A/N: To the guest who asked, the changes to Daryl's backstory are minor - mostly tightening up his story (and maybe adding an extra line or two about his family background, but nothing major). The major changes are that I added entirely new scenes from Carol's POV. I'm happy some people are reading this for the very first time, too! Comments welcome. Feedback is the fuel of fanfic writers.
[*]
Carol gave the car a little gas and tried again. This time the engine caught. The two-door sedan was twelve years old, and one day it would just stop running, but Ed said she was lucky he "allowed" her a car at all.
He allowed it because she needed to do the grocery shopping and run his errands and sometimes pick up Sophia from school when it was raining too hard for the girl to walk home. They could have bought her a safer car if Ed hadn't spent $950 buying all those stupid MREs for that Y2K catastrophe that never happened.
Carol had never believed that nonsense. It seemed about as realistic as a monster apocalypse. Really, planes falling out of the sky because a computer read the year wrong? Those MREs were still stacked tightly on the bottom two shelves of the pantry. They would never eat those, unless Ed forced them to.
She popped the car into drive and reached over to feel the food in the pack on the front seat. It was warm. Mr. Wilson would love the luncheon she'd made him today, and she'd get to have pleasant conversation with another adult, someone other than Ed, someone who liked her and thought well of her. Mr. Wilson was a charming man, even if he was eighty-seven.
Ed told her she should stop volunteering to deliver meals to shut-ins, that she had plenty of cooking to do in their own house, but he didn't know what she did while Sophia was in school and he was at work. As long as he had a hot meal on the table when he got home, she didn't get the back of his hand.
She felt a guilty thrill as she made her way to the four-story apartment complex on the edge of their small town, as if she was having some kind of sultry, illicit affair.
[*]
"Ooooh...weee!" Merle said when the back door of the patrol car slammed shut. "The po-po got us now. This gonna be an adventure, little brother!"
"Gettin' tired of yer adventures," Daryl muttered.
Sheriff Law said nothing as he started the car. He didn't turn on the siren as he pulled away from Will Dixon's cabin, crunching over dirt and sticks and rocks. Daryl hid his nervousness with a scowl as the car dipped into and out of a hole in the windy dirt road that led down the side of the mountain to the town below.
Merle leaned over and whispered, "They gonna separate us. Remember everything I taught you. And don't say anything stupid, dumbass."
Daryl stared straight ahead through the glass partition at the back of Sheriff Law's thick mane of hair. A voice crackled over the radio: "Harrison Memorial Hospital is requesting a unit for crowd control."
Sheriff Law picked up the radio. "Not my jurisdiction. Not even close. Over."
The radio crackled again, and then, "They're requesting aid from the surrounding counties. Apparently most of their police force is out sick and the hospital is overflowing with patients. One of the intake nurses got punched in the face. Over."
"Can't spare anyone right now," Sheriff Law replied. "A third of my men are out with this damn superflu, too. Over and out." He clicked the radio back in place.
[*]
Carol rang the doorbell of the third-floor apartment. A young woman answered the door and looked at the bag full of food in Carol's hand. "Oh. They didn't tell you? My father died."
The bag shook. Carol steadied the food with a hand to the bottom. She'd talked to Mr. Wilson for a half an hour every time she delivered. He was one of her few social connections outside the house. He told her she was a lovely woman, and that she ought to become a professional chef. He'd even given her a brochure on a chef school in Atlanta he said his nephew was attending. She'd thought of taking classes, secretly, but how would she find the time to commute there and back before Ed got home? And where would she get the money? Ed controlled it all, and they didn't have that much to begin with.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," Carol told her.
"It was that superflu," the woman said. "The one they keep talking about on the news."
Carol took a step back from the door. That flu was the strongest strain yet. The vaccine wasn't working for anyone. Half of Sophia's class had been out sick yesterday. But this was the first death Carol had heard of in their town, though the morning news had reported several deaths in Atlanta this morning.
