AN: This is a Very short chapter, I promise a longer one, and an execution; but most of all, please enjoy! Percy will appear in later chapters when we get closer to the 1932 timeline. We are still in the late 1930's; so hold tight.

Harry vs. Freddie:

Harry entered the Green Mile. He tiptoed inside, careful not to make a sudden noise. He scanned the area, making sure that no one was around. He knew that Brutus' shift was almost at an end, and Paul's car was in its lot. The two were nowhere to be seen. He peered through the blinds inside the office, and noticed that neither Brutus nor Paul were there. He guessed that they were shining up Ol' Sparky, or dealing with other matters in another room. Harry slowly crept down the mile, looking into the empty cells as he passed. Nearing the end, he passed Alex's cell; he was tucked into the corner of his bed, his back turned towards the bars. Alex didn't seem to notice.

"You aren't in uniform," A strange, yet familiar voice called. Harry turned to see Freddie, inches from the bars. Harry stopped in front of Freddie's cell. "No guard comes here without his uniform. You aren't supposed to be here are you?"

"I've come to ask a few questions." Harry responded.

"Oh," Freddie said in surprise. "And what are these questions that I must answer?"

Harry licked his lips. "How did you know my daughter was going to die?"

Freddie raised an eyebrow. "I never stated that fact. My sincere apologies by the way; no wonder I hadn't seen you around the past few days."

"You said that there was a strange aura in the air," Harry pointed a finger. "And conveniently, a loved one died that morning. Are you some supernatural being?"

Freddie scoffed, "No, but I've been gifted. My senses are different than regular human beings. They are out of whack. So I guess I learned something new today. I can predict the future," Freddie said sarcastically, as he spread his palms in the air.

Harry huffed, "That's not funny."

"No, you want to know my art, my true talent?"

Harry grew extremely curious. He noticed Freddie's eyes glaring at the object inside his coat pocket. "My art is manipulation. I use it when I get bored. By the way, why is there a gun in your pocket? You haven't come all this way to kill me, have you?"

In a flash, Harry quickly drew the revolver from his coat pocket, and raised it in the air. Harry fired the gun at the light above, as a warning shot; showing the prisoner that the gun was loaded. He screamed at Freddie, "Of course I have, and for good reason too!"

Suddenly, the office door swung open, and Paul and Brutus burst from the room fast like a bullet. Their guns at the level of their eyes, ready to fire at their target. Paul gazed upon the confrontation, and saw a familiar face pointing a revolver at the convict. "Harry," Paul whispered at first, but then elevated his voice; the gun steady in his hand. "Jesus Christ Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry's pistol locked onto Freddie. "You killed sixty people."

Freddie latched onto the cell bars. "Yeah, and what are you going to do about it? Shooting me won't bring those people back!"

Paul's voice continued to carry; he inched closer to the deadly situation. "Jesus Harry, put the gun down!"

Harry's hand started to shake. He was afraid, truly afraid. "I know that," Tears started to well up in his eyes.

Brutus attempted to ease the situation, "Harry, you are a good man! You would do jail time if you pull that trigger!"

Harry ignored Brutus, and continued to focus on Freddie. Freddie leaned forward, "I know why," he murmured. "You didn't come here to kill me."

Harry started to lower his gun.

Freddie continued, "I know the reason," Freddie took a quick breath, "You worthless piece of shit. I mean, why are you standing there holding your gun? Why don't you just shoot?"

The words cut into Harry like daggers.

"I guess you aren't man enough to do so. You aren't the animalistic type. No, you are the cowardly. I mean, if you are going to shoot…do it right now." Freddie showed sympathy in his glowing eyes. "Or are you doing this because you are afraid to, and that you are just hoping, that little sliver of hope, that your friends will do the dirty work for you? Now, isn't that cowardly? How tall are you?"

"5"11," Harry responded.

Paul exclaimed, "For the love of god Harry just put the gun down, or we will have no choice, but to shoot you!"

Freddie smirked, "I've never seen shit that high."

The tears rolled down Harry's cheeks. One by one, droplets of water hit the ground. At first, Harry couldn't hear anything, nothing. "Tell me Harry, am I right?"

"Huh?" Harry snapped back into reality.

Freddie cocked his head to the side. "I said, am I right?"

Harry nodded hesitantly.

The prisoner smiled gleefully, "Don't be so quick to answer. Just prove to me that you are not a coward. Prove it to me."

Paul drew closer, but Brutus was quick to pull him back, "Christ Brutal, for god sakes, Freddie is doing something to Harry, and I need to stop it!"

"I know," Brutus said. "But we don't know what he's going to do. He might shoot us if we get too close. Let's just talk him out of it, and then take the gun."

Paul waved Brutus' arm away, "Fuck that."

Paul was only inches away from Harry, before a twist of events occurred. Harry quickly took the gun, and pointed the head of the pistol inside his mouth. He wailed as he did so. Paul stopped in his tracks. He watched as Harry placed the gun inside his mouth; he could finally hear the commotion, the pain. Paul looked upon Freddie who was making noise against the steel bars.

"Son of a bitch!" Freddie shouted numerous times, "Son of a bitch, do it, do it, do it, do it!"

Paul lashed back, "Shut the Fuck up or you'll be going into the restraint room!" he grabbed a hold onto Harry wrist, and wriggled it. "Harry, you pull that trigger, you aren't coming back."

Harry cried. He hiccuped a few times before speaking. "I…I…I'm worth more dead than alive."

"No, no," Paul started, still firm on Harry's wrist. "You are worth more alive than dead. Please, just lower the gun and we can talk about it like men."

Harry shook his head as he continued to weep, "Why Paul, why her? Why did my little girl have to die? Please Paul, tell me why?"

Paul shook his head. "Harry, I don't know; but believe me, if you pull that trigger, you aren't going to solve the problem, you are only going to create more pain. Not just for your family, but for us. Christ, the last thing we need is another funeral; so please, just lower the gun. Harry, we can get through this together. Believe me when I say so."

Harry paused, the gun still pointed inside his mouth. Just then, Paul could feel Harry's hand go limp. Paul took the opportunity to take the gun. He tossed it aside, the weapon landing in Brutus' arms. Brutal placed the gun behind his belt. Paul supported Harry as the two strolled along the Green Mile, still latching on to Harry's wrist. Brutus followed. "Brutal, stay here on the mile, I'm going to take Harry home. Don't say a word about this to anyone, you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he acknowledged, opening the entrance to E block.

As Harry and Paul left E block, Harry piped up. It was pouring. "Paul."

"Yes, Harry," Paul responded.

"You're a good man."

Paul didn't know how to respond to such a comment; especially coming from a close friend. "We are all relieved that you are okay."

"Are you going to tell Mary?"

Paul didn't hesitate to answer his question. "What happens on the mile, stays on the mile…always has."

Chapter 10 is next...