Chapter Four: Is this the real life?

Michonne was late. Very late. Entering the Atlanta courthouse, she viewed the multiple texts from Christie inquiring on her whereabouts. The urgency of those texts didn't inspire Michonne to move any faster that morning. Meetings, appointments and the importance of being on time in a corporate environment were all things that long lost their value to Michonne. She spent her morning just as she spent all of yesterday, basking in the joy of being a mother to Andre. She sang with him, watched Caillou and Tree Fu Tom and fed him homemade pancakes and grits as she got him ready for the day.

By the time she herself was ready and heading out of her apartment, Michonne was already ten minutes late to her meeting. Walking pass security, the guard she threw her shoe at was sitting behind the security desk. Despite Christie's reassurance that Michonne would not run into any trouble, she still took precaution by tightening her grip on her briefcase and keeping the guard in her line of sight while she went through the metal detector.

As she came up to Judge Meyer's chambers, standing beside the door and with her back to Michonne was her friend/assistant. She was quickly texting on her cell and tapping the heel of her stilettos on the floor. Michonne felt her own cell vibrate, viewing the front screen, it was Christie sending her another text.

"I'm right here." Christie slightly jumped at the sound of Michonne's voice.

"Jesus! Michonne, did you get the fifty bajillion texts I sent you."

"I'm sorry, been preoccupied."

"It's not like you to be late." Christie stated matter-of-factly. She sighed, "Michonne, you're scaring me, seriously I mean, you have memory lost and you're walking around like everything's fine."

"It is." Ending the matter, Michonne opened the door to the chambers while Christie threw up her hands in frustration and gather a bunch of folders and paperwork from a chair.

"I hope whatever you've forgotten doesn't include this trial," Christie said whispering.

Christie's words echoed through Michonne. During Andre's nap time yesterday, she wrote down anything and everything she could remember before her fainting spell. Michonne was able to recall every single case she ever defended except the one she woken up to and that frighten her, she had a reputation for being the best; sharp and ambitious. Michonne knew she needed to shake off the cobwebs that managed to engulf her whole mind in less than a minute of being knocked out. She couldn't let false visions of the undead, war, and Rick Grimes wreck her from her career path.

Michonne walked with confidence toward the two men seated in front of her. Judge Meyer was dressed in his judge's robe despite not having to oversee a trial today. He was one of those who like to keep up the appearance that he was never not working even though his fishing pole and bait box were right behind him. He glanced up and gave Michonne a warm smile which surprised her.

"You're late," he said, pulling off his reading glasses. Michonne humbly nodded her head and took a seat.

"My apologies Your Honor for keeping you waiting."

"And me," the snarly remark came from the lead prosecutor of the case, Clint Jacobs. Only a few years older than Michonne, he likened himself to be the Don Draper of lawyers, but was more of a Peter Campbell. Michonne has beaten him twice in the court of law and yet he was still full of self-importance.

"My apologies to you as well," she smiled brightly, not giving him the satisfaction to see her fluster and turned her attention back to the judge. "I wanted to reassure you Judge Meyers that I am much better and able-bodied to continue to represent my client."

"You caused one hell of a scene Monday," he replied. Michonne swallowed.

"Well, I did fall and hit my head on the floor. My actions were simply a symptom of the concussion I received." He nodded his acknowledgement of her explanation. Michonne quickly created different answers in her head she would say in case of any follow up questions.

"I've decided the trial will resume next Tuesday at 9. I suggest you set an extra alarm Ms. Cassel." Michonne's cheeks burned, she hadn't been scolded by a judge since her early years of practice.

Judge Meyer got up and took off his robe. Michonne, Christie and Jacobs stood up as well. She shook hands with the older gentleman and turned to walk out the door. Back in the hallway, Michonne turned to speak to Christie about how well that went, only to be confronted with Jacobs' smirky expression.

"What's really the deal with you?" He asked.

"There is no deal with me and if there were it'd be no concern of yours." She stepped back feeling uncomfortable with the lack of space between them.

"If your antics are of a ploy to sway the jury…"

"Stop." Michonne didn't need the aggravation of a spoiled little boy being condescending towards her. "I don't need stunts or tricks to win a case. I will win because the jury believed me. And because I'm better than you. So if you'll excuse me, I have a ton of holes to punch through your case."

