friend.

Brutal wrinkled his nose, "It's nothing."

Paul sighed, and tossed the pen aside. He leaned back into his chair and folded his arms. "Yeah, he's late."

Just then, a small click was heard; and to no surprise, it was Harry. He was fully dressed in uniform. He walked incredibly slow, and gazed upon his feet as he drew closer towards his co-workers. Once Harry reached the desk, he gawked up at Paul. Paul grew concerned when he scanned the face of Harry Terwilliger. He usually had a smile smothered upon his face, or a neutral expression; but this face was grim. He was constantly shifting his eyes from side to side, and never mouthed a single word.

Paul took a deep breath before speaking, "You are late Mr. Terwilliger."

Harry nodded, and then slowly made his way towards the office. Both Paul and Brutal shared glances. He signalled his head towards the office.

"I'll take care of the mile," Brutal started, "I'll be fine." Brutal reached for a pen on the desk, and started writing upon a clipboard. Paul shifted his body forward, and soon found himself opening the closed door; observing Harry in the corner, staring at a piece of paper. Harry was beet red, as if he was trying to hold something in. His fists were clenched, and Paul could swear that tears were building up in his eyes. Harry relaxed when he realized that Paul was standing in the same room. He turned to his supervisor, and spread out his palms.

"I'm sorry boss," he started quietly. "I need to go home, I can't take it anymore."

"Are you sick?" Paul questioned. "If you are, you should have called in." Paul tried to be the voice of rationality, but Harry wasn't buying it. Harry just shook his head, and tucked in his lips.

"It's worse than sick," Harry started. His voice got quieter and quieter as his speech continued, making it hard for Paul to understand a single word.

"I'm sorry Harry, but you will have to speak up." Paul said, sounding irritable; even though he didn't mean it that way. But Harry didn't care.

Harry was lost for words, but he knew that he couldn't express the situation in any other way, except the simple, painful way. "Paul, there was a death in the family. I got a call half an hour before work."

Paul's heart dropped six feet. His pulse quickened, and he felt as if he was going to be sick. Paul asked the question, but he felt bad for it. You don't go asking that question when someone was in mourning. "I'm sorry, but if you don't mind me asking, who died?" The question sounded appalling, but Harry knew that every detail counted to Paul. He wasn't just his supervisor; he was a great friend who had stuck with him through every conflicting situation that came their way.

Harry swallowed a lone tear escaping his eye. The salty water strolled along his cheek, also dropping onto the papers by his hand. His voice cracked, the coarse words struggling to escape his lips, "My youngest, Cassandra."

Paul took a couple of deep breaths, and slowly walked towards his friend. "You don't have to talk about it."

Harry was quick to answer, "No Paul, I need to talk about it. I need to! I can't bottle up my emotions any longer." Harry tried to hold back the tears as best as he could; he hated showing weakness. He choked, "Her husband called this morning. You see, she likes to take her steed every morning and evening, and spend some quality time alone or with her husband out in the fields, and roads. This morning…the horse came back…but she didn't. It spawned worry on his face, when he looked at the hooves of the horse; which were covered in blood. The horse was tense…her husband had to leave the animal alone, he couldn't tame the creature." Harry paused, and bit his lip.

"Take your time," said Paul with warmth.

Harry nodded in return, "He took his car to look for her. She took the same path every day, so he knew that she couldn't have broken her pattern…" Harry trailed off, but he continued moments later. "He found her…he found her dead. The horse…the, the horse got spooked, and smashed my poor Cassandra's face. It's caved in, Paul." Harry buried his face into his hands; sobbing. He continued talking about the painful situation in which Paul just wanted to flee and hide in a corner. Harry's girls meant the world to him; Paul couldn't imagine losing a child, so young too. "Paul, I saw her. The horse smashed her skull. I didn't recognize her at first…you couldn't identify her. We did, because of the dress she wore, and the colour of her hair. There was blood…there was blood everywhere; on the ground, and seeping from her skull. Do you want to know what it looked like, Paul?"

Paul was silent. Harry continued to weep hysterically.

"It looked surreal. It looked like someone had smashed her skull with a sledgehammer, at least ten times. My baby girl…she's gone, and there's nothing I can do about it!"

Paul felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes. He couldn't imagine losing a child of his own; or even his wife by an unfortunate event. But watching a close friend of his in so much pain broke his heart even further. "Harry, why didn't you call in?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know! I didn't have time!"

Paul blinked. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, and dropped to his knees. Paul embraced his friend in his arms, and squeezed him gently; reassuring him that the incident was unfortunate, but in the end, everything would be fine. It sounded horrible to someone in mourning, but Harry didn't mind. When a tragedy like this occurs, your world stops turning, and you don't give a damn about what people say at that moment, "Why Paul?" Harry whispered into Paul's ear. Paul didn't have an explanation.

