Lady Luck(Green Mile fanic re-write)

(pt.4) WILLIAM WHARTON

THE BOOK WILL INCLUDE:
-MENTION RAPE AND MURDER, AND IT WILL BE TALKED ABOUT.
-DEADLY ILLNESS
-INFECTIONS
-BLOOD
-ATTEMPTED MURDER
-VIOLENCE
-INAPPROPRIATE WORDS (ONE OF THEM BEING THE N-WORD)
-ANIMAL ABUSE
-THE MENTIONING OF BROKEN BONES
-PERCY WETMORE

IF ANYTHING YOU JUST READ MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS BOOK.
PLEASE IF ANYTHING YOU READ MADE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE DONT READ THIS BOOK I DONT WANT TO BE BLAMED FOR YOU BEING TRIGGERED

Thank you, now on to the story!
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(pt.4) WILLIAM WHARTON'S ARRIVAL

(Y/n Willows p.o.v)

After William had been found guilty, that much, at least, went according to the script, he was taken to Indianola General Hospital for tests. He had had a number of supposed seizures during the trial, twice serious enough to send him crashing to the floor, where he lay shaking and flopping and drumming his feet on the boards. Wharton's court-appointed lawyer claimed he suffered from "epilepsy spells" and had committed his crimes while of unsound mind, the prosecution claimed the fits were the sham acting of a coward desperate to save his own life. After observing the so-called "epilepsy spells" at first hand, the jury decided the fits were an act. The judge concurred but ordered a series of pre-sentencing tests after the verdict came down.

It's a blue-eyed wonder that Wharton didn't escape from the hospital, but he didn't. They had him surrounded by guards, I suppose, and perhaps he still had hopes of being declared incompetent by reason of epilepsy. He wasn't. The doctors found nothing wrong with his brain, physiologically, at least, and Billy "the Kid" Wharton was at last bound for Cold Mountain.

The day our new psychopath joined us was an eventful one for me, it was crazy, the boy I had grown up with, and protected from bullies, was the newest addition to the mile. All I could say is that I was nervous, I made it, though, drove in through the south gate, parked in my usual place. It was going on seven o'clock by then.

(Itty-bitty time skip)

I didn't want to go, I'm sure anyone who knew, would have understood, but nobody did. Probably because I had never talked about it, I had never really mentioned my family, unless someone asked of course.

There were seven of us that went up to Indianola to take charge of Wild Bill, Harry, Dean, Percy, two other guards in the back , plus me and one more up front. They took what we used to call the stagecoach, a Ford panel-truck which had been steel-reinforced and equipped with supposedly bulletproof glass. It looked like a cross between a milk-wagon and an armored car.

Harry Terwilliger was technically in charge of the expedition. He handed his paperwork over to the county sheriff, who in turn handed over Mr. William Wharton, hellraiser extraordinaire. A Cold Mountain prison uniform had been sent ahead, but the sheriff and his men hadn't bothered to put Wharton in it, they left that to our boys. Wharton was dressed in a cotton hospital johnny and cheap felt slippers when they first met him on the second floor of the General Hospital, a scrawny man with a narrow, pimply face and a lot of long, tangly dark blond hair.

That was the part of him we saw first, his bottom, because Wharton was standing at the window and looking out at the parking lot when they came in. He didn't turn but just stood there, holding the curtains back with one hand, silent as a doll, while Harry whined at the county sheriff about being too lazy to get Wharton into his prison blues and the county sheriff lectured, as every county official I've ever met seems bound to do, about what was his job and what was not.

But when he got tired of fussing, he told Wharton to turn around. Wharton did. I looked, he was . . . the same. He looked like he did when he was little. I didn't know if he recognized me, or if he was too strung out on the drugs, but he smiled widely, I think I'll always remember that smile.