"See you Tuesday," he yelled out to her as she walked away. It took everything within Michonne to not turn around and punch him in the face.

...

Back at her law firm, Michonne closed the door to her spacious office and took the moment to breathe. Her office had been her second home, she even had it decorated in a similar fashion

On her desk were two dozen roses sitting in a beautiful crystal vase decorated with crystals. Michonne walked to her desk and examine the gift, tucked in the roses was a small envelope, Michonne opened it and read its contents.

Beautiful roses for my beautiful lady. Love, Mike

Michonne smiled, Mike always surprised her with gifts here and there and usually the timing was impeccable; when she's was feeling stress or upset he'd surprise her with something special. Michonne placed the note and envelope on her desk and bent down to smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

Knock. Knock. Michonne turned towards her office door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Christie walked in with the stack of folders she's been carrying around.

"Okay, I brought the most recent information about the case," she placed the folders next to the vase. "Mike?" She asked looking at the flowers. Michonne nodded, picked up one of the folders and sat down. She opened it and briefly read through a transcript.

"Is this from Monday?"

"Yes. I figure you might want to know what you were talking about before you fainted."

The transcript showed that Michonne was in the middle of cross examining Ms. Myung—a forensic pathologist—and was able to have her agree that the blood found on Mr. Dixon's clothing… Michonne stopped reading when her memory sparked.

"Christie?"

"Hmm?"

"My client. What's his name?" Christie eyes widen.

"Michonne, you're joking." Michonne knew not knowing the person she was defending in a murder trial went beyond worrisome. She was starting to regret insisting to everyone that she didn't need to see a doctor.

"His name?" She repeated.

"Merle Dixon."

Merle Dixon? That name rang familiar with Michonne and gave her ill feelings towards the man who owned it as if he personally did something to her in another life. Michonne got up from her chair and paced around.

"This is not good, Michonne. You have to see a doctor."

"I'm fine."

"No you're—"

"Christie!" Michonne said sharply, stopping her pacing. She turned to the younger woman.

"We need to keep this between us," she said softly. You're making a mistake, this isn't smart. "Tonight, we'll go over everything and then I'll meet with Dixon tomorrow and prepare for next week. I can do this." She walked over to Christie and put her hands on the younger woman shoulders. "We can do this. Just help me, please."

Christie looked doubtful, she closed her eyes and groaned. "Do you listen to anybody? You need someone to tell you no a couple of times."

"You won't help me?"

"Of course I will! You started doing that thing where your eyes get all puppy dog-ish and it's kind of hard to resist that. Michonne gave her a hug. Pulling away she smiled, I can get back on track with my job, my life, I can do this.

Michonne walked to her desk and sat down, she pulled out a notepad and gestured for Christie to sit.

"I have you know," she said, "I did have someone tell me no a lot and I actually listened."

"Umm who is this person and where can I find them, so they can be my sensei." Christie said laughing, Michonne didn't share in her laugh because it register in her mind that she was speaking of Rick. And there was no 'Rick' she had decided.

"Mike,"

"Uh huh," Christie scoffed. "You have Mike wrapped around your finger. You tell him to jump, he'll say how high." Michonne shook her head and wrote on the top of the paper 'Merle Dixon'.

"Now, I'm curious. Was it someone before Mike?" Michonne ignored Christie and opened up another file, she tried to read through it, but images of Rick smiling were distracting her.

"Ok," Christie continued talking, "well, you being suddenly quiet is only making me more suspicious. Are you cheating?" Michonne jerked her head up, Christie had her elbows on the desk, resting her head on her hands and giving Michonne a look of innocence.

"What?" Michonne asked sheepishly.

"Nothing," she said in a sing-song tone.

"I'm not cheating." Christie only shrugged at Michonne's assertion.

Knock. Knock. Attorney and her colleague, Greg Bison popped his head in.

"There's a man outside wanting to speak with you, Michonne."

"Ok."

Michonne and Christie eyed each other, both women uncertain as to who the mystery man was.

"You can come in, Greg said.

"About time," a strong southern twang from the man could be heard outside the door. Greg opened the door further and sauntering into her office was a man that looked like a poster boy for Backwoods Weekly.

