AN:

Another chapter. Please let me know what u think :)

I do not own or profit from The Walking Dead

Chapter 2

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"You ain't getting this house."

Carol followed along, as the realtor gave her the tour, trying to ignore, as best she could, the presence behind her. Maybe if she ignored him, he wouldn't realize she could see and hear him.

Why the hell was this happening to her? Life wasn't fair. 33 years of nothing out of the ordinary and suddenly her life was movie. It was better when she Never having anything exciting, never having love she dreamed off secretly. Too bad Daryl was dead, he was cute, he may have added some excitement to her life.

"This ain't fair." Daryl muttered as she signed the necessary paperwork for the realtor and took the keys of the house all under his watchful gaze.

"You can say that again." She muttered under her breath as the realtor shook her hand. She saw Daryl do a double take, suddenly he was behind her as she shut the door behind the realtor, pressing her hand to the door she stood for a minute taking deep breathes. She could feel his presence behind her, it was different then Ed. There was a warmth, a calming warmth that she never felt when Ed was near. Ed's presence was cold, and distant.

"This is my house, don't get comfortable here, no one is taking this away from me."

She heard Daryl's voice in her ear, she could almost feel breathe on her neck. What the hell?

She turned, schooling her face so that she looked straight through him. Puttering around the boxes she had brought with her.

She had gotten rid of almost everything if her previous good thing about this house was it came furnished. She had her laptop and her clothing and a few personal items. Her possessions could fit in the bed of her truck.

She whistled to herself as she worked placing a few personal touches around the house, all the while feeling her otherworldly's guests eyes upon her. Tracking her every move.

She saw out of the corner of her eye, he was pacing in anger, his hands firmly in his armpits, when suddenly he let out a growl, hitting the wall and knocking a painting loose, she turned and watched it fall to the ground, then with a huff more annoyed than anything she walked towards it.

She picked up the painting, returning it to the wall, straightening it with a critical eye.

"Ain't you a peach."

His snarl almost had her laughing. Seriously who was this ghost anyway? She knew without a doubt he had no intentions of hurting her. He was angry, angry at the the world for his circumstances she supposed, but somehow she knew, he wasn't angry at her.

She sighed stretching her back, padding down the hallway towards the bedroom she had chosen for herself. It seemed, wrong to take the masters unit. She'd decided on a bedroom just down the hall, a soft green room with majestic views of the river.

"Nahhh you dumb bitch, you ain't taken my room."

She almost turned and snapped at him to watch his mouth. But the realization of what he had said stopped her. His room? Huh, she had no idea who owned the house. She dealt with a property management firm. That was probably why he was trapped here. A feeling of sadness filled her soul. He obviously had some unfinished business, maybe she could help him. But not tonight.

She dropped her luggage in her room, and took a small cosmetic case to the bathroom next door. Ignoring Daryl's glare as she went about her nightly routine. She wanted to see just where his intentions lay, how far he was going to take his peeping tom abilities so she started to casually strip.

"Oh fuck!"

She almost giggled as he spun, if a ghost could blush, she was pretty sure that's what he was doing, before suddenly he floated through the door. It was gonna take awhile to get used to that.

Freshly showered she padded back to her new room. Trying not to notice the figure Daryl struck sitting on the window bench. Staring out at the night sky, he looked so sad, it broke her heart.

She went over to a picture on the wall, a picture of a young man with an older gentlemen. She knew immediately that the young man was him, Daryl. He looked happy, holding up a string of fish, smiling for the camera, gaps showing where teeth were missing in his young grin.

She touched the picture softly running her fingers along the image. Wondering who he was, wondering how he ended up here, angry, and alone. Daryl was still on the window seat, watching her intently. She turned off her light and slipped into the bed. She could see him still sitting on the window seat, the moonlight giving his form a blue glow.

She rolled to her side, tucking her hands under her head, whispering to the room "I'm so sorry."

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Whoever she was, she was beautiful when she slept. Daryl sighed as he stared out the window. This was a nightmare. Why the hell was he sent to haunt his house and some woman he didn't even know? He should have been haunting Merle's big dumb ass that's who he should have been haunting. It was pretty much par for the course. His life was falling apart and it was Merle's fault.

"Pfft..., falling apart? It is apart, couldn't get much worse than this." He muttered, banging his head back against the wall, it was funny how, when he least expected it, his body would almost become solid, he could touch things, knock paintings off the wall. It seemed to only happen when he was upset. He watched as she shifted, her brow crinkling in her sleep, almost in annoyance, like he was disturbing her somehow.

If he could hold his breathe he would be now, but he watched silently, as she mumbled softly, flipped over and settled back to a deeper sleep.

Why the fuck did she have to come to his house anyway? She shouldn't be out here all alone. Didn't she have enough sense to know that? He was suddenly annoyed at her for no reason. He sat there glaring at her, his face set in a childish pout he was sure,but godamn it, he was dead. He had the right to be childish.

"No."

That simple word broke his thoughts and he made his way over to her, her face was distorted, in almost pain, she was dreaming and whatever it was about, it wasn't happy.

"No...please don't...I'm sorry." She whispered in terror.

She was crying in her sleep.

"Dammit." He muttered as he sat down on the edge of his bed (and it was his bed) wanting to wake her somehow.

Her little whimpers, were hard to watch, he put his hand out, wanting so badly to do something, but his shoulders slumped in defeat, his hand falling limply onto hers.

His head down, he was about to leave her to whatever haunted her. None of this was her fault. She didn't deserve his anger. He almost didn't realize when it happened, her hand turned and she threaded her fingers through his.

He gasped, staring at their joined hands. Eyes glancing up to her face. She was still sleeping, but she was holding his hand in her sleep. She was squeezing his hand. A shaky sob escaped his throat. It seemed as though it had been forever since someone had touched him. He didn't realize how much he had longed for it. How much he needed it until she slipped her hand into his.

Her face seemed to relax, she became peaceful in her sleep, as he watched her. Time had lost all meaning, since he was shot, he sat by her side holding her hand until the sun rose in the morning.