}{ Saving Grace }{

Chapter Nine

Gracelyn's eyes moved slowly in their sockets; left to right, up and down. They took in everything that the warehouse, Milton's makeshift laboratory, had to offer. The walls were built of white cement bricks the resembled the inside of a middle school's gym. The floor was hard and cold, a dull, depressing grey. Everywhere were a clash of harsh neon white lights and the soft white that gave off an odd yellow glow. A horrid smell of chlorine and bleach wafted through the air. Tables were set up here and there with books and papers sprawled across them in disarray.

Gracelyn could tell that Milton spent most of his time locked away in here. In one corner was an arm chair and a bookcase filled with books of all different subjects. A record player sat on a small round table some feet from the nook.

She took a step further into the laboratory and stopped before a table in the center of the place. She stared down at the model of the town of Woodbury. It was crafted from cardboard mostly and extremely accurate.

"Your handy work, I presume." Gracelyn's eyes rose to Philip, who walked along on the other side of the table. His hands rested on his hips, a pointer finger gently tapping against his belt where her knife was secured for the moment. He examined the model and then nodded, not bothering to meet her gaze.

She turned her head to the side and looked behind her at the expansion of the room. She spotted a metal table beneath a round, medical light. She moved to it and studied its surface. Her fingers gently glided along the edge of the table as she circled it.

Milton pushed his glasses back into place on his nose and watched her. Her moves were precise yet she made them look graceful. It reminded him of a Hollywood born serial killer who taunted their next victim, drumming up drama and anticipation for an audience.

"Where is it?" She questioned and stopped at the foot of the table. Her hands slid from the edge and to her sides, slapping against her jeans. Philip's gaze moved to Milton, who stood beside a makeshift desk, playing with the binding of a leather-bound journal. He met his stare, both conversing without spoken words.

"It out lived its usefulness." Philip replied, his eyes never blinking as he held Milton's gaze. Gracelyn noticed.

"What do you mean?" She asked, eyes lingering on Milton.

"It died."

"It was already dead." She retorted and turned to look him head on. She stood straight, unflinching beneath his gaze. "You asked me to let you explain. So, start explaining before-"

"Before what?" Philip questioned snarkily, beginning a staring contest with the woman. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Before you go runnin' to your brothers?"

She said nothing. That was exactly what she had been thinking. Now that he had said it aloud, it sounded childish. It made her feel weak, feeble… helpless. Even so, she found herself wishing Liam and Kenneth were there now. They would put him in his place so fast it would make his head spin.

"They ain't always gonna be around to rescue you when you've gotten yourself into trouble." Philip's words, though they sounded as though enlightening, were a threat. Milton noticed. He heard the undertone. He looked back and forth between them, waiting for someone to bend. A minute passed and no one made a sound. Another minute passed and still neither was willing to yield.

"I wanted to examine its brain." Milton spoke up, earning the stares of both aggressors. He swallowed his nervousness and tried to steady his breathing.

"Why the Hell would you want to do that?" She asked slowly, face turning from animosity of Philip to curiousness, an emotion that Milton usually brought out of her when in his presence.

"I wanted see if I could determine how exactly the disease operated." Milton took a quick step closer to her and then stopped suddenly with exhilaration. Gracelyn could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. Finally, here was someone who was taking a real interest in the work he was doing; someone who actually understood more than how to work a gun or throw a knife. "I wanted to know how it transmitted the disease to us, whether it was viral, bacterial or something else entirely; how it affected us on a biological and cellular level. It's quite fascinating really."

"So, then why is it dead now?" It didn't make sense to her. Why would they rid of something if it was so fascinating and important to discovering the cure they desired so bad?

"Well, I hit a wall, per say," something about the word choice made Gracelyn's eyes narrow, "and I couldn't learn anything more from it. So, I asked Merle to dispose of it."

Milton's voice sounded off. It wasn't the normal, shaky, unnerved treble she had become accustomed to in the last month or even the animated drawl she had heard only a moment ago. There was something more to his story than he was sharing with her. She wasn't going to question him though while Philip was there because he was the one holding Milton's leash, reeling it in slowly when he gave too much away.

