The Green Mile (An Ongoing Short Story)

Photo by The Australian

THE GREEN MILE

As Inspired by the Movie

I

“Water trickled against my face as the heavy metal weighed me down. I watched as they strapped my arms and legs to the chair, locking my resistance. He can't look me in the eye, but when I finally caught him, I saw kindness. Not hatred, spite, nor condemnation ------ kindness."

YEAR 1958

MASSACHUSETTS

9:45 PM

"It's time." I said as I stared into the pitch black cell. Then, out of the darkness emerged a huge, burly man, and even in the shadows, I can see his eyes piercing through mine.

His name was John.

I still remember the first time I saw him. I would never forget the horror on my colleagues' faces the moment he walked in. He was a black giant. Even in handcuffs, chains and six guards trailing him, I recall reaching for my gun as a reflex of defense in case he put up a fight.

But he didn't.

In fact, I saw fear in his eyes. Just like a kid lost in the woods, terrified and desperately looking for his mommy. His steps were dragged and heavy that our narrow hallway felt like a mile. Upon reaching his cell, he crept to his bed. This muscular enigma curled up like a ball.

Twenty years in this cell block granted me discernment, so I know a murderer when I see one. This man, in all hell, was not.

"I know boss," was his reply. "Been waiting for it all these times."

I smiled and tapped his back. I didn't order my officials to tie him up. No, there's no need for that.

"Yer know what boss, I had meself a dream last night." He told me, a wide smile across his scarred face.

"Well, let's hear it then." I glanced at my men, eagerly following behind us.

"I dreamed that I was in a carnival, watchin' one of 'em flicker shows. I was with 'em two girls, only that there weren't blood on them heads. They were just fine. Oh boss, they were very fine.

I was holding ‘em in ‘ma arms and we laughed through the movie, boss. We laughed and laughed 'til my stomach hurt."

He was enthusiastic. Although there were tears in his eyes, he talked gleefully and that moment was priceless.

"Then there was silence. I looked 'em in my arms, and they were gone. I woke up."

9:50 PM

"All of these people here hate me, boss." He stopped in his tracks and stared at the room, angry eyes fixated on him.

I felt a pang in my chest. This innocent man didn’t deserve to die. Not tonight. Not like this.

"Well, you just look at us." I motioned at my colleagues. "We don't hate you." And a grin lit his face.

He was no criminal, alright. I went to Texas, where his sentence was read, and found out that evidence against him was thin. All they had was a testimony of eight men saying that they found him in the woods, crying like a baby, and the bloody remains of two girls in his arms. Case closed.

9:55 PM

Officer Edgecomb dragged himself to the pail. With a heavy heart, he soaked the sponge and placed it top of John's shaved head.

Water trickled against his face as the heavy metal weighed him down.

"Kill him twice, officer!"It was a man from the audience, the father of the two girls. "I wanna see that bastard fry to the bone!"

It took all of my strength not to break his neck that instant. Fury was consuming me that I wanted to rip his big mouth so bad, or tear him apart limb by limb. Instead, I just stood there, feet buried under the ground. If only he knew what I know.

Like a foolish man, I watched Officer Howle strap John's arms and legs to the chair. I can't look him in the eye, but when he finally caught me, I saw kindness. Not hatred, spite, or condemnation ------ kindness.

That kindness, covered, when a black linen was draped on his face to rid him of light.

"Boss," his voice, trembling, "Please don't put that on 'ma head. I hate the dark. You know I hate the dark."

I did.

On his first night in prison, I was shocked when this behemoth of a man explicitly requested the lights on during bedtime. I couldn't possibly bring myself to rid him of that.

With that, I cried.

Good thing my back was turned away from the people because they had to see me as the hard executioner, thinking that the man on the chair truly deserved what he'll get. The punishment fit the crime.

But no, I did not think that at all. Guilt throbbed in my chest and my mind taunted he's innocent. He's innocent. He's innocent.

Innocent.

Innocent blood that is now in my hands.

Oh, heaven knew that I tried to save him from his verdict. I plucked a few strings, here and there, even if it meant my job, the career that I battled for in the last twenty years. I didn't care, but John did.

All I wanted was to help him like he helped me.

9:56 PM

It was a bad day for me. One of the worst, I might add.

The searing pain, cracking skull, and bloodshot eyes were nothing like I had experienced before. I was at the middle of the hall, down on my knees, and shouting, no, ----- screaming for my life.

What's the use? I was all alone at the cell block anyway, and these locked - up imperiled species could do nothing but watch.

I was pretty sure I was going to die that night.

"Boss," it was John, his arms reaching for me. "I need 'ya here now."

"I'm sorry John, but I think tonight's rather -----" I searched for the right word; the very effort felt like my brain was fingernails scratching on chalkboard. "Inconvenient."

"Please boss. I think I can help you."

Help.

I dragged myself to his cell.

“Yes, John?” I rasped. I tried to clear my vision, this giant now just an incoherent blur. “If you don’t mind, I just need to -----“

Nothing could have prepared me for what he did next.

He grappled my head and dug his heavy fingers on my skull. The pressure felt like it was going to crack. I clawed at his arms to break free.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” I demanded. “Let go of me, John. That an order!”

He wouldn’t.

I tried reaching for my gun, but as if reading my mind, he grabbed my free arm. I fought wildly. “Stay still, boss.” He gently said. “I need ‘ya to be completely still.”