"If you'd like to go to the memorial, it'll be tomorrow afternoon at St. Matthew's at noon."
Carol nodded. "I will. Thank you."
She clamored down the stairwell, the hot bottom of the bag of food warm against her hand, the tears stinging her eyes.
[*]
Inside the station, the Dixon brothers were forced to empty their pockets, and all of their possessions were placed in plastic bags by a red-headed female deputy wearing light blue gloves. "Bet you could clean a kitchen sink real good with those on, darlin'," Merle said with a wink.
"Bet I could perform a brutal prostrate exam with them, too."
"You already fantasizing about me, sweetheart?" Merle asked as he slid his wallet onto the counter. "I hope you're the one examining my entire body for bite marks. You can take your sweet time."
The female deputy ignored him and slid his wallet into a plastic bag. On the counter, Daryl slapped down the little pocket knife his Uncle Clevus had given him, which he'd carried since he was eight, his larger pocket knife, and his Leatherman multi-tool. He continued to dig around in the large pockets of his work pants. Next came his wallet, a pack of cigarettes, a box of matches, a fishing lure, a couple of toothpicks, a beer bottle cap, his keys, and, then, with his eyes averted almost to the floor, he tossed two loose packages of condoms into the pile.
Merle burst out laughing. "How long you been carrying those around, little brother, just waiting for a girl to finally come onto you?"
Daryl gritted his teeth and muttered, "Shut up."
"Bet they've been expired at least a year."
"Shut up."
"This way gentlemen," Sheriff Law said, gesturing with his hand. Merle smiled - or more like snarled - one last time at the female deputy before turning to follow the sheriff.
Sheriff Law paused in the hall outside two rooms and hollered to two of his deputies. He assigned one to examine Daryl and the other Merle. Before Merle was led to his room, he whispered in Daryl's ear, "They gave you the fag. Enjoy your exam, little man. Try not to get too turned on."
[*]
As she drove home, her meal for Mr. Wilson growing cold on the seat beside her, Carol fought back her tears. On the radio, a talk show host reported hospitals overflowing and more deaths in Atlanta. The epidemic, he said, appeared to be national. "And what is Washington doing?" he asked. "Where is FEMA? Where's the CDC?"
A caller suggested that Washington wasn't doing anything because "Washington is behind it. I bet this is some kind of biological weapon that got out of control."
"Now let's not jump to tin-foil-hat conclusions," the talk show host replied. "Remember how many people died of the flu in the 1918 pandemic. Nature can be a brute."
Carol switched off the radio, took a deep breath, and prayed neither she nor Sophia would come down with this thing. She let herself wonder for a moment, however, what life might be like if Ed did. What if he died, and they inherited the house, his small savings account, and his car, and they simply started life over without him?
[*]
The indignity burned in Daryl's gut like a slow, mounting fire as he stood in nothing but his boxers before a deputy who wore blue rubber gloves snapped over his light brown hands. The deputy's eyes were sweeping all over him, and Daryl was pretty sure the man's gaze lingered way too long on the front flap of his boxers.
"Lower the boxers," the deputy said.
Daryl went red from ear to ear. "Ya think my daddy bit me on the cock?"
"Lower the boxers."
Daryl glowered, stared off into a corner, and pulled them down to his knees. The deputy walked slowly around him. He was taking way too long in the back. What was he doing, checking out his ass? "Ya can see I ain't got no bite marks!" Daryl yanked his boxers back up.
"What's all this?" The deputy swept a rubbery finger over one of the scars on his back.
Daryl jerked away from his touch. "Just old scars."
"From what?"
"Hell ya care? Ain't bite marks."
"Looks like you've been flogged."
"Got scratched up in a bunch of thorns when I been huntin'," Daryl said.
"Looks like you've grown around those scars. Looks like someone took a good strong switch to you more than a few times when you were young." He paced slowly around to the front of Daryl and looked him right in the eyes. He was almost precisely the same height as Daryl, and his eyes were nearly black. "Your daddy beat when you were a boy?"
