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As
for
The
Pres
,
someone
shoved
him
face-first
into
a
vat
of
dry-cleaning
fluid
and
held
him
there
.
When
the
guards
pulled
him
out
again
,
his
face
was
almost
entirely
gone
.
They
had
to
ID
him
by
his
fingerprints
.
On
the
whole
,
he
might
have
been
better
off
with
Old
Sparky
...
but
then
he
never
would
have
had
those
extra
twelve
years
,
would
he
?
I
doubt
he
thought
much
about
them
,
though
,
in
the
last
minute
or
so
of
his
life
,
when
his
lungs
were
trying
to
learn
how
to
breathe
Hexlite
and
lye
cleanser
.
They
never
caught
whoever
did
for
him
.
By
then
I
was
out
of
the
corrections
line
of
work
,
but
Harry
Terwilliger
wrote
and
told
me
.
"
He
got
commuted
mostly
because
he
was
white
,
"
Harry
wrote
,
"
but
he
got
it
in
the
end
,
just
the
same
.
I
just
think
of
it
as
a
long
stay
of
execution
that
finally
ran
out
.
"
There
was
a
quiet
time
for
us
in
E
Block
,
once
The
Pres
was
gone
.
Harry
and
Dean
were
temporarily
reassigned
,
and
it
was
just
me
,
Brutal
,
and
Percy
on
the
Green
Mile
for
a
little
bit
.
Which
actually
meant
just
me
and
Brutal
,
because
Percy
kept
pretty
much
to
himself
.
I
tell
you
,
that
young
man
was
a
genius
at
finding
things
not
to
do
.
And
every
so
often
(
but
only
when
Percy
was
n't
around
)
,
the
other
guys
would
show
up
to
have
what
Harry
liked
to
call
"
a
good
gab
.
"
On
many
of
these
occasions
the
mouse
would
also
show
up
.
We
'd
feed
him
and
he
'd
sit
there
eating
,
just
as
solemn
as
Solomon
,
watching
us
with
his
bright
little
oilspot
eyes
.
That
was
a
good
few
weeks
,
calm
and
easy
even
with
Percy
's
more
than
occasional
carping
.
But
all
good
things
come
to
an
end
,
and
on
a
rainy
Monday
in
late
July
--
have
I
told
you
how
rainy
and
dank
that
summer
was
?
--
I
found
myself
sitting
on
the
bunk
of
an
open
cell
and
waiting
for
Eduard
Delacroix
.
He
came
with
an
unexpected
bang
.
The
door
leading
into
the
exercise
yard
slammed
open
,
letting
in
a
flood
of
light
,
there
was
a
confused
rattle
of
chains
,
a
frightened
voice
babbling
away
in
a
mixture
of
English
and
Cajun
French
(
a
patois
the
cons
at
Cold
Mountain
used
to
call
da
bayou
)
,
and
Brutal
hollering
,
"
Hey
!
Quit
it
!
For
Chrissakes
!
Quit
it
,
Percy
!
"
I
had
been
half-dozing
on
what
was
to
become
Delacroix
's
bunk
,
but
I
was
up
in
a
hurry
,
my
heart
slugging
away
hard
in
my
chest
.
Noise
of
that
kind
on
E
Block
almost
never
happened
until
Percy
came
;
he
brought
it
along
with
him
like
a
bad
smell
.
"
Come
on
,
you
fuckin
French-fried
faggot
!
"
Percy
yelled
,
ignoring
Brutal
completely
.
And
here
he
came
,
dragging
a
guy
not
much
bigger
than
a
bowling
pin
by
one
arm
.
In
his
other
hand
,
Percy
had
his
baton
.
His
teeth
were
bared
in
a
strained
grimace
,
and
his
face
was
bright
red
.
Yet
he
did
not
look
entirely
unhappy
.
Delacroix
was
trying
to
keep
up
with
him
,
but
he
had
the
legirons
on
,
and
no
matter
how
fast
he
shuffled
his
feet
,
Percy
pulled
him
along
faster
.
I
sprang
out
of
the
cell
just
in
time
to
catch
him
as
he
fell
,
and
that
was
how
Del
and
I
were
introduced
.
Percy
rounded
on
him
,
baton
raised
,
and
I
held
him
back
with
one
arm
.
Brutal
came
puffing
up
to
us
,
looking
as
shocked
and
nonplussed
by
all
this
as
I
felt
.
