Chapter 3

           PercywasstandingwithhisbacktouswhenBrutalandIcameintothestorageroomabouttwentyminuteslater.Hehadfoundacanofpastefurniturepolishonashelfabovethehamperwhereweputourdirtyuniforms(and,sometimes,ourcivilianclothes;theprisonlaundrydidn’tcarewhatitwashed),andwaspolishingtheoakarmsandlegsoftheelectricchair.Thisprobablysoundsbizarretoyou,perhapsevenmacabre,buttoBrutalandme,itseemedthemostnormalthingPercyhaddoneallnight.OldSparkywouldbemeetinghispublictomorrow,and.Percywouldatleastappeartobeincharge.

           "Percy,"Isaidquietly.

           Heturnedthelittletunehe’dbeenhummingdyinginhisthroat,andlookedatus.Ididn’tseethefearI’dexpected,atleastnotatfirst.IrealizedthatPercylookedolder,somehow.And,Ithought,JohnCoffeywasright.Helookedmean.Meannessislikeanaddictingdrug—nooneonearthismorequalifiedtosaythatthanme—andIthoughtthat,afteracertainamountofexperimentation,Percyhadgottenhookedonit.HelikedwhathehaddonetoDelacroix’smouse.WhathelikedevenmorewasDelacroix’sdismayedscreams.

           "Don’tstartinonme,"hesaidinatoneofvoicethatwasalmostpleasant."Imean,hey,itwasjustamouse.Itneverbelongedhereinthefirstplace,asyouboyswellknow."

           "Themouseisfine,"Isaid.MyheartwasthumpinghardinmychestbutImademyvoicecomeoutmild,almostdisinterested."Justfine.