Daryl looked away.
"A beating like that…more than once…on a defenseless kid…shit. Something like that can sit in a man's gut for years. Just building…and building…."
"- If I was gonna kill my daddy, I'd of done it years ago."
The deputy took a step back and relaxed his posture. He let a hand fall to the gun on his hip. "That why you took off at seventeen? Why your brother took off years before you? So y'all wouldn't kill him?"
Daryl didn't answer.
"But you didn't take off completely. You've checked in from time to time over the years. Maybe this last time, he said or did something you didn't like, and then you lost it and…" The deputy put two fingers to the back of his head and made a gunshot sound.
"Why the fuck would we of called ya if one of us had shot him?"
"Did you call us right when you found him?" the deputy asked.
"Yeah," Daryl lied.
"Yeah?" the deputy asked. "You didn't stop to take out a fake wall from Will Dixon's closet and clear out whatever illegal shit he had in there? You didn't fill a pick-up truck with a crossbow and a couple of rifles and some moonshine and some meth and drive it somewhere in the woods and do a half-ass job of hiding it?"
"Dunno nothin' 'bout that."
"Mhmhm. Because we've got that pick-up in our lot right now."
"Was that truck registered to me?" Darryl asked, knowing full well it wasn't.
"That truck wasn't registered period," the deputy said.
"Well then why ya think it's mine?"
"Just an amazing coincidence, I guess, that there were tire tracks leading from the cabin."
"Ain't no coincidence," Daryl said. "Obviously my daddy done cleared out his shit for some reason and then drove it into them woods in that truck and tried to hide it. Maybe from the man who shot 'em. Y'all oughtta be lookin' into the people he owed money."
"Mhmhm. He owe you money?"
Daryl huffed and shook his head. "I look like a man of means to you?"
Sheriff Law peered in the door. "Why is he still in his underwear, Santiago?"
"I was asking him some questions," the deputy replied.
"Jesus, Santiago. Get him get dressed and finish getting him booked."
"Yes, sir," the deputy replied.
"Chargin' me with somethin'?" Daryl asked.
"We're holding you and your brother 'til we get a few things sorted out," the sheriff told him.
When Sheriff Law walked on, the deputy tossed Daryl his clothes. Daryl turned around, so he wasn't cock-to-face with the cop, and dressed quickly. Then the deputy took him and pressed his fingerprints against a black ink pad and then rolled them on paper.
As the man was leading him to an interrogation room, Daryl passed his big brother, who gave him a smirk. They skidded by one another, almost shoulder to shoulder. Merle craned his neck back and cried, "Lawyer up, baby brother! Don't fall for their shit!"
[*]
Carol set a plate of warm cookies and a glass of cool milk on the kitchen bar. Sophia dropped her backpack on the floor. Carol didn't nag her to hang it up. She never scolded Sophia for anything when Ed wasn't around. The girl got yelled at enough by her father. At least he didn't hit her. Carol told herself that if Ed ever raised a hand to Sophia, that would be the last straw. She'd leave for good then. Really, she would.
The house they lived in had been her parent's house, a small, two-story with the kitchen and living room and a bathroom downstairs, and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. It was located three miles from the quaint downtown area, where her father used to work as a butcher.
Other houses had grown up around it over the years, and Carol knew all her neighbor's names, but she didn't know them. Not really. She'd stop by with a casserole every time a new one moved in, smile, and welcome them to the neighborhood, and that would be the beginning and the ending of their relationship. Ed didn't like her "gossiping with the neighbors."
"These are really good," Sophia said as she dipped a cookie in her glass of milk.
Carol pushed her grandpa's letter across the table to her, and Sophia opened it eagerly. She grabbed the $5 first and ran upstairs to her room to hide it in the coffee can. That gave Carol a chance to read the letter.
