AN: ahh just when I said I was going to focus on my WIP's inspiration struck:/. Not sure what this is, maybe just a one shot. But you guys know me, if you like it I'll probably continue. I'm kinda obsessed with psychic phenomena right now after The Blessing or the Curse. This will be AU...no zombies. Daryl and Caryl are about 25 years old.

I do not own or profit from The Walking Dead

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It was getting harder to ignore her, the way she called to him. It broke through all his defences, all his barriers.

Daryl pounded his pillow, and flipped onto his stomach, covering his head with it, hoping somehow that would stop it, that she would leave him in peace.

That's all he wanted, to be left in peace, after the hell he had dealt with all his life, it wasn't to much to ask, was it?

He'd survived, the hell his dad and Merle to an extent had dealt him, all because he's as different. He was like their mama. Cursed.

It had started when he was young, not understanding the random voices that popped In his head. He'd gone up to his grade one teacher and told her not to be sad, to tell her she was beautiful even though her husband cheated on her.

He'd gotten a shocked look and a trip to the guidance counsellor whom he explained about hearing voices in his head. He never spoke of it again though, not after that night, when his dad had beat him to the point where Merle intervened and pulled him off.

The dreams started next. He always dreamed of her. Most of the dreams he was seeing through her eyes, she'd been happy, and kind. He loved to dream of her, and hear her voice as she sang silly little songs and played with her dolls.

As he grew it only got worse, he isolated himself. Running a business from home. Building a house on the property his momma had left him. His MoMA who had left him. Burned herself alive to stop the voices in her head when he was four. Crazy had been the Timor that had whispered around town. It wasn't going to be him. He did mail order custom parts for motorcycles that he worked on in his shop. He was out in the middle of nowhere, and that's how he liked it. At least then he didn't hear everyone around him.

But he always heard her. When he was little, he found he could intensify the link to her. He'd felt almost like a peeping Tom. Like he was spying on her life, but at night when he would lie in bed. Fearing his dad would come in drunk with his belt, he thought of her. She calmed him. She made him feel peaceful.

He saw all of her life. Her parents dying in a car crash when she was eleven and then she was sent to live with her aunt. She felt her shock the first time her aunt had slapped her in the face. When she had run to her room to hide in her closet and cry he'd imagined himself giving her a hug.

He wasn't sure if she was real, or a figment of his imagination. A story a child concocted. But as he grew so did she. She grew desperate to leave her aunt. With no money for school she'd taken what she thought was the best way out. Marrying am asshole.

He's had horrifying nightmares of their first night together. Her husband hurt her. It was the first time she'd had sex. She had gone to the bathroom when the asshole passed out and sat on the floor pulling her knees up to her face and cried. He had imagined himself with her, pulling her on to his lap and holding her.

While his life got better well at least bearable in his solitude, hers only got worse. He no longer doubted she was real, but he had no way to find her. Her asshole husband would end up killing her. He knew that, if he knew where she was he would go find her. She was only four years into the marriage, he didn't know how much longer she would last.

He lay on his back his eyes staring up at the ceiling as saw in his mind, she was staring in her mirror. His blood boiled at her face. She was black and blue.

She was staring at herself, her blue eyes were like oceans. Suddenly she lifted a pair of scissors and started hacking off her curls. Leaving herself with a pixie like style, it suited her. She held the scissor for a minute, staring down at her wrist. No don't he thought in a panic.

She blew out a huff and threw the scissors. Looking at herself in the mirror.

"Not for that asshole" she said.

He watched her pick up a suitcase and leave the bathroom. She left a note on the table. It just said "we're done" then got into her car and drove away.

That's my girl, he thought with a grin.