"So... what?" Gracelyn gave a small, harsh laugh. "Did you learn anything? Did you discover the cure to zombification?"

Milton's eyes drifted to Philip. Their stares met; discontent evident on both faces.

"Wow," Gracelyn let loose a frank laugh and looked between the two, "Shocker…!"

Neither of the men said anything. Milton looked away from Gracelyn's intent look of knowing. For the first time in a long time, it made Milton felt as though he wasn't as intelligent as he thought.

"Isn't there anyone you knew that got bit? Someone you loved that you would give anything to have back?" Philip's query was soft and broken. Gracelyn knew the tone. She began to wonder who it was that he had lost. "A friend? A lover? …your parents?"

Gracelyn's expression softened. Of course there were people she cared about who had been affected by this epidemic. She had had friends at Duke. She had watched those friends turn into monsters, turn on others they had known. She had her parents, which she didn't know whether or not they were alive; whether they were even human. They very well could be monsters just like so many others. They could be mindless, ravenous killers right now; tearing... ripping... maiming beasts that fed upon those who happened upon them.

"Of course I do." Gracelyn answered after a moment of deafening silence. She gave a small, slow shrug of her bare, abased shoulders that stung in the action. "But… does that really justify the means? How can you be sure that the pros outweigh the cons if you aren't certain a cure is even possible?"

She looked to Milton, who raised his gaze hesitantly to meet hers.

"If you aren't certain it's probable." She spoke directly to him. She watched his eyes drift away again from her unyielding stare as though ashamed.

"How can you be so sure it's not?" Philip countered, seeming to be slightly put off by her reaction. He had hoped to sway her to their side; his side. "The only reason you're sayin' that is because you still have your brothers."

Gracelyn moved her eyes back to him.

"If you didn't have them," he began to rationalize as he waved a finger at nothing, "if you were all alone in this Hell, you'd be quick to believe the same."

"You're right." She agreed wholeheartedly. She hated it. She would have liked to believe she could have overcome the loneliness, the helplessness, but it was true. She would be on their side if she were alone. "If I were on my own I would be more than alright with all of this. I'm not alone though and I'm seeing things a little more clearly than you right now because of it. But then again, you're not exactly on your own either."

She took a quick glance at Milton.

"Neither of you are. You have each other. You have this town. You have these people: living, breathing, human people. They've put their trust in you to keep them safe." She stopped and looked between them a moment. "But you're putting them in danger when you bring in the things you're trying so hard to keep out."

"How can you be so sure that they don't know? That they don't feel the same way Milton and I do?" Philip questioned, aiming a pointer and middle finger at the doors of the laboratory for effect.

"I have no doubt that if they knew they would be all for it if you could promise them nothing would go wrong. But I know they're in the dark about all this because you and Milton were the only ones following me here." She affirmed with a straight face. Her eyes drifted to Philip's belt where her knife sat secured. "No one else noticed me trying to conceal a knife when every other person is swinging theirs willy-nilly. No one even noticed me running out from the building to get away from you. Everyone in Woodbury is too caught up in this illusion they've created to see that there's real danger here; right under their noses."

Gracelyn took a deep breath, having gotten caught up in her thoughts. Philip clicked his tongue. He gave a huff of a laugh and ran a hand over his mouth, turning to the model of Woodbury on the table behind him. He looked over the buildings of cardboard and then placed his hands on the edge of the table, hovering over it. He studied it a long moment. Gracelyn looked to Milton, who met her stare.

"You're smart."

"I'm clever." She elucidated without missing a beat, turning back to look at the Governor. "There's a difference."

Philip gave another huffy laugh as his eyes trailed over his town of Woodbury. He knew each and every building by heart; had crafted each piece with every little, straining detail. He knew who lived where and with whom, for how long, when they had moved in, where they worked, where they spent their free time, etcetera. This was his town. They were his people.

He turned back to Gracelyn.

"There is, isn't there?" He questioned rhetorically. His voice was soft, but menacing. It sounded too ominous to belong to the man Gracelyn had met the first day she and her brothers came to Woodbury. He moved closer to her; step by daunting step. He stood before her, looking hard down at her. "You were right. You ain't anythin' like your brothers."

