WARNING:
Violent content ahead that is potentially triggering.
Rest assured, however: no content in this story will ever explicitly depict rape.
Written to the musical score of…
'The Upside Down', Kyle Dixon
It's just past three in the morning, and The Beast's heart is pounding out of his chest.
He's momentarily deafened by the sound of it crashing in his ears, drowning out all other noise. If there was any other noise out here, besides his heart futilely sounding the alarm about what he's done.
But there's no other sound.
It's January, and it's cold, so there aren't too many people roaming around out here in the sticks this time of night. There's no sound for miles past this seedy, hole in the wall establishment that's now about forty-five past 'last call'.
Not even that of this waitress's desperate, laborious breathing anymore.
There's just his heart thumping in his broad chest, that sickly feeling developing in his stomach. Another blow to his soul. Another step into permanent consciousness for his monster.
His anger receding, the red veil lifting from his vision, The Beast loosens his grip on her throat.
Finally, after all her panting and struggling and crying, he lets go.
She goes limp as he steps back. He mutely watches her body slide along the brick wall, then crumple over into the dirt near his boots. He stares down at her with dread. Anger. Both.
She had it comin'.
She shouldn't have been mouthin' off about him. She didn't know a goddamned thing about him, or where he'd come from, or what was slumbering inside him. Her mistake, goddamn it. Her mistake.
His mistake.
His erection is starting to make its retreat as well, as he realizes exactly what he's done.
What it means if he's caught.
He's gotta think quick.
Beginning to panic, The Beast looks up and around swiftly, his red eyes gleaming from underneath his black baseball cap.
The parking lot around the corner is deserted. His eyes dart around the alley where he stands over her, looking for cameras. He finds just one, pointed away from him, above the door.
His heart still pounding, his razor sharp gaze lands now on the back door to the bar, just past the dumpster where he'd cornered her out here while she was emptying the trash after closing time.
No one around.
Maybe the camera caught her coming out here, but it won't catch her coming back in.
Maybe the owner hasn't come out looking for her 'cause he's preoccupied counting his take-in for the night. Probably downstairs in that basement office for the time being.
The Beast has maybe five minutes. Ten tops, before the owner comes wandering back upstairs and finds his waitress gone.
Licking his chapped lips, raking in huge, frigid breaths as pure adrenaline begins to pump through his bloodstream, The Beast's mind starts to formulate a flimsy, desperate plan.
He didn't want this. He actually thought she was kinda pretty. But she had to go flappin' her gums about shit she knew nothin' about and she unknowingly disturbed his monster.
"Gotta stop doin' that." He mumbles to himself. He feels numb, like he's floating inside a black abyss, as his anger cools. And he goes to work.
He kneels down and grabs hold of her limp, rapidly chilling body. She'll be stiff as a board soon, he thinks as he hoists her up over his shoulder.
Better move fast.
There's a river stream a few miles south of here. It's hidden by a patch of forest, a mile or so off the back road near the highway. It's secluded, so folks can't wander up on it from the road unless they know where to look.
He can load her down with somethin' and dump her in there. She might wash up downstream somewhere in a few days or so. Maybe he'll get lucky and she'll empty out into the big river and not be found for weeks.
Maybe it ain't a brilliant solution, but it'll give him time to clear his head and cool it.
He scoffs as he sneaks through the shadows, past the camera, and down to the end of the alley where his truck is parked - an earlier incarnation of the monster from Amy Jones's nightmares, whom he won't meet for another four years.
Now, the tall, broad-shouldered young killer carries the waitress over his shoulder, her hair swinging back and forth soundlessly across his back. He keeps his eyes peeled upward to see if there are motion sensor lights; see if this owner was smart enough to spring for 'em.
There's one, but it's far away from the camera and he's protected by his trusty ball cap.
This is why he loves the sticks sometimes.
Back roads of Georgia give him plenty of hunting territory.
He can't come out here often, but when he does…
You get your fool self in trouble, asshole, he growls to himself in his head as he stalks quickly to his destination and gets the back gate of the truck bed open.
He dumps the waitress, ignoring her still-open eyes giving him chills that have nothing to do with the cold. He needs to get the hell outta here.
He slams the top of the covered utility bed and then it's gate.
There is a reflection of a man standing behind him in the black exterior, watching him.
He's wearing an eye patch, and he's the scariest-looking man The Beast has ever seen.
His hand immediately moving for the gun strapped in its holster under his jacket, The Beast spins around.
"Not so fast, cowboy." The man growls absurdly in a low, Southern twang. He waves something tersely back and forth by his hip.
His heart now pounding faster than ever, The Beast's eyes dart downward to see that the man is holding a gun with a silencer on it in his gloved hands. He's dressed all in black, and it takes a few seconds for The Beast to make out the weapon, but it's there, trained on his nuts.
He relaxes just a hair, removing his hand slowly from the inside of his jacket.
"Yeah, who the hell are you?" He demands quietly. He feels anxious, and scared, and he's starting to get angry. He's gotta get the fuck out of here, now. He's gonna have to take this guy out, somehow.
If he can.
