Here I am, once again (not torn into pieced, though...)

You may know if I take more time is beacuse I want to scrub any imperfection from the text and leave it good for you.

This chapter goes into a big change of events. Beth finally meets 'the Beast' and the results are not the expected ones...

I want to thank you for taking the time to read and give me your opinions.

I'll be checking on them so don't be shy. Let me know what you think. That helps me a lot to develop a better story and improve on my writting and style.

My tumblr: irlus

I have a couple of prompts and one-shot's and a small fic called "Destiny finds its way". AU, Daryl works as a civil engineer, guess who's married with...

Anyways.

Here is a new chapter. Enjoy it

;D


Chapter 4

~dead end~

Sun had set under the horizon line, painting everything in dark blue shadows. Daryl paced back and forth, trying to shut his thoughts of getting rid of the old man at the shack. He was a witness, he couldn't let him go just like that. But he couldn't just kill him and throw him in a ditch.

Hershel shouted unintelligibly things through the rag in his mouth, but that only made Daryl angrier and less patient. He dragged Hershel from the ties in his hands and put him inside a dark room, shutting the door as if the old man could vanish once he opened the door again.

He knew what he had to do. It was for the best. He knew himself perfectly, and was conscious of many atrocious things he's done in his myserable life but one of them and certainly the ony thing he would never do is cold blood kill. He did what he had to do that night when he saved that girl from his abusive boyfriend, but only because his basic instincts acted before his mind. It was wrong, and he had to stand against it. But the situation he was facing right now went totally against his principles. That old farmer was curiousing around, never meant to harm him or trace him to give him troubles. He might have a family to live for, and they would be probably worried about him.

His phone vibrated inside his pocket. Private number.

"Yeah?"

"Hey yo, it's me."

"The hell are ya?" Daryl answered in a pissed tone. Jesse raised his voice too.

"your boss, bitch. How's the business goin'?"

"we've got a problem. Sneaker. He saw everythin'." Daryl walked away from the door where Hershel was locked in. He didn't want him to hear.

"Specify 'everything'..."

"Everything. The equipment, the chemicals...the candy."

"Well, yo'lready know what to do."

Daryl grunted, aticipating the answer he didn't want.

"Don't be a pussy and handle it. I want him gone in an hour."

Line went dead and he put his phone back into his pocket. He hated his life. Since he was able to remember he had always been the one doing the hard stuff: distracting his father so Merle could grab some cigarrettes, teasing the bullies from school so he could save his brother's ass, shoving away angry dudes Merle owed them money. Either way, he was the only one handling other one's shit, and this case was not that different from the rest.

He walked to the cupboard dragging his feet and tok his shotgun from the top of the counter. There was no other way. If he let him go, he would probably talk more than allowed and he risked himself and Merle on going back to prison, not mentioning he would end up dead sooner or later at the hands of someone sent directly from his boss. He knew pretty enough about the subject.

He sat in the floor leaning his back against the wall, trying to gather enough courage to point the shotgun to the stranger's head and pull the trigger.

"Knock it off, Dixon. Stop being a sissy." He grunted to himself.

He stood up and opened the door casting his shadow over Hershel's body. Both men knew what was going to happen. Suddenly a light flashed from outside. Someone knocked at the door. Hershel froze, his eyes wide in terror trying to focus in the darkness on the person outside, as Daryl moved to the entrance, placing himself behind the door.

Whoever dared to cross the door, would get killed too.

. . .

Beth fell on a chair in the waiting room, her legs given into exhaustion. A scholar buss crashed against a truck in the morning and several kids were damaged, fortunately none of them got killed, but the majority reuslted with open wounds and broken bones. Beth couldn't be happier of working with kids. Eventhough she graduated from medical chemistry back in Atlanta, she had a special connection with children, and the doctors started to notice it. Dr. Riggs asked Beth to not step out of the pediatric area, since she was the only one who could controll kids and soothe them when they had to go to surgery, or she needed to pinch them with needles or give them disgusting medicines. She became popular in just a couple of days volunteering there. She wanted to be there once she finished her studies and became both analyst and nurse. I could be a good new start for her. Being busy was a good therapy.