"I don't know, Harry. Now, let's get you home. I'll let Hal know what's going on, and I'll phone you guys later today for work related business. Is that alright with you?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Paul." He then stood upright, and grabbed his belongings. He quickly opened the office door, and bolted from E block. It was pain that no man could handle. Paul took several deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. Brutal stooped by the office, knocking slightly. Paul snapped his head towards the door.

"Brutal, I need to tell you something." There was no sense in hiding this from the second in command.

Brutus entered the room, and grabbed the nearest chair. Did he really want to know what was going on? He slumped over, staring at Paul directly in the eyes with a soft look in his face. His raspy, yet soft voice spoke aloud, "What's going on, Paul?"

Paul attempted to look away; the subject made him feel very uncomfortable. "Harry's youngest daughter out of the three passed away this morning."

Brutus' jaw dropped in utter shock.

Paul continued, "A horse bucked her. They could barely identify her. Harry said that it looked like someone had smashed her face in with a sledgehammer at least ten times." Paul leaned back in his chair, and stared at the many tiles. He couldn't imagine what Harry was going through at the moment; neither could Brutus.

"Jesus Christ," Brutal murmured, staring at Paul with crossed arms. He didn't move in the slightest. "What should we do, Paul?"

Paul shook his head, "I don't know Brutal. Let's just give him our condolences for now, and support him and his family in any way we can. See how life can throw curveballs at you?"

Brutus nodded, "His daughters and Mary mean the world to him." Brutal smiled as he reminisced, "I remember Cassandra. The first time I met her was when she was five years old. God, that makes me feel old. Her and her sisters were just the cutest kids on the face of the planet." He wiped his mouth which was covered in saliva and sweat. The sun was peeking through the blinds in the office, and it was small too, causing the heavily clothed guards to constantly gasp for air. "You and I also attended her high school graduation. She was by far the prettiest girl out of them all." Brutal's eyes became heavy in a matter of seconds, "It's hard to believe that she's gone now. How old was she?"

"Twenty-two," Paul answered, "The same fucking age as my boy."

Brutal rose from his chair. He heard commotion on the mile. It was most likely Freddie singing a tune. Brutal needed a quick escape, so he decided to do a quick cell check, leaving Paul in a dream state. He was thinking about life, most likely, and just how unfair it can be.

Brutus made his way towards the cells. He grabbed a clipboard along the way, and stopped at Alex's cell first. Brutal decided to make conversation once again, "Alex? Are you alright in there? You've been awfully quiet, and haven't eaten lately." He coughed before writing on the clipboard.

Alex shuffled his body, facing Brutus. Brutal's stomach felt like it was lodged in his throat; were those tears escaping the man's eyes? There were so many events unfolding, that he suddenly became confused. What was bothering the poor man? Brutal twisted towards Freddie's cell; of who was smiling gleefully while cleaning his fingernails. Freddie looked as if he hadn't slept in days, but Brutal still had his suspicions. Brutus slowly paced towards Freddie. He spoke, "Freddie, what are you saying to Alex? Did you upset him in any sort of way?"

Freddie avoided eye contact.

"You better speak to me Freddie, or I'll come in there and make you," Brutus threatened. Because of Freddie's physically challenged body, it didn't take long for him to talk.

"I didn't say anything. You know Alex…he never talks."

Brutal had no choice, but to agree.

But then Freddie brought up a quick subject to take his mind off of his suspicions. "You are very tall Boss Howell."

Brutal rolled his eyes. "Thank you captain obvious," he started. "So what is your point?" He stared back at his clipboard, the pen moving in several swift motions.

Freddie grinned. He grasped the cell bars tightly, and rested his forehead between them. "When did you get so tall?"

Brutal scoffed, "Grade eleven."

"Perfect," Freddie whispered. "You played football too."

Brutal quickly replied, "Yes."

Freddie paused for a moment or two before asking the question, "Why did you decide to work here? Was it because of your size, or was it because you were a college dropout?"

Brutal felt extremely offended. He turned his back, and started to walk away from the scene unfolding. "Where are you going Brutus? Don't tell me you are turning your back on me now. I asked you a simple question. Why did you choose this career?"

Brutal turned, and charged at Freddie. The inmate jumped slightly. "I'm here, because I was a college dropout, alright?"

"Tsk, Tsk Brutus. I know that." Freddie slowly wandered inside his cell; glaring at Brutus with his piercing eyes. It reminded him of Jack Van Hay's eyes; striking, but with a look to kill. "But as a drop out, you could have done anything. You could have worked on a farm that your father once owned; agriculture is a big business. You can count, can't you? Because of that, you could have easily worked as a teller at a local bank. Or you could have been a measly factory worker. But tell me Brutus; why did you decide to work at Death Row. Does it have anything to do with your stature, your personality, or the white crimes you once committed? What is it Brutus?"

Brutal tilted his head to the side with a frown; Freddie did the same, except with a neutral expression plastered onto his face. "I knew it," Brutal whispered, but Freddie could hear it as clear as day. The convict ignored him though, and carried on with his measly life; what he had left that is.

