Chapter Two

The Wheel of Fortune

..xx...

"I'm sorry that was a big one," she apologizes. Her voice is soft, soothing, as she drops the bloody shard of glass into the small bowl sitting by her elbow. Daryl doesn't respond and she doesn't wait for him too, just continues her meticulous work. Another sliver clinks against curved china.

He raises his eyes from the slat board floor of her trailer, risking a quick glance at her profile before he quickly looks away again. Beth. Beth Greene is her name. She is the carnival's fortune teller. She is the owner of the green wagon and her hands are small and white and gentle. She tugs at the edges of his memory, the curve of her neck, the lilt of her voice, the way she chews on her bottom lip while hard at work. But at the same time he is sure that he has never met her, never laid eyes on her until he emerged from the darkness of the collapsed tent. Looking at her is like trying to pin down a dream or a half forgotten memory, if he thinks to hard about his mind skitters away. It is an uneasy feeling and he struggles to sit still. He wants to run, distance himself. He drops his gaze.

She clucks worriedly over his mangled palm. "It must hurt somethin' awful."

"Ain't nothin," he manages to grunt. He's had worse, much worse.

"Still, it was brave what you did," she says pausing her work. He can feel her eyes on him, curious and knowing at the same time. He doesn't look up. He starts a little when she runs her index finger over a broken line in the middle of his palm, setting off a series of fireworks across his skin. "I can't read you now."

"What?"

She shrugs and pulls out another shard. "That's what I do, read palms, interpret cards. The glass sliced through your lines." She laughs a little. "You've been reset."

He's not sure how to respond so he stays silents but he does raise his eyes from the floor once more to look around her trailer. It is not large but it has been separated into two halves by a heavy curtain the color of fresh pine needles. On a shelf nearby there is a collection of candles and a gleaming glass ball held up by a golden claw. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling filling the tiny compartment with their earthy scents. Underneath the distinct smells of lavender and rosemary there is another smell that tickles the edges of Daryl's senses and his memories. Something darker, sweet and sickly. He can't quite pinpoint what it is. He doesn't chase it and instead runs the fingers of his free hand over the soft velvet cloth embroidered with bursts of silver stars that is draped over the table where they are sitting. To his left sits a tall stack of glossy cards and he idly flips one over, studying the image. A wheel with eight spokes sits on a field of blue, crested by a sphinx. A golden snake slithers down one side while a figure in red rises on the other side. A man, a lion, an eagle, and an ox look on from the four corners.

"That's the Wheel of Fortune," Beth tells him tilting his hand so she can suss out more shards. "It heralds change."

"Never had much use for luck. Definitely never had fortune."

"Some might say we make our own luck," she retorts, a touch of laughter in her voice.

Daryl scoffs. "That don't sound like something a fortune teller should say."

"I suppose not." He glances up surprised and absently notes that she's even prettier when she smiles.

"I don't think you'll need stitches." She gets up, rummaging around in small chest, finally pulling out a long strip of white muslin. "I can wrap it for you though. It will keep out of the dust."

"Nothin' keeps out the dust," he mutters raising his eyes to hers. She grants him another smile and he looks away as heat starts to creep up the back of his neck.

"Don't believe in any of that stuff anyway." But that's a lie, because sitting in her trailer, with her holding his hand, he kind of does. That feeling crawls over him again. The feeling that he knows her and he thinks maybe from the way she's been looking at him that she feels the same way. The moment is broken as the towering red haired man from earlier clambers into the trailer filling the already too small space.

He slaps Daryl on the back. "That was a good thing you did back there kid."

Daryl raises an eyebrow at him, the man is hardly older than him. "Ain't a kid."

"Dont' be offended Abe calls everyone a kid," Beth chimes in.

"Now that's just not true dollface!"

Beth laughs and even Daryl finds himself smirking a little as the red haired man preens and gives her a saucy wink.

"Abraham Moses Ford." the big mean holds out one meaty palm and Daryl shakes it awkwardly with his left hand.

"Daryl," he returns.

Abraham grins and slaps him on the back again.

"Good as new," Beth declares gesturing at his wrapped appendage. "Well close too anyway." Daryl looks down at the clean white bandage and wiggles his fingers. The pain has ebbed to a dull pound and he knows that in a few days it will fade all together.

"Thank you."

