Watching this scene again for God knows how many times, I have to admit I'm still fascinated with Jeters and especially Hutchisons acting. I will always be overwhelmed of the amount of talents they have been able to gather in a single movie!

Not bringing anything particularly new into the story with this chapter, but it's such an important part, that I couldn't leave it out :P

Sorry for grammar mistakes.

Chapter 24 – Pay out

Delacroix was beside himself with joy, when they brought him back to E-block. He didn't even notice the tiny indicative everything-went-smooth nod between Paul and his second in command, when Brutus escorted him down the corridor.

"Oh, boss Ed'comb, dey love Mr. Jingles!" Delacroix said, his eyes sparkling, when Paul asked him about the show. "Dey laugh and cheer and clap dere hands."

"They sure did," Brutus said in his calm, husky voice. He was carrying the wooden box with Mr. Jingles and the spools, like an assistant would tote the magician's magic kit. "They'll never look at a mouse the same way again, I guarantee you that."

Delacroix was beaming.

"Well, that's just aces," Percy said from the front desk, where he had been quietly chatting with Dean and Harry, when they walked in. He looked genuinely glad, an expression Ellie hadn't seen on his face in all the time she had been here. "Ain't that som'thin'?"

Brutus frowned, looking rather mistrustful when Percy came closer and Delacroix jerked involuntarily backwards. Every trace of his joy was gone; instead he stared at Percy's wide smile, like he feared the young guard would turn into a ferocious beast any moment and rip his throat out.

"You've done good, ol' timer," Percy said jovially, poking Delacroix in the chest. "We're happy for you."

He laughed and Delacroix forced out a hesitant smile. Ellie traded glances with Brutus. She couldn't help it; she found Percy's sudden mood change to be more baleful and worrying rather than comforting. The rest of the guards seemed just a puzzled: They glared silently at the bizarre scenario of the two men laughing together for the first time, when Delacroix' feebly smile turned into a nervous chuckle.

Without warning Percy bared his teeth and snapped at him like a playful dog. It was a joke; he had sensed Delacroix' anxiety, probably deciding to mock him a bit, but the Delacroix jolted back with pure terror on his face like he had actually been bitten. He tripped over one of Brutus' big feet and crashed to the floor.

Ellie gasped and started forward, but Brutus reacted quicker. He shot Percy a heartfelt look of contempt and pulled Delacroix to his feet, pushing him away from Percy and towards his cell. Delacroix' eyes were watering with pain and Percy's laughter come to sound a bit embarrassed.

"Del, you numb wit," he said, moving past Ellie. "I didn't mean nothin' by it. I was just playin'…"

The rest of his sentence drowned in a scream of fear. In his hurry to apologize to Delacroix, he had forgotten the most important rule of the all: Always walk straight down the middle of the Mile and he drifted right past William Wharton's cell.

Wharton struck like a viper: In less than a second, he had jumped off his bunk, shot both hands through the bars and grabbed Percy by his uniform. With an arm flung around Percy's throat, Wharton slammed the squealing guard against the bars.

"Wharton!" Paul cried out as the guards lunged forwards, guns pulled. "Let him go!"

Wharton ignored him.

"Ain't you sweet," he whispered, caressing Percy's neat-groomed hair. "So soft." His hand left Percy's head and moved to his crotch. Percy trembled, his eyes huge and distant with fear.

"Like a girl," Wharton continued softly and placed a kiss on Percy's ear. If Ellie hadn't been so scared, she would have found it quite comical. "I'd rather fuck your asshole than that sweet nurse's pussy, I think…"

"WHARTON!"

With a dank grin, Wharton let go and stepped back, his hands raised to his shoulders. Sobbing, Percy darted across the Mile and clutched to the bars of Alice's cell. Ellie could see her own paralyzed shock reflected in the old woman's face, when she looked down at Percy, who had hunched up like a beaten dog at the cell door.

"Aw, come on, I was jus' playin'," Wharton said, chuckling. "I let 'im go. I'd never hurt a hair on his purty li'l head." He grinned to Percy. "But I'll say, you noodle ain't limp at all, loverboy. I think you're sweet on ol' Billy the Kid…"

Someone started laughing. For a moment, Ellie thought it was Wharton, but he was just standing there, smiling spitefully at Percy. When she turned her head, she found Delacroix cackling with laughter, his grin almost as nasty as Whartons. He was being pushed up against the bars of his own cell with one of Brutus' big hands clapped around his collar. Brutus didn't appear to hear him. He seemed completely stunned.

"Oh, lookit him," Delacroix said, pointing to Percy. "He done piss his pants."

Percy looked down and all the colour drained from his face. The crotch on his trousers was stained and wet and urine was dripping from the cuffs of his trouser legs.

"Oh, my God…" His voice cracked and his lips started trembling and as much as she despised him, Ellie's heart ached on his behalf. Wetting your pants in front of your co-workers was so humiliating that no one deserved it.

"Look'a what the big man done," Delacroix continued with a malicious giggle. "He bus' other people wid 'is stick, but when somebody touch him, he water 'is pants like a baby."