"You the one defending my brother?" His voice was raucous and obnoxious which made Michonne moved back in her chair. He didn't bother introducing himself, he sat down in the chair next to Christie. Christie scrunched up her nose as if his appearance emitted a foul odor in the air.

"Does Merle Dixon's brother have a name?" Michonne asked.

"Answer my question first, are you representing my brother because it sure the hell don't look like," Michonne frowned.

"I'm sorry, what law school did you graduate from? How many cases have you won?" Christie sniped. He glanced over at Christie and rolled his eyes. Michonne gave Christie a disapproving look which made the young woman slump back in her chair with a sour expression. Michonne then turned her attention to the mystery man who was looking for a fight.

"You want answers because you're worry about your brother. I understand. This trial is not nearly over and…"

"My brother is going to fry because of you," he angrily cut Michonne off, slamming his oil-stained hand on her desk. Christie moved her chair away from him while Michonne remained unbothered. She stood up and walked towards the man, she moved the flowers Mike sent to her away from the edge of the table and sat down in its place. Crossing her legs and resting her hand and arms on her knee, she leaned in closer to the man.

"What is your name?" She asked calmly.

"Daryl."

"Thank you, Daryl. I want you to know that I have never taken a case I didn't think I could win. As a matter of fact, I've yet to lose a case and I don't plan on starting, but this isn't about me. This is about your brother, Merle. Trust me when I tell you this, I don't take anything I do lightly. Do not confuse my defense of your brother pro bono as the same as a public defender who is overworked and underpaid. I am fighting to have him acquitted." Michonne paused, his blue eyes stared into her brown. "If you do not like my methods or you feel your brother should have another defense attorney, by all means, Merle is well within his rights to hire someone else."

Michonne uncrossed her legs and stood up again, she was directly over Daryl, forcing him to look up at her. "And if he does, lethal injection will be in his future."

Neither Daryl or Christie spoke, Christie was in awe while Daryl's eyes were now downturned, he was chewing on his fingernail, deep in thought, and then stood up as well.

"Nice speech," he didn't seem flustered at all and Michonne somewhat admired that she couldn't intimidate him. "I just want my brother free, he's an asshole, but he's no murderer. You say you're fighting for him?"

Michonne nodded, "then I believe you. Lawyers are sheisty liars, but seem al'ight."

Michonne appreciated Daryl's approval, but she didn't care to have him in her office any longer. Christie must have read her thoughts because got up and opened the door and gestured for Daryl to leave. Daryl started to leave the room.

"Uppity bitch," he mumbled to Christie.

"Your momma!" She retorted, not waiting until he was out the door before shutting it forcibly.

The moment was remarkably funny to Michonne as she started laughing uncontrollably.

"Your momma?" She asked in between laughs. Christie sat back down and huffed. "Ok. I'm not going to get anything done here, I'm going home."

"You just got here."

"And I'm leaving," Michonne gather up the folders and paperwork and placed them in her briefcase. "Will you be able to come over around 8?"

"Of course, that's why I'm here, to be your guardian angel."

"You are no angel," Michonne joked, holding her door open as both ladies headed out for the day.

...

The July heat became unbearable to sit on the balcony much longer, Michonne went inside and grabbed a cold water bottle from the refrigerator. She was restless, the hour she's been at home was spent feeling anxious about Andre. Mike informed her that he would be the one to pick up their son from daycare and it took everything within Michonne not to argue. She was upset with herself that she was letting her nightmares affect her view of Mike. He is an excellent father, Andre is fine, she thought.

Trying to take her thoughts away from her son, Michonne focused on her case in her office, but when her mind began to wander, she decided maybe watching TV would keep her distracted. But, even the mindless viewing of a reality tv show couldn't help, Michonne turned to ESPN, she half-listened to their colorful debate about some latest NFL scandal. One of the announcers segue into a segment about a former player signing on to be a defensive coach for the Atlanta Falcons, Michonne lifted up her remote to change the channel until a photo of the new coach was shown. A memory deep down triggered in her mind, she turned up the volume instead to hear.

"I think he'd make a great coach. The Atlanta Falcons need all the help they can get Joe."

"Tyreese Williams back in the day showed great promised and then stumbled badly until he eventually had to retire, I guess he's a great lesson for the players on what not to do."

