Chapter 3: The Interrogation

"Don't matter who I am," drawled the figure coming through the doorway. He oozed redneck. Probably drove a big rusty Ford, lived in a trailer and picked up road kill for supper before the world ended, Kaesta thought.

That voice, Kaesta recognized it immediately. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Before she was captured she'd heard that same gruff, country voice while she was pinned down near the tent; the tent that belonged to the angry, volatile man with the ear necklace and all the squirrels. Great. Things certainly were going downhill fast.

On the other side of the barn Randall was still and absolutely silent. Fear emanated from him. There was nothing he would do to cross this man. Kaesta wondered if there was a history or if the coward was just overly sensitive to the man's intimidating presence.

"If I'm going to die, I'd at least like to know who my executioner is going to be," Kaesta attempted bravery, but watching her counterpart across the room it was difficult not to share some of his fear of this imposing man. Her voice wavered a little, enough for both her and her jailor to know any bravery was false. None the less, she watched him closely to see his reaction. Surprise registered for just a millisecond. He wasn't planning to kill her. Either that or he didn't expect her to be so direct, but she was placing her bets on the former.

"I ain't come here t' kill ya," he assured her. Casually he walked over and bent down to where she sat. He got right up in her space and she could feel his warm breath on the side of his face. Glowering at her he added, "...yet." There was so much disgust expressed on his features and in his voice that the air was thick with it. She tried to pull away but hand-cuffed to the pole she had nowhere to go. "You an' me gonna have a 'lil chat," he informed her.

"Not really one for..." Kaesta started, but as the redneck's scowl intensified, she stopped realizing it was a bad time to pull attitude. This was not a man she wanted to try and push around. Maybe there was a good reason her fellow prisoner was sitting quietly. She took note, swallowed her words and shut her mouth.

"Let's start with who ya are an' what the 'ell you was doing' sneaking' 'round this farm." To the point. This wasn't a man that wasted time on words. She could count on him to say what he had to say, but nothing more. This was going to be difficult if she couldn't turn the tables and get him talking at least a little bit.

"And if you don't like my answers," the young woman asked, "you gonna kill me then?"

He looked at her and narrowed his piercing blue eyes, "Maybe."

Lori caught up with Rick on his way to the barn. Tension was clearly evident on her face. It tore him apart to see his wife like this, on one side, but on the other he got so tired with the drama. Marriages were supposed to go both ways, and right now he'd actually like some support from her instead of the steady criticism she was feeding him. The weight on his shoulders was getting to be too much for him, but the whole group looked up to him and he owed that to them. It was up to him to keep them safe, to make the tough decisions. Sometimes he wished that she could show a little understanding for that.

"Rick, we need to talk," Lori said falling in beside him. When he kept walking she reached out for his hand, stopping him, they turned to face each other. The warmth of her hand was a momentary comfort to the weary police officer. He loved her, but things were so strained between them. They hadn't been the same since he'd found her and Carl after waking up from his coma. Most recently she confessed that she'd slept with his best friend and partner on the force, Shane, while believing her husband dead. Somehow they'd work it out, but right now there wasn't the time.

"What is it, Lori?" Annoyance dripped through his voice. He found his patience for her was often short. He tried not to blame her for what happened, but, if he was being honest with himself, he did blame her. "I'm busy, I've got to..."

"I know," His wife didn't give him the chance to finish. "I just don't feel safe with these prisoners around. I mean, what if one of them escapes? We need to talk about what you're going to do with them."

"Look Lori, I don't have time for this," Rick was becoming impatient with his spouse's need to get involved where she didn't need to be. Him and Shane would handle it, even if they didn't see eye to eye right now. "I'm working on it."

The woman studied her husband. "Shane told me she was covered in blood when he found her. What if she was bit or scratched and she turns?"

Exasperated, Rick sighed. "'Covered in blood' would be a little melodramatic, Lori. She had some scratches from running through the bush. Yes, her feet were bloody, but she wasn't bit, they were just cut up." His wife stared at him doubtfully. "Christ Lori, she was running around with no shoes on, what would you expect of find?"

"I just don't want them here, not with Carl... And the baby," she pushed.

"You know, that is my son too, my baby, don't you think I'm thinking of them, of you, of all of us? Now look, I'm not going to let anything happen that would hurt our family. I'm not… but you need to let me do my job." He knew he'd likely regret his words later, but his patience was worn too thin. "I can't have you questioning my every move. Please Lori, just trust me."

"My name is Kaesta," she offered knowing full well that was not what he meant.