He stares at the man, resisting it, but still feeling like he oughtta be afraid. Careful. Like any wrong move will wipe him off the face of the planet. Not just dead, but erased. Like he never existed.
The man seems impossibly tall, dark and shadowed against the nighttime backdrop of a deserted back road leading to nowhere. Beyond it, there are rows and rows of trees punctuating the dark. His breath is visible as he speaks, cold and phantom-like as it floats from his mouth on his every word and disappears.
The man lets The Beast stare at him, a small smirk turning up the lines in his stern mouth. The eye that isn't covered by a black patch does some examining of its own.
"Don't worry, cowboy." He ignores the question to sneer at him, causing The Beast's anger to flare up again. "There's no tape for that camera anymore. And your sweet little waitress's manager?I took care of him, too. You're welcome."
The Beast frowns, his heart still thumping, stunned. And feeling sort of ...pulled… by the sound of the man's lilting, Savannah-bred accent and deep, rumbling voice.
But it's the cold, calculating confidence radiating from his one visible eye that really pins The Beast where he stands. Tugging him in the wrong direction. Almost like it's the man's sheer will that does it.
His intellect catches up with him, and he has to ask, almost timidly: "Why'd you do that?" Regretting his hesitation, he thrusts his chin up at the man, maybe revealing a little too much of his face from underneath his cap. "Who the fuck are you, man?"
The man grins now, looking about as evil as anything in The Beast's childhood nightmares. Like the Devil himself. Or the Man from that Johnny Cash song.
"I'm your new best friend, cowboy."
"Stop callin' me that." The Beast growls, the red veil blinking across his vision again. He doesn't like being patronized. And he ain't nobody's boy. But the man doesn't even flinch. It's like he knows that right now, in a panic for getting caught doing bad things, his bark is worse than his bite. "What do you want? Why shouldn't I break your goddamn face?"
"Oooh. So ferocious." The man's grin only spreads as he gestures with his silenced weapon, letting it swirl a trail in the air along the length of the Beast's tall body. "That's good. I'm gonna need that."
The Beast takes a step forward, lowering his cap to hood his eyes again and clenching his jaw. The red veil falls slowly - he's about to kill this motherfucker. He's already put a crack in his soul once tonight.
One more ain't gonna matter much.
The man tilts his head at him as the seconds tick by. He doesn't look afraid or threatened at all. Instead, he looks merely curious. And a little disappointed.
"But you're messy. Easily provoked. That's why the girl in your truck is dead tonight, isn't it? Mmm, and she could've lasted so much longer." It is the man's turn to growl, but it's not just the bass in his voice that momentarily stuns The Beast's momentum. "Look at you, about to get killed, or caught, just because my little pet naaaame got under your skin, cowboy." The Beast lets his almost sing-song words sink in as the tall, dark man with the eye patch shakes his head and makes a low, 'tsk-tsk' noise with his mouth. "So much potential. Wasted."
"Potential for what?" The Beast can't help asking, feeling confused, feeling panicked by the inexplicable sensation that he is being slowly, yet surely reeled into a trap. A trap that he might never escape from. "Hey, man, this was just an accident. S-she's my girlfriend, a-and we were fightin'..."
"Save it, boy." The man barks.
He gestures with the gun again when The Beast clamps his mouth shut, taking another step forward. He's angry again just that quickly - for falling for it, for doing anything other than lunging at this prick and rippin' his goddamn throat out.
But he's...compelled. Desperate. Alone. This guy looks like he can see all that, and more. So much more.
"Get in the truck. Let's go for a ride." The dark man takes unabashed steps toward the brooding murderer that had been seconds away from attacking him.
The Beast stands back, his breath misting in the frigid night air. All he can will himself to do is watch from under the rim of his cap as the man folds his tall body into the passenger seat of his truck. He shuts the door behind him, and that is that.
The cold, dead silence surrounds him again as he tries to decide what to do.
But he already knows what he's gonna do.
His jaw clenched, his world closing in on him, he stalks around to the driver's side and gets in.
"I wanna show you my little collection. The girl's invited, of course. Though I doubt she'll get as much out of it as you will."
The tall man with the eyepatch smiles over at the shadows dancing across The Beast's face as he pulls out of the parking lot and heads down the dark, dusty road.
In the truck bed, the dead waitress stares up at nothing.
The sun pounds relentlessly through the windshield of Lori Grimes' gray Hyundai Tucson as she cruises slowly along the rocky, earthy drive.
She is surrounded by trees and both her sun visors are down, but somehow the sun finds her.
It follows her in harsh, flickering beams as her midsized SUV inches closer and closer to Shane's secluded cabin.
She looks around, driving at practically a snail's pace. She's checking to make sure she doesn't spot his truck anywhere around, or see him returning from hunting in the woods that surround the cabin.
Dread also follows her, like the glaring sun, because she does not want to see him.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Not for a little while.
She just wants to get the rifle, leave a note, and take Carl to this pool party. Then get her ass home to wait for her husband so he can get rid of those damn raccoons.
Or have a couple of glasses of wine and take 'em out herself.
She's still mad at Rick; at him and Shane both. But she's also still confused, and she doesn't think she has it in her to fight against that puppy dog look in Shane's eyes right now. Especially not with her son in tow.
