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He
was
right
;
I
could
see
her
in
the
lane
of
stars
between
the
dark
bulk
of
the
passing
trees
.
But
it
was
n't
Cassiopeia
I
thought
of
when
he
spoke
of
the
lady
in
the
rocking
chair
;
it
was
Melinda
Moores
.
"
I
see
her
,
John
,
"
I
said
,
and
tugged
on
his
arm
.
"
But
you
have
to
sit
down
now
,
all
right
?
"
He
sat
with
his
back
against
the
cab
,
never
taking
his
eyes
off
the
night
sky
.
On
his
face
was
a
look
of
sublime
unthinking
happiness
.
The
Green
Mile
fell
farther
behind
us
with
each
revolution
of
the
Farmall
's
bald
tires
,
and
for
the
time
being
,
at
least
,
the
seemingly
endless
flow
of
John
Coffey
's
tears
had
stopped
.
It
was
twenty-five
miles
to
Hal
Moores
's
house
on
Chimney
Ridge
,
and
in
Harry
Terwilliger
's
slow
and
rattly
farm
truck
,
the
trip
took
over
an
hour
.
It
was
an
eerie
ride
,
and
although
it
seems
to
me
now
that
every
moment
of
it
is
still
etched
in
my
memory
--
every
turn
,
every
bump
,
every
dip
,
the
scary
times
(
two
of
them
)
when
trucks
passed
us
going
the
other
way
--
I
do
n't
think
I
could
come
even
close
to
describing
how
I
felt
,
sitting
back
there
with
John
Coffey
,
both
of
us
bundled
up
like
Indians
in
the
old
blankets
Harry
had
been
thoughtful
enough
to
bring
along
.
It
was
,
most
of
all
,
a
sense
of
lostness
--
the
deep
and
terrible
ache
a
child
feels
when
he
realizes
he
has
gone
wrong
somewhere
,
all
the
landmarks
are
strange
,
and
he
no
longer
knows
how
to
find
his
way
home
.
I
was
out
in
the
night
with
a
prisoner
--
not
just
any
prisoner
,
but
one
who
had
been
tried
and
convicted
for
the
murder
of
two
little
girls
,
and
sentenced
to
die
for
the
crime
.
My
belief
that
he
was
innocent
would
n't
matter
if
we
were
caught
;
we
would
go
to
jail
ourselves
,
and
probably
Dean
Stanton
would
,
too
.
I
had
thrown
over
a
life
of
work
and
belief
because
of
one
bad
execution
and
because
I
believed
the
overgrown
lummox
sitting
beside
me
might
be
able
to
cure
a
woman
's
inoperable
brain
tumor
.
Yet
watching
john
watch
the
stars
,
I
realized
with
dismay
that
I
no
longer
did
believe
that
,
if
I
ever
really
had
;
my
urinary
infection
seemed
faraway
and
unimportant
now
,
as
such
harsh
and
painful
things
always
do
once
they
are
past
(
if
a
woman
could
really
remember
how
bad
it
hurt
to
have
her
first
baby
,
my
mother
once
said
,
she
'd
never
have
a
second
)
.
As
for
Mr.
Jingles
,
was
n't
it
possible
,
even
likely
,
that
we
had
been
wrong
about
how
badly
Percy
had
hurt
him
?
Or
that
John
--
who
really
did
have
some
kind
of
hypnotic
power
,
there
was
no
doubt
of
that
much
,
at
least
--
had
somehow
fooled
us
into
thinking
we
'd
seen
something
we
had
n't
seen
at
all
?
Then
there
was
the
matter
of
Hal
Moores
.
On
the
day
I
'd
surprised
him
in
his
office
,
I
'd
encountered
a
palsied
,
weepy
old
man
.
But
I
did
n't
think
that
was
the
truest
side
of
the
warden
.
I
thought
the
real
Warden
Moores
was
the
man
who
'd
once
broken
the
wrist
of
a
skatehound
who
tried
to
stab
him
;
the
man
who
had
pointed
out
to
me
with
cynical
accuracy
that
Delacroix
's
nuts
were
going
to
cook
no
matter
who
was
out
front
on
the
execution
team
.
Did
I
think
that
Hal
Moores
would
stand
meekly
aside
and
let
us
bring
a
convicted
child-murderer
into
his
house
to
lay
hands
on
his
wife
?
My
doubt
grew
like
a
sickness
as
we
rode
along
.
I
simply
did
not
understand
why
I
had
done
the
things
I
had
,
or
why
I
'd
persuaded
the
others
to
go
along
with
me
on
this
crazy
night
journey
,
and
I
did
not
believe
we
had
a
chance
of
getting
away
with
it
--
not
a
hound
's
chance
of
heaven
,
as
the
oldtimers
used
to
say
.
Yet
I
made
no
effort
to
cry
it
off
,
either
,
which
I
might
have
been
able
to
do
;
things
would
n't
pass
irrevocably
out
of
our
hands
until
we
showed
up
at
Moores
's
house
.
Something
--
I
think
it
might
have
been
no
more
than
the
waves
of
exhilaration
coming
off
the
giant
sitting
next
to
me
--
kept
me
from
hammering
on
top
of
the
cab
and
yelling
at
Harry
to
turn
around
and
go
back
to
the
prison
while
there
was
still
time
.
Such
was
my
frame
of
mind
as
we
passed
off
the
highway
and
onto
County
5
,
and
from
County
5
onto
Chimney
Ridge
Road
.
Some
fifteen
minutes
after
that
,
I
saw
the
shape
of
a
roof
blotting
out
the
stars
and
knew
we
had
arrived
.
Harry
shifted
down
from
second
to
low
(
I
think
he
only
made
it
all
the
way
into
top
gear
once
during
the
whole
trip
)
.
The
engine
lugged
,
sending
a
shudder
through
the
whole
truck
,
as
if
it
,
too
,
dreaded
what
now
lay
directly
ahead
of
us
.