"Ok, Steven you're just being funny. A majority of great coaches in this sport have either never been an actual player or a mediocre one. Williams is qualified…"

Michonne stopped listening, she was getting a headache, and turned off the television.

"Anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed." She said out loud to no one. "UGH," Michonne groaned it was a phrase her grandmother use to tell her when she would throw tantrums as a kid. Michonne lain down on the coach. I'm slowly losing my mind. She angled her head so that she could view her katana which was back on display above her fireplace. She took note that she only wanted to use it once today. Soon sleep overcame her as she closed her eyes, the Atlanta traffic playing in her ear soon began to fade away.

"I'm not taking my son out there," Mike, Michonne and Terry were in a dorm room assigned to them by the US Military. Andre was asleep on the bed while the adults were huddle in a circle for warmth.

"It's not safe here anymore, Mike," said Michonne.

"How do you know? You're out there more than you are in here," Terry said. Michonne opened her mouth to make a cutting retort, but instead continued to plead her case to Mike.

"We're going on runs more and more because they're running out of supplies here, people are leaving. Most of them didn't have a choice. I rather take our chances out there, I'm good with my sword, and you've been getting better at shooting. We can find another camp?"

"No. We've got it good here. I'm not leaving."

"Yeah you've gotten real comfortable," Michonne cut her eyes towards the baggie in Terry's hand and then back at Mike. Mike ignored her and instead tapped Terry on the shoulder and gestured to the table. At that moment, Michonne decided her and Andre were leaving before the week was over, with or without Mike.

Michonne turned in her sleep, she buried her head between the sofa cushion in an effort to hide her face from the light. She saw herself standing in an almost pitch black room, there were fires burning outside, and the sound of screams. She watched as her other self laying a tiny body down on the floor.

"I'm so sorry," Mike cried in the corner. His tears only fueled Michonne's rage, she ran up to him and swung at him.

"HOW COULD YOU!"

Her punches went through him like he was a ghost or was it her? Confused, Michonne turned to her other self that just stood there, katana in hand, and dead eyes staring through her and at Mike.

"Michonne, they swarmed us outside and we were bitten," Terry came in with his arms outstretch, blood was pouring from his forearm. "We didn't know if you were coming back. Mike didn't…" Michonne watched as her other self raised her katana.

"NO!" She screamed.

"Michonne?"

Someone was forcibly grabbing her by her shoulders and jerking her awake. She felt like she was choking as she coughed violently. She glanced to the side to see a figure lying supine on a bed. Half his face was covered with a bandage. The person holding her, bent her forward, she was practically over their lap as they hit her back, helping her clear her throat. Michonne stopped coughing, but tears were still falling down her cheeks.

"I killed him," she cried out.

"No you didn't. He's still here, you didn't cause this." Michonne sat up and looked at her friend. Rick Grimes had so much on his plate, but right now he was here for her, Michonne couldn't hold in her pain anymore.

"I killed my son," she breathed in and out as she cried even harder.

"I don't believe that." He held her face and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I should have left sooner. I was going to leave, just me and my baby, but I was stupid. I should have known better and now he's dead!" Rick pulled her in closer to him, she lain her head on his shoulder as she cried. She realized that she hadn't properly grieved for her child until another child she came to love as her own, life held in the balance.

"Shh, it's not your fault. I know you, you're a lioness that will protect her cubs. Whatever happened it was out of your hands. You refused to let me blame myself for Carl and I'm not going to let you do the same damn thang." Rick hugged her tighter, "I'm with you. If you want to cry, we can do that. I'm not going anywhere because I love you."

Michonne felt a light tug on her shirt, she awaken to two bright brown eyes on the cutest little face.

"Mommy?" Andre was climbing onto the sofa, Michonne wiped the tears from her face and pulled him to her chest.

"Ahh, my little man," she gave him kisses all over his face and began tickling him until he cried stop between laughs.

"Weren't you tired in the car just a few minutes ago?" Mike walked over to them, he bent down and gave Michonne a peck on the forehead and went to grab Andre, but Michonne kept her grip on the tiny tot.

"it's bed time, Michonne," Mike stated, he looked at her perplexed by her reaction. The dreams Michonne had were still fresh on her mind and she couldn't shake them off. It happened Michonne.