She dropped the pen from the lobby book where she cheked out at five p.m. and took her bag from the locker. She stashed her white uniform, careully folded inside the bag when her phone rang. It should be her dad. His nerves shook her when she didn't recognize the number in the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hello, are you Miss Beth Greene? Hershel Greene's daughter?" It was the voice of a man, worry detected through the line.

"Who am I speaking to?" Replied Beth, trying to stay calmed. Something was wrong and she could notice it. Even smell it.

"Good afternoon, miss, I am Daniel Branson Son."

"Oh, yes, you're the sheep guy, right?"

"Uh, yes...yes I am. Is...is your father with you?"

"No, I mean he's supposed to come and pick me, he wouldn't take much."

"I tried to call him but he left his cellphone here. He came this morning, one of the sheeps escaped and he ran after it, and...well, he hasn't come yet."

"What?"

"Can you come here?"

"Yes, but I am at the hospital, right now."

"Ok, then wait for my wife to pick you up."

. . .

Beth didn't talk to the woman driving, though she seemed a good person, someone you could talk till the sun comes up but that was not the time nor the place. Wished she would have met her in another situation... She knew her father, he knew well those lands like the back of his hand. He couldn't just disappear or get lost. It had to happen something, though she didn't want to think of it. Beth jumped from the truck, still in motion before stop completely in front of Branson's house. He explained her to the exact direction where to go and quickly climbed again to the truck with a pair of flashlights. His wife stayed in the house in case Hershel came back.

The truck moved forward for a couple of minutes between the fields before it stopped with a growling sound inside the engine.

"Come on!" yelled Dany, fisting his hands on the stirring wheel.

The sun was about to set and the darkness of the nigth aproached them fast. Beth started to hyperventilate, her hands twisting the strap of her leather bag. She was running out of air.

"Shhh, easy, miss, we're going to find your father. Jus...lemme..."

He popped up the hood of the truck and climbed down to check.

"Jesus. the fan broke. Engine's over heated."

Beth shook her fear and grabbed the flashlight. She cleared her throat, breaking the sensation of choking with her own breath.

"Mr. Branson, I'll take a round here, see if I can find my dad's steps."

"don't go too far, I'll see if I can fix this and catch you up."

Mr. Branson took his tools and started to work on the cooler fan, while Beth walked in a straight line trying to track Hershel's steps. It was impossible. Wherever she pointed to, every inch of the ground was covered in dry weeds and grass. She felt her throat close again, hearing her lungs squeak in every breath she took. She closed her eyes, shoving her tension away as she recovered her breath. She kept walking in a straight line, focused on just one thing: find her dad.

Few days after Annette's death Hershel had a heart attack. Everybody blamed his sorrow but the doctor said it had to do with the state of his arteries. He was a strong man, but if he had a situation out of his own control of the emotions, could result in a bad outcome.

"Everything's ok, Hershel. If you want to avoid another sudden attack like this one, you have to take care of what you eat, and avoid handling stressing situations or heavy work." The voice of the doctor bounced against the inner walls of her skull.

If the sheep escaped he had to run after it. What if he suffered another attack? what if she found him dead and cold in some point of that place, lying in the ground because he could not get any help? Alone, in the middle of the nowhere.

Her lashes soaked in her salty tears rolling down her cheeks. She had to be strong. She had to find him.

Beth kept walking, venturing herself in the woods ahead as she left Mr. Branson behind. Her flashlight cut the darkness of the surrounds like a sword . Nothing seemed to have an order. Whenever she tried to follow a path, this one diverged into others that disappeared in the roots of the trees. Small twiggs and dry leaves covered the ground almost entirely and still no signs of her father.

