AN: so this is something new. A little weird, I hope you will give it a chance. Please let me know what you think? I'm nervous about this.
I do not own or profit from The Walking Dead
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1980
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The day was humid. A sickening heat that pulled all the moisture it seemed from Daryl's body as he worked.
Daryl stood up stretching. The attic of their house was so hot it seemed as though it was from hell. Sweat poured from his body. He'd shed his shirt long ago, as he sorted through all the years of memories that had accumulated in his family home.
Merle was gone, three years ago now. A deep aching hole seemed to open into his gut. Merle had just gotten his life back on track, quit the booze, the drugs. At 45 Merle had even gone back to school and was trying to make something of himself. Daryl had been proud, so proud of Merle, that he'd known deep down it couldn't last.
Merle had gone into a convenience store, on his way home from school, probably for a pack of smokes and some candy. He'd gotten a sweet tooth since he quit the drugs. He'd thrown himself in front of a group of teens when a robbery gone wrong had ended in gun fire. Merle died a hero. At least that's what the paper said.
What kind of hero left the only family you had left? Daryl shoved the box to his left suddenly a well of anger filling up his soul. He was alone now, he had no one.
His momma had died in a fire when he was ten, burned to ashes, there had been nothing left. Leaving him and Merle to his old man's rage. Leaving them to face the brunt of his anger and his fist and belt.
He could still see her, in his mind's eye. His momma. She'd been beautiful. She'd shown up one day in their town, so his dad used to say, from nowhere.
She had been travelling she said, since her family died in a fire. She had no one left. Kinda like Daryl now. Ironic that in death she'd joined her family in the worst way possible.
So he'd decided he was selling The Dixon homestead. An old piece of trash house that was falling down around him and he was leaving. He was getting the fuck out of town
The realtor said to clear out the attic, the last thing he needed to do. Then he was getting into his truck and heading out of town. If the piece of shit house ever sold, they could send him a cheque. Or the son of a bitch could burn for all he cared.
He sat with a huff, wiping his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He could run from it all he wanted, but he knew his memories would haunt him forever. He still had dreams of his momma. She would be there in light telling him she was waiting for him, saying she hadn't meant to leave him. That it would be his time soon.
Those dreams were creepy shit. Never not once despite all the shit that life had thrown his way, had he ever felt like he should take his own life. So why he was having those dreams now, was beyond him. He needed to get out of this damn town before it turned him to ashes.
He noticed a box in the corner. Labelled "Violets Junk."
Nice the old man had a lot of sentamentality there. Shaking his head he went up and got the box, sitting he crossed his legs in front of him and started opening the box.
He felt his breath hitch. He'd often wondered what happened to his momma's things. The bed had taken the brunt of the fire, but the rest of the room had been untouched. The next day the room had been bare. His dad had never slept in there another night.
They were several silk scarfs. It had been his momma's weakness. She'd loved the feel of them she used to say you couldn't get silk where she came from.
Momma had collected flowers. Drying them in the pages of leather bound journals that daddy bought for her. Labelling them in her neat writing. Studying them in everyway possible. The medicinal uses or the stories and legends associated with them. Never too old to learn she would say.
She hadn't been old at all. She'd met his dad when Merle had been 10yrs old. She'd never treated Merle differently then him though, Daryl vividly remembered her tears when Merle had enlisted. The way she'd squeezed Merle tightly at the airport. Telling him was her son in her heart.
His momma had never been happy, he saw that now. Saw that there was a distant look in her eye. He asked her once, asked her what was wrong.
She turned from the dishes she'd been washing. Kneeling down to look him in the eye. Her eyes had looked so sad, he'd reached out and hugged her pulling her close in his little arms.
"I can't stay much longer." She whispered as she'd inhaled the scent from his hair. "I need to go soon. You're dad...you're dad won't be happy. You need to be strong. We will see each other again ok?"
She lit herself on fire two days later. Who the hell hates their life so bad that they lit themselves on fire to kill themselves? He'd often wondered what made her do it. Daryl had known without a doubt that she had killed herself. Even though the police had listed an accident. After what she had said that day their hadn't been much doubt in his mind. She met his dad and died exactly eleven years later. She'd died on his birthday. She'd been thirty one years old. Younger than he was now. He was thirty eight years old, and he felt it.
Labour intensive employment had kept him him in shape, but in his heart he felt old. He felt like he was waiting to get old and die. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to get out now.
He saw a letter addressed to Merle, staring up at him in her box. Whatever that was about, it would have to remain unsaid. His fucking daddy had been falling headfirst into being a drunk after she died, shit like this was never important to him.
Their was a box, a small wooden box, with an envelop on the top. "To Daryl on eighteenth birthday." Sighing he opened the letter, only twenty years too late.
"Daryl,
Please forgive me, I haven't abandoned you. We'll meet again."
His eyes misted over. Fuck she really had been crazy in the end. He opened the box, the hinges creaking.
There was a man's ring, sitting in the box. It looked like carved onyx,
a rose carved into the top. He blew the dust of the top of the ring rubbing it on his shirt. It was a Cherokee rose.
He wasn't sure how long he stared at it. It seemed to mock him somehow. All the times his momma had told him the story about The Trail of Tears. A part of him wanted to toss the damn thing out the window, but another part of him knew that he could not.
Slipping it on his finger, he wiped a tear from his eye, rubbing the ring with his thumb, wanting somehow, not to be alone. Daryl sat back against the wall, thumping his head back rhythmically trying to get control of his emotions when he felt it.
A burning vibration seemed to be coming from the ring, it was growing louder. Frantically he tried to pull the ring off his finger, but it was stuck. A fiery red haze seemed to surround him, it was lifting him up against his will, pulling him to a a black haze that appeared in the room. He turned to look, but all he could see where he had been sitting against the wall was a pile of ashes.
He was being pulled against his will, into the inky blackness. His lungs seemed ready to explode as he neared it. He gasped in one long breath, as though his head was being pulled under water before he was pulled in.
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Daryl's head was throbbing, a dull vibration echoing off the inside of his skull like a rocket propelled grenade.
"You're okay." A voice whispered.
A hand was there, wiping the sweat off his brow.
His eyes opened slowly. He was on a bed, in what looked to be a hospital. The room different from any he had seen before.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
He turned to look at the owner of the voice. Blue eyes. Blues eyes struck him, a deep calm blue. Daryl didn't remember ever seing that color before.
She was smiling at him, kindly as she continued to wipe his face.
"You have a fever from the jump." She whispered. "I imagine you're head is aching too."
"Jump?" He croaked. Fuck his throat was dry.
She looked confused for a moment. Then smiled again. "Confusion is common too...my name is Carol." She was beautiful. A short red pixie cut, showed off her neck. She looked a little younger than him. Early thirties at his best guess.
He nodded, unsure why her name mattered.
"Do you know where you are?" She asked, and frowned slightly when he shook his head no.
"Let's try an easy one. What's the year?" She said.
"1980." He muttered annoyed.
She smirked and chuckled "no I mean right now."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" He rasped as there was a knock at the door.
"Well it was 1980 where you were but now it's..." She trailed off like she was waiting for him expectantly. Laughing she shook her head then went to open the door " and now it's 2020...you must have had a rough jump." She giggled as she opened the door.
2020? What the fuck was this chick smoking?
He turned then as a familiar voice caught his attention.
He couldn't breath as Carol turned slightly, catching a glimpse of who was at the door, who had knocked. His voice was almost unable to function as he whispered her name.
"Momma?"