Stephen King: The Green Mile

Melly put her arms around John and hugged him. Coffey stood there for a moment, letting himself be hugged, and then he raised one hand and stroked the top of her head. This he did with infinite gentleness.

His face was still gray. I thought he looked dreadfully sick.

She stood away from him, her face turned up to his. “Thank you.”

“Right welcome, ma’am.”

She turned to Hal and walked back to him. He put his arms around her.

“Paul-” It was Harry. He held his right wrist out to me and tapped the face of his watch. It was pressing on to three o’clock. Light would start showing by four-thirty. If we wanted to get Coffey back to Cold Mountain before that happened, we would have to go soon. And I wanted to get him back. Partly because the longer this went on the worse our chances of getting away with it became, yes, of course. But I also wanted John in a place where I could legitimately call a doctor for him, if the need arose. Looking at him, I thought it might.

The Mooreses were sitting on the edge of the bed, arms around each other. I thought of asking Hal out into the living room for a private word, then realized I could ask until the cows came home and he wouldn’t budge from where he was right then. He might be able to take his eyes off her – for a few seconds, at least – by the time the sun came up, but not now.

“Hal,” I said. “We have to go now.”

He nodded, not looking at me. He was studying the color in his wife’s cheeks, the natural unstrained curve of his wife’s lips, the new black in his wife’s hair.

I tapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to get his attention for a moment, at least.

“Hal, we never came here.”

“What – ?”

“We never came here,” I said. “Later on we’ll talk, but for now that’s all you need to know. We were never here.-”

“Yes, all right He forced himself to focus on me for a moment, with what was clearly an effort. “You got him out. Can you get him back in?”

“I think so. Maybe. But we need to go.”

“How did you know he could do this?” Then he shook his head, as if realizing for himself that this wasn’t the time. “Paul … thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” I said. “Thank John.”

He looked at John Coffey, then put out one hand – just as I had done on the day Harry and Percy escorted John onto the block. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

John looked at the hand. Brutal threw a none-too-subtle elbow into his side. John started, then took the hand and gave it a shake. Up, down, back to center, release. “Welcome,” he said in a hoarse voice. It sounded to me like Melly’s when she had clapped her hands and told John to pull down his pants.

“Welcome,” he said to the man who would, in the ordinary course of things, grasp a pen with that hand and then sign John Coffey’s execution order with it.

Harry tapped the face of his watch, more urgently this time.

“Brute?” I said. “Ready?”

“Hello, Brutus,” Melinda said in a cheerful voice, as if noticing him for the first time. “It’s good to see you. Would you gentlemen like tea? Would you, Hal? I could make it.” She got up again. “I’ve been ill, but I feel fine now. Better than I have in years.”

“Thank you, Missus Moores, but we have to go,” Brutal said. “It’s past John’s bedtime.” He smiled to show it was a joke, but the look he gave John was as anxious as I felt.

“Well … if you’re sure

“Yes, ma’am. Come on, John Coffey.” He tugged John’s arm to get him going, and John went.

“Just a minute!” Melinda shook free of Hal’s hand and ran as lightly as a girl to where John stood. She put her arms around him and gave him another hug. Then she reached around to the nape of her neck and pulled a fine-link chain out of her bodice. At the end of it was a silver medallion. She held it out to John, who looked at it uncomprehendingly.