Suddenly, I felt warm. A strange sensation crawled under my skin: Like bolts of electricity pricking through my spine. All this, in just a blink of an eye, then centered on the top of my head. The pain was indescribable.

 I have never screamed like that in my entire life.

Then, I was numb. He let go of me, as he went on a loud, throaty cough. He was choking on something.

“John?” I tried to steady myself as I held on to the grills. “A --- are you all right?”

His cough became louder. It sounded like an unnatural earthly noise that sent chills down my back.

 “John?”

“I’ll be all right boss.” He weakly crawled to his bed. “You’ll be all right.”

I took a doctor’s appointment the next day. My tumor was gone.

II

“I’m sorry for all the troubles our distance may have caused you, Officer Edgecomb.” Attorney Samuel Hitchcock remarked as he took a sip of his coffee. “I assume that such effort would demand a proper response. What would you like to talk about?”

I studied the man in front of me. He was thin, well on his early fifties. His deep set blue eyes were bound by a pair of old spectacles. His demeanor was friendly, but there was something about him that emits he was not a man to be reckoned with.

“Let me cut to the chase. It’s about John Coffey.” I held my breath. “Do you remember him?”

 “Remember him? Nobody forgets a man as big as he is.”

I smiled. Hitchcock sure has his own humor. “I was wondering if you noticed anything ------ unusual about him.”

“He was retarded, Tom.” Hitchcock said bluntly. “Can I call you Tom?”

I hated that nickname. “Please call me Thomas.”

“I’m sorry.” Hitchcock paused, now opting to choose his words carefully. “But he was retarded, plain as day.”

“Did you know that all along? Before you took his case?”

“I took an oath, Thomas. Everybody is entitled to a fair legal counsel.”

“Did you at least plead for -----“

“Psychiatric detriment?” Hitchcock interrupted. “Yes. I did everything by the book.”

I bowed my head. What I am about to ask next might be crossing the line, but I had no other way of phrasing it.

“Do you think he did it?”

It was the longest pause I ever experienced.

“Are you asking me if I think he’s guilty?” Hitchcock pursed his lips, yet his gaze was steady.

“Yes.”

Hitchcock removed his glasses. “That’s just how the system works, Thomas. We both know how it is for our black brothers at this time and age. And with him walking around with a semblance like that ----“ He trailed off. “I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

I did. It was just hard to accept.

 Hitchcock saw the look in my face.

“Let me tell you something.” He leaned in. “I had this dog when I was a kid. Sweet little mongrel.  I’d play with it all day long and let it feed on the top of my plate. I adored it. Then one day, out of nowhere, it attacked me.” He extended his arm to show me his left hand.

It was missing a ring finger. I was disturbed, to say the least.

“Father took him out in the woods and shot him. Shot him without a second thought.” He paused, letting every word sink in.

 “What I’m telling you, Thomas is: He might be soft in the head, but there is no excuse for that kind of hostility. So if you really had to ask me ----- Yes. I think he did it.”

I couldn’t hide my disbelief. “Somehow, he had it in him. You just never know when it’ll come stabbing you from the back.”

9:57 PM

“Is there anything special you’d want us to whip for you, John?” I was in the cell, seated across John’s bed. “You know when ------ when the time comes.”

John was silent.

“Come on John,” Officer Howle, who was standing beside us, added. “We can whip you up almost anything.”

John thought for a moment, and when he finally did, he spoke gleefully. “I’d like steak please. Steak with a lot of gravy. With mashed potatoes and carrots. No peas. I never liked ‘em peas. Then, a slice of an ol’ cherry pie will be good.” He hesitated. “Then, sum’ corn bread your missus used to make, if she don’t mind.”

I can’t help but look at John’s eyes. They were the kindest I ever saw.

“I’m sure she doesn’t mind.”

Then there was an uncomfortable silence.

What could anyone possibly say at a time like this? I  knew it shouldn’t bother me. If there was anything I learned from the Academy, is that we shouldn’t be attached to them criminals ----- alleged or convicted. But I was. I was, because John was different.

“Could you give us a moment please?” I requested of Officer Howle. He obliged.

We were alone.

John looked me straight in the eye. He knew what I wanted to do. “Don’t say it, boss. ‘Ya don’t need to say it.”

“No, John. I absolutely need to.” I stated in a low, hoarse voice. “Do you want me to let you go, John?”

It was out of desperation. “Do you want me to just open the gates and see how fast you can run? Just run away, John. Run far, far away from here.”

I was pained to see the disappointment in his face.

 “No, boss. I think we should jus’ accept what is.”

“I know you didn’t do it, John.”

He smiled. “Tha’s more than enough.”

I was close to tears. “What do you want me to do, John?” There was a lump in his throat. “Someday, when I will be faced before God for all the things I have done, and he asks me why. Why did I ever allow one of His ------ true miracles to die. What do I tell him?”

“Tell Him it was an act of mercy you did.” He said without hesitation.

“How in the world is that an act of mercy?”

“I’m tired boss.” He was crying. “I’m tired of being all alone, walkin’ ‘round the woods lost and beaten. I’m tired of the people starin’ and pointin’ at me when they cross my way. I’m tired of hearin’ these voices -----“ He pressed his fingers against his temple.

“I hear them all, boss. Here in ‘ma head. I hear what they thinkin’ when they have bad plans. The world is full of bad people, boss. It never stops. I hear the little girls’ screams when I come to help ‘em that night. I hear it every day.”

“Wait, what do you mean ------“ I was listening intently. “Do you want to tell me about the little girls, John?”

(To Be Continued)