"Shut up, Del," Brutus growled and shoved him inside the cell. When Delacroix kept sniggering, Brutus slammed his baton warningly against the bars and the Frenchman finally fell silent – though still with a scornfully smile on his face.

"Percy…" Paul began softly and moved closer to the young guard. He placed a hand on Percy's right shoulder, but Percy pushed it away and straightened himself with a jolt. He looked around at them, his white face darkening and his eyes wet with rage and shame.

"If you talk about this to anyone," he said in a restrained, shaking voice. "I'll get you all fired. I swear that to God."

"What happens on the Mile, stays on the Mile," Paul said quietly. "Always has."

The men nodded solemnly, but Delacroix snorted. Percy turned to him, so angry his hands were shaking.

"Yeah, you keep laughing, you French-fried faggot!" he shouted out, before he stormed away. "You jus' keep on laughing!"

"Wetmore's a good name for you," called Delacroix after him and his contemptuous snigger followed Percy all the way out of the Mile.

oOo

Percy didn't return to E-block the rest of the afternoon. No one knew where he had gone and despite all that had happened to him, no one really seemed to care. But the incident had still put a damper on the joyful atmosphere and especially Delacroix had gone silent. Now when his excitement about the show had settled, his mind had returned to the fact, that there was only 31 hours until the execution.

Paul was sitting in the cell with him. It was a tradition: He always talked to the inmates the night before the last day. Mostly it was just a subdued chat without a deeper meaning, but this time it had a different cause, because Delacroix still hadn't decided what would happen to Mr. Jingles, when he was gone.

Paul and Brutus had suggested everything from setting the mouse free to let him stay at E-block, but none of it seemed to satisfy Delacroix. ("Let 'im stay? Who know what kin'of hommes mauvais dat will take my place, when I go…").

Paul sighed. "Del, what about Dean? He has a little boy, who would love to have a pet mouse like Mr. Jingles."

Delacroix grimaced, obviously horrified at the thought.

"How could a boy be trust wid Mr. Jingles? He may forget to feed him, oui? How he keep up with his trainin', when 'e jus' a boy, n'est-e pas?"

Paul nodded thoughtfully. Delacroix threw the spool and the mouse fetched it. Mr. Jingles had been doing it during the entire conversation, but yet he showed no sign of exhaustion, when he rolled the spool back and looked expectantly up at Delacroix for him to throw it again. He was a tough little squirt, Paul had to give him that.

"All right," he said. "I'll take him."

Delacroix smiled forbearingly.

"Merci beaucoup, t'ank so kindly," he said. "But… you live out in the woods, and Mr. Jingles, he be scared out in the big woods."

Bet he whispered that in your ear, Paul thought wearily to himself and looked up at Brutus for some much needed help. Leaned up against the open cell door, his arms folded, Brutus had quietly been listening to their talk. Well, most of the time, anyway. More than once, Paul had cast a sidelong glance at him and found that his second in command had mentally left the conversation with stolen peeks towards the desk and the corner of his mouth curved upwards. You didn't have to be a genius to figure out, that he wasn't smiling at Harry and Dean in the watchmen's chairs…

Paul couldn't even reprove him for being absent-minded on the duty. He hadn't seen his old friend this happy in years and he felt oddly proud to know, that he had helped Brutus take the first difficult steps away from his bachelor life.

Right at his moment, it seemed though that Ellie had left the room again, releasing Brutus of the spell. He grabbed Paul's silent cry for help, looked at Delacroix and said evenly:

"How about Mouseville?"

"Mouseville?" Delacroix repeated, looking confused.

Paul frowned. What was he doing?

"It's a tourist attraction down in Florida," Brutus continued and squinted at Paul with feigned doubtfulness, that could have won an Academy Award. "Tallahassee, I'd think? Ain't that right, Paul?"

"Yeah," Paul said slowly, when he finally realised what Brutus was up too. "Tallahassee, that's right. Just down the road apiece from the… dog university."

Brutus' mouth twisted, but he was able to control himself, thank God.

"You think they'd take Mr. Jingles?" he asked thoughtfully, purposely ignoring Delacroix who was staring at them with a wide eyed mix of interest and caution. "D'you think he's got the stuff?"

Paul shrugged. "Might, he's pretty smart."

"What are you talkin' 'bout?" Delacroix demanded to know. "What's dis Mouseville?"

Brutus rolled his eyes, like he couldn't believe, that Delacroix had never heard of Mouseville. "Tourist attraction, I said. They have this big tent you go into…"

"Like a cirque?" The whole idea seemed to light Delacroix up like a Christmas tree. "You have to pay?"

"Are you shittin' me? Course to have to pay: Dime a piece, two cents for the kids," Brutus said and Paul nodded vigorously. "They have an whole tent for this Mousecity, made entirely out of paper boxes and toilet rules with tiny isingglass windows…"

Delacroix was all hooked. He was so caught up in this wonder, that was Mouseville that he had forgotten all about Mr. Jingles, who was standing on his hind legs to get his attention.