The redneck huffed. "So? Tha' much we know from yer friend o'er there," he nodded at the boy.

Really, she wished they would stop calling him that. To call him her friend couldn't be further from the truth. "Kaesta Jamieson," she tried again, "and Randall isn't my friend." Expecting her cell mate to pipe up again she glanced nervously in his direction. Nothing. He just sat and fidgeted seemingly extraordinarily interested with the dirt on the floor.

This answer didn't appear to satisfy him. "How d'ya know each other then?"

The young woman ignored his question. "What's your name?"

"What'd I say?" he snapped. "Don't matter who I am. Best answer my questions," her captor warned.

Things might actually have been easier had it been Shane who'd come to interrogate her, she mused. Some type of human connection, that's the most important thing she needed right now if she was going to find a way out of this. Because right now in this man's eyes she was not a human being, probably barely a step above one of them walking corpses. A name would help, some common ground would be better. Although what she could find to share with the psycho looming over her, she had no idea. Baby-steps, first she'd work on finding out who he was.

"It doesn't matter, eh? Then tell me," the young woman persisted, "What's your name?"

Her refusal caused his temper to flare. "You dumb or sumthin'? In case ya 'aven't noticed ya ain't in a position to be makin' demands 'ere."

Kaesta swallowed. He could sense her unease as she backed off and the corner of his mouth curled upwards ever so slightly. She'd need to give a little more before trying to take. Choosing not to tackle the question about how she knew Randall she went back to what she was doing at the farm. "I saw the farm from the top of the ridge. I could make out vehicles and the RV and thought there might be people here. So I made my way down the hillside and through the swamp to get a closer look."

"What for?" He snarled. "Thinking you'd come steal our food, steal our guns?" The accusation was fueled with a protectiveness she had overlooked. She'd picked up on it before, the first night she was hiding outside the farm, just in the form of hurt over someone lost, but she'd thought nothing more of it until now. This rough, unstable redneck cared deeply about the group. That made him especially dangerous if he believed she was a threat to them.

She didn't speak, just shook her head.

"What for then?" He demanded.

"I... I don't know," she stammered, realizing it was the honest truth. "I just, I don't know what I thought. It... It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then I got down here and I didn't know what to do. I haven't exactly had good experiences with the people I've run into so far," her gaze fell to the floor. Something softened in his expression with her burst of honesty. She hadn't really told him anything, but her tone was genuine and not the cold and rote as it had been before when she'd said she'd been the prisoner of Randall's group.

"So I was hesitant. I wanted to get a feel for if it'd be safe or if I should just keep on my way," the young woman continued. " 'Course the first thing I run into is a clothesline strung with squirrels and your," she paused, "…necklace of ears." She wrinkled her nose. Previously she'd only suspected it was his, but now she knew it was. "Most people collect baseball cards, or comic books or stuff like that, you know," she joked trying to ease the tension that was threatening to suffocate her.

An amused grin snuck onto his hardened face. It was the first glimpse she'd got that he was also a human being. Kaesta smiled.

A sharp knock on the door put an end to the interrogation. The redneck got up and strode across the room. "Wait!" Kaesta called after him. Reluctantly he turned back to face her. "I'd still like to know what to call you," she spoke softly giving it one last attempt.

"Name's Daryl," he mumbled not exactly sure why he was bothering to answer the evasive young woman. "Daryl Dixon."

Outside the barn Rick looked expectantly at Daryl. Eager to find out what he'd learned so he could decide what to do with the two prisoners in the barn and put his wife's concerns at ease. Daryl recounted the brief conversation he'd had with the girl and his overall impressions of her. Namely that she was hiding something. Telling it to Rick he realized he'd found out very little. It was not hard to mistake the disappointment on their leaders face.

Conflicted and in thought, Rick's eyebrows creased. Time was running out to decide what to do with Kaesta and Randall. The rest of the group was getting anxious with them still around. They'd been through so much, all of them, he just wanted to be able to give them some peace, some sense of security. However, Rick was a man of the law, of justice, and he couldn't bring himself to kill them when their guilt or innocence was still in question. Daryl stood back and watched him but said nothing.

"This process is too slow," Rick observed. Daryl raised an eyebrow. The officer heaved a sigh, "If only there was another way," he continued carefully, shaking his head, "but there's not, we'll just have to do the best we can. Let them stew a bit and try talking to them again, see if we can find out anything more before we make a decision." No more words needed to be spoken. Daryl could read between the lines, he knew Rick couldn't do what needed to be done, knew he couldn't ask him to do it. He didn't have to. Daryl could be the one to get his hands dirty.