Dear Sophia,
Thank you for the school photo you sent me. I've put it in a nice frame on my desk. I wish we could meet in person, too, but I'm afraid your daddy and I haven't gotten along well since he was a teenager. I'm enclosing $5. I'm proud of you for adding it to your college fund, but I want you to know that I have more money saved for your college. So use the cash for something fun, something you love, a hobby or a passion. Are you still interested in writing? Maybe you can buy yourself some jounrals and good pens. I still use an old-fashioned typewriter myself. I'm working on a mystery novel. Maybe you got the writing gene from me!
I'm doing well, though I think I've come down with a cough and terrible runny nose. I'm hoping it's just allergies.
Carol thought immediately of the superflu that had killed Mr. Wilson, and her heart seized. Sophia would be heartbroken if her grandfather died, even though she'd never met the man. As her daughter ran back into the kitchen now, Carol looked away from the letter and pretended not to have been reading it.
Sophia was just drawing the typed paper to herself when the front door slammed open. Sophia's eyes widened in fear, and Carol seized the letter and shoved it into the junk drawer.
"Goddamn fucking distributor can't get his head out of his goddamn ass and get the order fucking right!" Ed roared. The door slammed shut.
"Go upstairs. Now," Carol ordered Sophia, and she fled. Thank God the stairs were on the other side of the kitchen and she didn't have to pass Ed.
Ed stormed into the kitchen, still cussing up a storm. His boot hit Sophia's backpack. He stumbled forward and caught himself on the kitchen counter. "Sophia!" he yelled. "Get down here and put your goddamn backpack away now, girl!"
"I've got it, I've got it," Carol insisted and snatched it up.
Ed seized her roughly by the arm, ripped the backpack out of her hand, and tossed it back on the floor. "You spoil that girl! Make her do it!"
Sophia crept into the kitchen, snatched her backpack off the floor, and disappeared again.
Carol rubbed the arm Ed had just released. "You're home early," she said meekly. "Can I get you some cookies and milk?"
"You can get your goddamn ass back in that kitchen and cook me some dinner is what you can get."
[*]
This metal chair made Daryl's ass ache. Sunlight streamed in through the window, which appeared heavily reinforced. An intercom and a circular clock was the only ornamentation anywhere on the white walls. Daryl watched the thin, black second hand of the clock tick-tick-tick.
The door swung open with a creak and closed with a click. Sheriff Law set down a cup of coffee and slapped a manila folder on the table before taking a seat opposite Daryl.
"I want a lawyer," Daryl said.
"You don't need a lawyer. You haven't been charged with anything yet."
Daryl stood up. "So am I free to go?"
"No, sit down."
Daryl tried to remember what Merle had taught him to say when dealing with cops. "Are you detainin' me?"
"Of course we're detaining you! You've already been arrested, son!"
Daryl sat back down. What was he supposed to say now? He wasn't entirely sure. Merle would know. Merle had a lot more run-ins with the cops then he did. In fact, the only time Daryl had run-ins with the cops was when he was with Merle.
Merle had taught him to raise holy hell if a cop so much as touched him. He was supposed to act like it hurt a hell of a lot more than it did, and shout out loud whatever was happening, over and over. They could use that later in court. Merle taught him what maneuvers cops were and were not allowed to use legally to subdue him physically, and what his rights were when dealing with them. But he couldn't remember all that information right now. "How can ya hold me if ya ain't gonna charge me?"
"We can hold you for up to 48 hours without charges."
"Don't think that's true," Daryl said.
"It's true," the sheriff assured him.
"Well I ain't answerin' any questions 'til I have a lawyer."
"Look, Mr. Dixon, I just - "
"- Lawyer."
"Daryl, now, as soon as you get - "
"- Lawyer!"
The Sheriff sighed, went to the wall, and pressed an intercom button. It crackled. The Sheriff leaned toward the speaker and said, "He's lawyering up. Send in the clown."