"But," Brutus continued and his voice dropped eloquently, "that ain't the best of it. They have the Mouseville All-Star Circus. You can see mice that swing on trapeze, mice that roll barrels, mice that stack coins…"

He paused to give his words the full vivid effect. Delacroix grinned.

"Dat's it!" he exclaimed ecstatically. "Dat's the place for Mr. Jingles!" He picked up the spool and looked down fondly at the tiny, brown mouse by the tip of his boot. "You gonna be a circus mouse. Gonna live in a mousecity down in Florida, ma petite souris de cirque."

He threw the spool a bit too hard and it bounced of the wall and onto the Mile. Mr. Jingles went after it through the bars and Paul smiled at his eagerness to retrieve the spool. He had crossed the floor like a furry flash.

But he never reached it.

Someone covered the Mile in three long steps and then a big, heavy workboat stomped down on Mr. Jingles, before someone had a chance to react. To Paul, the soft snap of fragile bones breaking, sounded as piercing as a gunshot.

"NOOOOOO!"

Delacroix screamed. It was a scream full of horror and dread and he lunged for Percy through the open cell door, but Paul and Brutus grabbed him and shoved him back inside the cell, just as Percy raised his foot with a smile and revealed Mr. Jingles shattered body in a splatter of blood on the green linoleum.

"No! Oh, no!" Delacroix sobbed and clung to the bars of his cell, calling the mouse's name over and over again. Tears were streaming down his face and he reached his arms out as far as he could.

Percy lifted his head to look at them, still with the sick little smile of satisfaction on his face.

"I told you, I'd get him sooner of later," he said softly. "It was just a matter of time, really…"

Paul had no answer. He was stunned; paralyzed by Delacroix' heartbreaking sobs of grief and Mr. Jingles tiny body twitching in death throes. He couldn't even move, when Percy turned away from them and strolled up the Mile, past Dean and Harry and Ellie, who had turned pale with shock. Next to him, Brutus was breathing fast, like he has been running and he heard Ellie whisper: "Oh, Dear God…" but it all sounded strangely distant.

But then a voice shook him awake: The calm, deep rumble of John Coffey.

"Give him to me."

Paul looked up. John was on his feet, holding his hand out through the bars, palm upward and spread open.

"Give him to me," Coffey repeated softly. "Might still be time."

Paul obeyed like a sleepwalker. Slowly, he knelt and scooped Mr. Jingles up in his hand. The mouse was shaking, but his eyes had already lost the shine that was life and his fur felt sticky with blood and made Paul wince.

"Paul, what're doing?" Brutus said hoarsely, when Paul moved to Coffeys cell and placed the crushed body of Mr. Jingles in the giant's hand. Brutus took a step forward.

"Paul, don't…" He began, but then Ellie put a hand on his arm, shaking her head and he looked at her in surprise, but stopped dead between the two cells. Coffey gently cupped Mr. Jingles in his massive hands and pulled him through the bars.

"Please, John," Delacroix whispered pleadingly. "Help him. Please, John…"

Coffey raised his cupped hands and placed his mouth in the opening between his thumbs. He inhaled, softly to begin with, but then suddenly sharp and abrupt. From inside his hands came a bright light, like he had just captured the sun itself between his palms.

"Oh, dear Jesus," Brutus whispered. "The tail. Look at the tail…"

They all did. Mr. Jingles tail was the only part of him that was still visible. It had been shuddering the whole time, but now the weak twitches turned into briskly spasms. The men and Ellie stared in astonishment, until the light turned painfully bright and they had to look away.

With a loud gasp, Coffey's head snapped back. He tottered and coughed, gagging for breath – then he opened his mouth wide and just like the day, he had grabbed Paul, he exhaled the swirling cloud of black insects that vanished like snowflakes in the sun.

From inside his cupped palms came a light squeak. Coffey knelt down and opened his hands – and out came Mr. Jingles. Alive. Like an arrow, he darted across the floor to Delacroix cell. There wasn't a trace of blood, not a hair in the wrong place, to be seen on his body. He didn't even have a limp. Delacroix picked him up; he was sobbing and laughing at the same time.

For a moment, no one moved. Then Dean wrested his eyes away from the resurgent mouse and turned around.

"What did you do?" he asked Coffey in a stunned whisper.

Coffey rose to his feet with his hands wrapped supportively around the bars. His face was sweaty, but his voice was calm: "I helped Del's mouse. He's a circus mouse. Gone live in a mouse city down in…"

He stopped. The word was gone.

"Florida," Brutus helped him in a slight numb voice. Paul noticed that Ellie held his right hand in both of hers, but Brutus was probably too shocked to realise it.

Coffey nodded slowly.

"Boss Percy bad," he said quietly. "He mean. He step on Del's mouse. I took it back, though."

The words echoed in Paul's head, sounding strangely familiar. Then he suddenly remembered. I tried to take it back…

The two, little girls…

I tried to take it back, but it was too late…