"What time is it?" She asked, still not loosening her grip.

"It's almost eight." It was dark outside now, Michonne couldn't believe she slept so long.

"You've been out with my son for that long?" Michonne spoke louder, sitting up on the couch with Andre in her lap. She saw behind her Terry sitting at the kitchen island.

"We came back here hours ago. You were knocked out sleep, so I took Andre out to eat. And what is with this my son, Michonne?" Mike was becoming visibly upset with her, but she didn't care.

"With him?" Michonne got up, pointing her head towards Terry. Andre began to fuss, so she placed him on her chest and rocked him.

"His godfather? Yeah?"

Michonne walked passed Mike. "Hi to you too, Mich," Terry said, he was equally confused as to Michonne's sudden hostility, Michonne glared at him in return.

She entered Andre's room and closed the door behind her and laid him down in his crib.

"Mommy, daddy," he said.

"Bedtime baby," she turned on the baby monitor and his musical nightlight that played classical music. Mike entered the room just as she was tucking Andre's blanket around him.

"Baby what is wrong?"

"Shh…"

"Don't tell me to 'shh' what did Terry do to you?"

"Is shut up better," she hissed. Andre's eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn't fully asleep yet, so she moved passed Mike into the hallway with Mike following.

"You know Christie told me more about what happened. You need to see someone because your sudden mood shift is weird and you've been acting way too overly protective of our son since Monday."

"Someone has to protect him, you certainly can't," the words flew out of Michonne's mouth before she could stop them. She groaned. I'm angry at him for no reason.

Mike looked dumbfounded and backed away from her.

"Mike," she said reaching out to him only for him to walk away from her.

"Yo Terry!" Terry looked up from his cell and stood up. "Let's go," Mike gestured his arm to signal for them to head out the door.

"Mike," Michonne called out to him again, but he ignored her, she timidly walked behind them as they left the apartment.

Just as she was about to close the door, she was stopped by Christie coming in through it.

"Hey, pouty face." In one arm Christie had a blanket draped over it, a pillow tucked under it, and a bottle of Grey Goose. In her other hand she was carrying a bag of groceries.

"I didn't know I planned a sleepover with you," Michonne quipped. Michonne looked out the door and saw Mike and Terry head into the elevator. I fucked up, she thought.

"I'm not leaving until you know this case from inside out," she sat her bags on the counter and placed her pillow and blanket on the stool.

Michonne closed the front door and locked it, she walked over to all the boxes that were sitting on her floor.

"Grab the one dated 5-10-2009, that has all the original police reports, statements that were given, and crime scene photos," Christie said from the kitchen. Michonne looked over to see she was grabbing the martini shaker.

"None for me," Michonne called out. "I've been working on this for over a year?" Michonne grabbed the box and went over to her living space and sat down on the rugged carpet. She opened the box and pulled out files of paper.

"I think I'm going to drink this whole bottle before the night is over." Michonne ignored Christie's sarcastic remark and organized the files on the floor. "You didn't take the case until this year," Christie walked over with her drink in one hand and a bag of Hot Cheetos.

"Why did I take the case?"

"Michonne, for the twentieth time, I think this is a bad idea and you should be having your brain scanned as we speak."

"You said you'd help."

Christie took a long swig from her drink and set it down on a coaster that Michonne pushed over to her. She then leaned over and grabbed one of the files.

"You took the case because after you met with Merle Dixon you thought he was innocent of the crime."

"Innocent?"

"Yep. I still don't know why you're taking such a risk considering the evidence is kind of damning."

Michonne shook her head, she's been trying to conjure up memories about handling this case all day, she didn't even know what her defendant looked like, nothing was popping up in her head.

"Let's just start from the beginning."

"Cool, I have the police report from the scene right here."

"Read it to me."

"Office Bryant was the first to arrive to the scene. The motel's owner was standing outside, he appeared to be sick. Yadda yadda ya, owner stated he called the police. Said he heard arguing and yelling. Said it was not an unusual thing to hear at night. Blah Blah Blah.

"Christie."