Beth merely nods in response, head tilted, blue eyes studying him. He watches as she pulls in her bottom lip chewing at it absently. Daryl shakes himself and moves to stand but is trapped awkwardly between the table and Abraham. After a moment the big man seems to realize he is in the way and manages to move letting Daryl escape the tiny trailer.

He steps out of the wagon. Night is falling quickly now and the carnival is filling up. The strong man's tent has been restored. He leans against the wagon and lights a cigarette. Abe stands beside him and lights his own.

"You in the war?"

Daryl sighs internally. It always comes to this between two men now. "Yeah," he grunts.

Abe nods in response, light up his own smoke. "31st Dixie Company. Took a slug in the leg two months before the end of it."

He nods and blows out a cloud of smoke. "77th Infantry."

Abe lets out a long whistle. "Lost Battalion? Damn man, that's some heavy shit."

"Wouldn't wanna do it again."

"Kraut's had you pinned for six days. Always surprised me that even one of you manged to get out of it."

"Surprised me too," Daryl mutters, flicking the hot cherry of his cigarette into the night. The two men watch the red orange ember arc against the darkening sky and then drop into the suffocating dust.

There is a long silence as Abe continues to puff on his own smoke. He can hear Beth rearranging things in her trailer, hear her humming a little through the thin slats of wood. The urge to run rushes over him again, put as much distance between himself and this fey place as possible. He grunts out a quick goodbye to Abraham and turns to leave before Beth can reappear or Abe can get a word in edgewise but something tugs at the corner of his vest. The little girl from the tent is standing in beside him, having come around the other side of the wagon. Her face is still streaked with dust as she looks up at him and she is clutching the purple bear that she won playing that game earlier. He can see her mother hovering a few feet behind her, her thin form almost obscured by the deepening twilight.

"I just wanted to thank you," the girl whispers looking away and dragging a toe across the dirt at their feet.

"It wasn't nothin'," Daryl automatically replies.

The girl's gaze darts to his bandaged hand and to his horror he can see tears welling up in her pale eyes. "You cut your hand."

He shakes his head. "Hey it ain't nothin'. Don't even hurt."

She looks at him skeptically but after a moment seems to accept his reply. "My name is Sophia," she offers.

"Daryl."

"Well thank you for earlier... It was scary."

"Like I said it weren't nothin'. Glad I was there," he added as an afterthought, surprising himself.

Sophia smiles up at him and then suddenly shoves her bear at him, running away as soon as he has reflexively clutched it. "Thank you," she calls back again as she grabs he mother's hand and they both disappear back into the throng of the carnival.

Daryl remains frozen holding a purple bear. He turns as Abe chuckles behind him. "What the hell am I gonna do with this?"

Abraham shrugs and looks at him shrewdly. "You know we lost a few hands last week. Bigger show came through and swiped em right out from under us. Fact is we're short staffed."

"That so?"

"Mmmmhmmm. Could use a man like you, help set up, keep an eye on things."

"Man like me?"

"Yeah you know decent with kids, handy in a crisis."

Daryl blinks and stops himself from looking around to see who Abe was actually talking about.

Abraham continues, "I'll be honest the pay is lousy but you won't go hungry and you'll have a roof over your head even if it ain't exactly stationary."

"More than most people offer," Daryl replies. It was true. It was a solid job offer, something that he couldn't remember ever having. He was torn. A moment ago he was ready to run... but something... something was telling him to stay. He looked at the green wagon and the glowing Ferris wheel rising up behind it. He thought about the tarot card that he had flipped over in Beth's trailer. Some men make their own luck. "Yeah okay."

"Good man!" Abe smiles and slaps him on the back again. "Now stow your bear and meet me by the Ferris wheel in a few."

Daryl grunts and Abe limps back to the main thoroughfare bellowing out for someone named T-Dog to come and lend him a hand.

"So you're gonna stick around then?"

He turns to see Beth leaning casually in the door frame of her wagon, long blonde hair spilling over both of her shoulders. He shrugs, "Looks like it."

She smiles at him, a megawatt movies star kind of smile and his heart stutters in his chest. She turns to go back inside but seems to change her mind and turns back to him, her smile faltering just a little with the seriousness intoned in her voice. "You're a good man Daryl Dixon."

His blood runs cold as she gives him another small smile and then retreats back into the wagon. He had never told her his last name.