"You did some things in your last high school year that you aren't exceptionally proud of. I can see it through your body language. Hear it through the sound of your ragged, yet gentle tone of voice. And it's in your eyes." He sat down, and took two fingers, pointing them at his face.

Brutal slammed the clipboard against the cell with a large CLANG! The board snapped in two. He was surprised that Paul didn't come running out of the office. Brutal forcefully reached into the cell, and grabbed onto Freddie's collar, pulling him close. "What kind of game are you playing, huh?"

Freddie didn't move an inch, nor did he show any sign of weakness. "What are you going to do to me, beat me? Even though you are big in stature, you don't seem like the guy who would want to hurt people unless necessary; which gives me good reason that you were just a bystander in high school. Do you want to tell me why?"

Brutal delved deep into Freddie's eyes, and concentrated hard at his target. "What did you do to Dean? He's not himself anymore. And Winnie, you were a part of it. I think I have a good understanding of it now…" Brutal trailed off. He analyzed the man before him. "You play with the mind like it's a toy. That's how you were able to persuade all of those people you killed."

"It was their decision to die for what they believed in. I didn't kill them physically, I killed them mentally." Freddie sleekly grinned. Brutus knew that Freddie had something up his sleeve. "Brutus, you have to understand something. I may be little, but I can take anybody off the street, and convince them to do things that are unimaginable; for example, turning against their friends and family, murdering innocent lives; and in most cases, killing themselves." Brutal, clenched his fist that was holding onto Freddie's shirt, tighter and tighter by each passing moment. "I can take someone like you…and pick you apart bit by bit, until you can't handle the truth any longer. That's what I can do, and I can do it in prison. You saw the aftermath of Dean; that was my work. Harry will be going to the bank any time today in hopes to attempt to close his accounts, for the third time. I can't imagine, considering that the way the economy is he is already two hundred dollars in debt; forcing him to spend at least half of his retirement savings that he just took out of the bank. And considering that he'd shown up for work, and only stayed for half an hour of his shift concerns me. It tells me that something unsettling happened; spiking his anxiety even further. He will come back to me Brutus, and because he is so upset, not even you or Paul will be able to stop him." Suddenly Brutal's hand seemed to have loosened from the collar. Freddie touched the metal of the bars with such interest, and innocence. "In Winnie's case...I had nothing to do with it."

"Liar!" Brutal screamed.

Freddie raised his hands in surrender, "I've got Dean and Harry within my grasp. Not to mention the other inmate, in which I've been able to keep quiet. I've got him in my grasp as well; the poor bastard. Did you know that Alex committed several crimes involving shop lifting, rape and murder? He was only caught and charged for one. And did you also know that he was neglected as a child, and showed several signs of becoming a sociopath at the age of thirteen." Freddie took another breath. The tension rose in his voice when he continued to speak. "And once puberty hit, he was so ashamed of himself that he would masturbate dozens of times in the day just to please him; because he was too poor, dirty, and scared to be with any partner; man or woman. If I were him Brutus, I'd murder people too."

Brutal grabbed his handkerchief in the back of his pocket, and wiped his forehead; not losing eye contact with the inmate. "And soon, I will have Paul, and then I will have control of you. That's my plan before I die. That's if I don't kill you first."

"Is this a death threat, Freddie?" Brutal challenged.

Freddie smirked, "I'm going to be in here for a few weeks, and it is quite boring. I'm just trying to find something entertaining."

Brutus couldn't believe this man, it was sick. He would crack open someone's psychosis like it was a science project. He was intellectual in the mind, smart, handsome, clean and had all the features that did not match a killer's profile. The simple stereotype of a serial killer was long gone now. Brutus had to give word to Paul about this conversation with Freddie, so that everyone should know that talking with this man was very dangerous, and that if he started delving into personal material, that you would keep calm and walk away from the situation. This man was treacherous and ruthless towards the complex mind. Brutal was still curious though, as to know Freddie's past before he was caught for murder. Brutus knew that he should stay away from the man, but there was something about him that made Brutus wants to keep coming to him; coming to him with questions, and expecting answers. What was wrong with him!? Why did his interest just spark with curiosity, it wasn't right. If he was to probe into deep conversation with Freddie, he would have to do it cautiously, and quietly. He wouldn't tell Paul just yet.

Brutal took several deep breaths, and picked up the broken pieces of the clipboard. "Here's the thing Freddie. I hope we meet in conversation again, but for the love of god…stay away from the people you have already manipulated; or I will come inside and beat you to a pulp. I may be a gentle soul, but I can scare a prisoner when it is necessary. Do you understand?"

Brutus had a way with words; it caused Freddie to give a warm smile, and make a quick deal. "I understand Mr. Howell. I'll leave them alone if it is what pleases you."

And it did please Brutal, considerably.

Chapter eight is next...

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