"Mich, this stuff is boring." Michonne gave Christie a look of annoyance, catching the hint Christie mouthed sorry and began reading again, "Immediately noticed two dead bodies inside the room, one was easily identifiable as a woman and the other appeared to be a man from the outfit. There was blood soaked into the carpeting near the man and blood, brain matter, and pieces of skull were all over the wall, bed, nightstand and the dead woman as well."

While Christie read, Michonne opened up the folder that was marked 'photos', she pulled out the stack of letter-sized pictures, the first one was of a nightstand that fit the description from the report. Michonne flipped to the next photo, it was of the woman. Michonne studied the photograph, the woman's eyes were open staring into nothingness. She was half-naked with only a towel covering her lower region. There was a small hole in her head and a matching hole in her chest. Michonne grimaced, the woman face was swollen and her body looked gaunt as if she lacked nutrition.

I'm a fair man, matter of fact I'm more than fair. You killed my men and only left one alive and I'm just going to kill one of yours. Only one!

Michonne closed her eyes as the disembodied voice spoke over Christie's monotonous reading of the statement. She turned to the other photo and gasped.

"The second victim's head was smashed beyond recognition," she stated.

Michonne's stomach turned and her hands shook the photo she was holding, the body was headless, only strands of muscle ligaments were still attached. There was nothing left of anything that even resembled a human head, the photo could only be comparable to smashed pumpkins.

Michonne felt her mind leave the room, leave Atlanta, she could hear Christie's voice grow faint. The air was chillier, her carpet was gone and in its place was gravel road. She was no longer sitting on her behind, but being forced to kneel. Michonne looked down to her right and kneeling next to her was the kid she adored, Carl, and if he was frighten he didn't show it.

"Ok, so this other report is from the forensics lady," Michonne could hear Christie, it seemed as if her voice was coming from the sky making Michonne look up at the night sky sprinkled with the stars. She glanced down as she felt someone grab her hand, she thought it was Carl, but his hands were clenched in a fist. Michonne looked over Carl's head to Rick. He was scared, his eyes were glaze from tears that were threatening to drop. Michonne licked her lips and tasted the saltiness of her own tears.

"The report says they were able to identify the headless victim from teeth records and his name is Dwight Gibson."

So who's it going to be Rick? Don't worry you ain't gotta make that decision. Lucille is a very picky eater. Is that your boy? That's your boy, I won't harm your boy, no, I want us to be friends. How about this Asian guy? Nah, that'll be racist. No to the black chick too, that'll be racist and sexist.

"We believe Dwight was the first victim and the woman—who we identified as Sherry Gibson—was the second victim. We also believe the killer made her watch as he beat Mr. Gibson's head with a blunt object."

Inni-mini-miny-mo. Catch a tiger by its toe. If it hollers let it go. Inni. Mini. Miny. Mo!

Michonne closed her eyes, this is not real. When she opened them, she was back in her apartment, Christie was still reading and she was still staring at the gruesome photo. Tossing the pictures to the ground, Michonne quickly stood up.

"I have to use the bathroom," Christie only nodded. Michonne ran to the guest bathroom, closed the door and promptly threw up today's contents that were sitting on her stomach. She was shaky, hot and uncomfortable. Sicken with what she was seeing in her head and in the toilet bowl, her stomach tighten and forced her to violently vomit again.

She continued to throw up even when there were no longer anything left besides stomach bile. Not being able to take it much longer, she crawled away from the toilet and hauled herself up to the counter sink.

"Michonne, open the door." Christie was outside, but Michonne didn't care to let her in. She turned on the faucet and tossed cold water over her mouth.

Michonne felt heavy movement to her left as someone was grabbed, she couldn't see who the person was, her vision was blurred, but she heard the screaming pleas.

Michonne looked into the mirror, she was tired and she felt defeated. What is wrong with me, she thought. She tried so hard to convince herself that she dreamed a long nightmare in a short period of time. She began to cry from frustration. These images were from her memory, it happened.

Crack. Michonne watched through blurry eyes as the devil in human form swung a bat and it made its connection on the skull of the faceless man. Michonne screamed, angry, she swung her fist into the mirror and punched it again, ignoring the blood, pain and broken mirror pieces falling into the sink.

"RICK! I NEED YOU," she yelled out tearfully. "I need you." Michonne crumpled to the floor, holding her bloody hand as she tried to forget.