Her heart flinched inside her chest when she saw the sheep Hershel was chasing after dead in the ground. Her throat screaked, she was having a hard time to take a deep breath. How could she fight a grotesque scene of broken bones or open wounds flooding in blood at the hospital without any problem, and have an asthma attack by seeing a dead animal? Somehow she felt stupid and snapped her head to the other side.

She swished her hand and her eyes caught the reflection of her light in a piece of glass a few yards ahead. It was a window, the window of an old shack. She sighed in relief, whoever lived in that place should know something about her father. She quicked her pace and crossed the wired fence, careful to not scratch her skin. She reached the door and knocked. Nobody answered. She peaked a glance but could see nothing through the dirt covered glass. She moved to the clearest window and flashed the ligth through the glass. Her father was there, tied from the hands and feet, and a rag in his mouth. Beth covered her mouth, killing a loud scream. What kind of monster could have done that to an innocent man?

She pushed the door open and threw the light not caring of where it landed. She kneeled in front of Hershel as she removed the rag from his mouth and started to untie his hands when a hand pulled her from behind and threw her to the opposite end of the room, sending her bag far away from her reach. She screamed and crawled back to the wall, looking for something she could use as a weapon. She grabbed what apparently was a rusty pipe in her hands and held it defiantly.

"Whoever is there, I just want my father back I don't want to..."

She heard a noise in the darkness. A shotgun loading.

"...I...he..." she was running out of air. She had an inhalator just in case her asthma would kick back in, but it was in her bag at the other end of the room. She wasn't able to look for it the middle of the dark, and didn't dare to do it. Not with a crazy gun loaded man.

"you leave her alone, this is not with her. It's with me. I saw everything."

Hershel huffed and screamed, pulling his hands to see if he could free them but the ties were strongly bound.

"See that, ol' man? Now I have to kill your kid too!" Her husky voice thrilled her, causing goosebumps in her skin.

"Who are you? why... you..." She heard his heavy steps approaching her, a hand in the neck of her jacket pulled her and slammed her against the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest as she felt the pressure of the shotgun against her collarbone.

"Pl..please don't!" She shrieked, panic streaming inside her veins.

"I'll give you a chance, kid. Ya haven't seen anything, ya haven't seen me. Go away and we leave this here. Don't wanna spill more blood."

Beth's breathing became shorter with every one of her violent heartbeats. The now dim light from the flashlight int he corner of the room gave her a poor sight of her attacker. Only the right side of his face. She turned to her father, he was sat on the floor, trying to roll on his side to see his daughter.

"I'll leave with him."

"No way."

"He suffers from his heart. He's in a delicate state. Please."

"Beth, sweetheart, leave me here" Hersheld cried in tears. "I am old, my life's done. You are young you have a lifetime ahead."

She sniffed the air in the environment. It rang a bell to her.

"...you." She exclaimed in realization. "You are the one of that awful smell!" She gave a quick glance to what she could see in the darknes, the light casting over a small bag of blue cristals under the table.

"That's the thing in the news, the blue sky candie...you cook meth!"

"Smartass...now If I may..." He put his finger in the trigger an grazed it Why the hell se doesn't leave?

"Are you on your own, right? Nobody else?" She asked defiantly. Hershel shook his head, his brows together in anguish and desperation. What was she exactly trying to do?

"ain't your business, kid." He growled, pushing the shotgun barrel deeper in her throat.

"Bethy, go, run away from here."

She shut her thoughts off, as she used to do when she had to assist someone in critical condition in the ER. She came up with a plan, the only one that assured her father would be safe and she would keep her alive.

"I'll stay in his place."

"What?" Both men cried at the same time. He didn't expect her to do such a thing for her father, as her father didn't expect she would come up with that crazy idea. A terrible idea. He could be a sick person, a violent vicious monster who wouldn't doubt a second to lay a hand on her or worse... Sacrifice herself? A young tallented woman, for an old man who had no one else except for her? First dead, before he'd let it happen.