Something sounded wrong by the comment. There was a meaning hidden behind his words. Gracelyn translated it just fine though.

…they ain't the ones I have to worry about…

Despite her efforts, Gracelyn was intimidated and swallowed the threat down hard. It did not go unnoticed by Philip. His lips curled into an eerie, satisfied smirk.

"I suppose that's a good thing though." He looked between her eyes, seeing just how much he intimidated her. She may be clever, but he knew he could get a leash on her like he had so many others in Woodbury. "We could use more people like you 'round here."

A lie…

Gracelyn straightened herself up. She was not about to be made a fool of.

"Too bad there aren't," she began with a straight face, "but I that's because people, in general, are just simply hard to come by these days. So many think they're in control of everything going on and just… wind up dead one day."

Philip gave soft, snort of a laugh. He understood her threat. He was beginning to like her more and more.

"You think we're goin' to run into that problem?" He questioned and scanned her face for any sign that she was going to try something. She scanned his as well.

"Course not." Gracelyn shot back with a sarcastic smile. She didn't understand what had happened. This man, the Governor, had started off so sweet like sugar. Now, the taste had soured. Did she really threaten him this much to draw out such a dark, sinister side? She stared up at him and searched for any indication that he was going to harm her or her brothers. "Do you?"

Philip leaned back slightly, expression changing to gentle contemplation.

"Nah." He replied simply.

Milton watched silently from his spot, a fly on the wall, and begged that they both would just leave. He couldn't stand the tension, the animosity that was growing between them. He didn't like conflict.

Philip gave a laugh, a genuine laugh, and ran a hand over his mouth and rubbed his chin.

"Well, alright. I like you Miss Lyn." He gave a smile and bounced a finger at her, laughing again. "I really do believe you're gonna fit in just fine."

Gracelyn was utterly confused. Her face went blank and her eyes darted back and forth across his face, trying to understand. She glanced at Milton quickly, finding that he knew nothing more than she did, and then turned back to Philip.

"…what?" She breathed out. Philip extended a hand to her and set it down on her shoulder. She flinched and looked at it swiftly before her eyes returned to his face.

"We need good people like you, Miss Lyn, but I had to be certain you could hold your own if need be. We have a lot of good gunmen, but no snipers. Especially, not trained ones and there are some men around here that, well… just don't think much of women with a gun." He explained; face returning to the normal face of the Governor she knew. Her eyes grew slightly wider as she struggled to wrap her head around what had happened. "I'll have you stand the wall with Merle tomorrow. Now that I know his personality won't knock you down or break you. He can, as you know by now, be a bit of a handful."

"That was all just some messed up test of yours?" Gracelyn asked as a knot of fire began to burn in her chest. She felt embarrassed, foolish, angry, and relieved. For a split second, she doubted the idea of this being some dramatic assessment of her personality.

"Welcome to Woodbury Miss Lyn." Philip let his hand fall from her shoulder and then walked passed her, nodding his head at Milton as he went.

He left the warehouse, leaving Milton and Gracelyn inside. The sun hit his face as he headed out of the alley with strong, sure strides. He headed home, throwing Gracelyn's knife on his kitchen table when he walked through the door. He looked to the back wall where his desk sat and behind it a glass cabinet. He walked to the cabinet and slide the door open on one side.

He stared down at the rifle. It sat slanted in the cabinet, being almost four feet in length and nearly unable to be in the cabinet at all. It was a slick black with nicks and scratches and slender. He pulled it out, testing its weight, and then closed the glass door. He sat down at his desk and admired the gun for a long moment.

A smug look graced his face.

He had gotten exactly what he wanted out of her and she would never even realize it. She was clever. So clever that she had actually begun to figure out the game he was playing while he was playing it. Had even started playing it herself until he steered her away like he had done to others. She was good, but he was untouchable.

Philip, the Governor of Woodbury, lifted the rifle up. He extended its legs and set it on the desk, taking hold of it in his hands. He pressed it firmly to his right shoulder and gripped its neck with his left hand, right pointer finger resting on the trigger. He leaned down and shut his left eye, pretending to look through the scope that Gracelyn had removed and kept hidden in her room.

"I have complete control." He breathed out and pulled the trigger.