"Don't need ya here."

"You do." She continued, fighting to keep her nerves under the line. "I know some basics of chemistry. I can help you produce a bit more, you get an extra money. If you let me go I could talk, and everything ends for you"

"Not if I kill you first."

"You won't." She sounded daring this time. What the fuck am I exactly doing? "If you wanted to do it, we would be dead five minutes ago."

Daryl grunted. He wanted to crush his fist against her face. No one dared to call him a coward. He could be anything but a coward. He fliped the table next to her sending the stuffs on it flying away.

"You are not killing him. Then I'll stay with you. I won't go anywhere, I swear. I help you, you let my father live. Everybody wins." She smirked nervously, both hands up against the wall.

His right eye scanned her, catching half of her face. He could see a blond hair knot and white skin glowing in the dim light. She was a pretty one.

"How can I trust you?" His hands sweating arounf the grip of the shotgun.

"Because I am right here willing to die in my father's place." Her answer was steady and firm, she was sure of what she just said. "Let him go, please, let him live."

Daryl released the pressure of the shotgun against her, but still pointing at them. He grabbed the flashlight from the floor and pointed directly to her eyes. She covered her face as her eyes went blind momentaneously. She tried to catch a better look on his face with her eyes half opened. Daryl felt something sting in his guts. Not only she was pretty. She was beautiful. How could he do something like this to her? forcing her to stay with a monster in her father's place. That was the kind of love he never had in his life and that made him feel an outcast. Guilt boiled in his guts, turning quickly into a sick wrath that kept him straigh lined.

He came close to her. She now could see his face: a singular pair of eyes glowed behind the light, one of them white cyan and the other dark as the night outside. The white reflect of her own skin lighted his whole face. She flinched and pushed against the wall. The skin of his left side had been melted, probably with fire or something else, the soft lines traced all along the closed wound with bumped red lumps like a fake wound proper of a cheap halloween costume.

"Stay away from her!" Hershel yelled from the floor, still fighting to loose the ties from his hands.

He gave her a glance from up and down, his husky voice rumbling from his throat. "fair trade."

He grabbed her from the wrists and dragged her across the floor. He threw her slender frame into the same room her father was captive. She expected the worst. She wouldn't make it till the morning, probably end up in a ditch or buried in the middle of nowhere. She stared in horror as the man with the shotgun took his father outside, stabbing him witht the tip of the weapon. A truck engine roared in the middle of the night and sped up, echoing for ever in her mind.

Panic and rush came to her from a bucket above her head. This time her throat closed almost completely, feeling a silent knot pulling her walls tighter and her pulse beating under the skin of her face. Thick tears fell from her eyes that grew puffy and red due to the lack of oxygen. She gripped her hands in the corner of an old mattress, tearing the ragged blankets, her teeth grinded as she tried to pull a deep breath. Her head buzzed from inside and her vision began to blurr. She was about to pass out. If she hadn't her inhalator soon, that would be it for her.

. . .

"If something happens to her, I will go to th..."

Daryl slapped Hershel hard in the face, making him fall to the ground.

"Now, this is the deal. I keep her, you keep your mouth shut." Daryl jerked his hand with the shotgun over Hershel's chest. "If you spit out a single word to the cops, I will slice her throat and throw her right in front of your lovely farm, understand, old man?

Hershel nodded and pushed himself to stand up from the side of the road and run straight. Praying to his Lord in Heaven to watch for her only daughter, as he prayed he could make it to home in one piece. He was a man of right, always worried to do what is correct, and reproach what is not. But this time he had to do his best to cover the truth in order to keep her alive.

After a walk that seemed endless he made it to the farm. With steady walks he reached the front door and went inside. He closed the door and slid himself down to the floor against the door. He passed his hands through the white hair and hid his face between his knees. He had lost his wife, his son and daughter next. He couldn't lose Beth. The kindest heart after his wife. Not her.