He's damned near impossible to resist when he's sorry. Somethin' that always seems to get her in trouble.
Lori looks up at her fourteen-year-old through the rearview mirror as she reaches the mouth of the road she's on, where the cabin is finally revealed.
Carl is in the back seat, listening to music through his Apple earbuds. He is refusing to look at her, instead watching the trees float past his window. Just like he refused to ride up front with her. He's already dressed for the pool party, annoyed that they're making this 'pit stop'.
He'd normally be excited to hang with Shane, but not today. He has a crush on the girl who's hosting the party and he doesn't want to be late.
But he's also mad at his mother for not speaking to his dad this last week, Lori knows as she takes her eyes off of him to put the car in park and get this done. He doesn't understand.
Normally, she wouldn't bring her child with her - but she's a coward and she needs the pool party as an excuse to escape in case she runs into Shane.
Normally, in fact, Carl's dad would be here and they'd all see Shane together.
Bot not today.
Today Rick is working and Shane has the day off.
Everyone's been so stressed about this god-awful case that Sheriff Ross has ordered every man to take a turn on a twenty-four hour leave to see their families and get some proper sleep.
Rick had his last week, and they'd ended up fighting at the end of it.
Lori doesn't know what Shane planned to do with his today, but she hopes he hasn't decided to take it out here in his daddy's old cabin.
She knows that's a flimsy hope to have, since Shane loves being out here in the woods.
So she has to settle for just hopin' she'd miss him. That she could sneak in and out, borrow the rifle, and not have to deal with his intense infatuation with her. His irrational jealousy. His childish reasoning.
God help her, he's so hard to resist when she's feelin' lonely and especially bitter about her never ending melodramas with her husband.
But Lori always realizes too late, when she emerges from her haze of lust-fueled self-destruction, that giving in to Shane never works.
He always ends up disappointing her. And she always ends up turning around in circles again with her righteous, responsible, good-hearted husband. A husband she fell in love with what feels like ages ago now. A husband she struggles to stay in love with.
There's no sign of Shane as Lori cuts the engine and takes her keys out of the ignition. She doesn't see his pickup anywhere, either.
She turns to the back seat, where Carl still hasn't taken his earbuds out or paused his music.
She knows that he probably overheard her argument with his father. She's gonna need to talk to him about it. But not right now.
Lori sighs hard and snaps her fingers in her son's face.
Carl narrows his eyes through his window, but eventually turns to reveal his face from behind his thick head of longish dark hair. He needs a haircut. Of course, he'd rather die than have one. The girls in his school seem to like this mop head look.
Finally, he pauses his music and blinks at her, still silent.
"I'll be in and out, okay?" Lori tells him, trying to be patient. It's not his fault she dragged him all the way out here just so she wouldn't have to face Shane alone. "The party can wait for just a little bit longer, Carl." She gets firm with him, shaking off her guilt. "So can that girl, Enid."
"Okay, mom. Can we just get what we came for and get outta here?" Carl's cheeks turn red and he rolls his eyes moodily, reaching down to turn his music back on.
She forgives him his attitude, for now. "You'll be thankin' me later when you don't have to clean up the trash those raccoons'll be rippin' open all summer."
"Sure. Thanks." And that's all she gets out of him. He turns his music back on, walling himself off from her once again.
Lori doesn't want to risk Shane arriving while she's sitting here fighting with her teenaged son, so she gets out of the car.
Running a hand through her long, dark brown hair, she tucks her keys into the pockets of her tight jeans and walks quickly up to the cabin. She bypasses the front porch, instead going around back to start her way down the short slope that leads from Shane's back patio to the shed that houses his collection of hunting rifles.
She's been nagging Rick for weeks to come out here and borrow one so they can get ahead of the raccoon problem before the summer fully kicks in, but of course...that damned case. He never found the time. He has more important things to do, indefinitely. It's 'on his list'.
His list is a mile long.
And there are now eight missing girls on it, and who knows how many more will turn up if they can't make a breakthrough soon.
Lori lets herself relax when she still hasn't seen any sign of Shane.
She ambles down the small hill, feeling herself start to sweat under the relentless sun.
She's looking forward to spending some time by the pool today, herself. Maybe she can win Carl over again, once he finally gets to see Enid and splash around for a bit. Have fun with him, together just the two of them and their friends. Though they're all used to it by now, the heat makes everyone crankier when summer rolls around.
And lonelier. And hornier. And more unpredictable.
Lori shakes these gloomy thoughts away as she finally makes it to the hollow where the shed sits. There's shade here, relieving her of some of the heat. It just feels...colder in this area. Kinda creepy. She's only been down to the shed once, and never since. Usually, the patio is about as far as she goes.
She doesn't want to think about how many times she's been out to this cabin, without her husband.
Fighting off oncoming tears (she's been crying on and off for two weeks - and her period is a day late, but she doesn't want to think about that either), Lori makes it to the double wooden doors. The shed is more like a barn, in her opinion, because she has to stand up on a rock and lift herself up on her tiptoes to reach the top of the long, wooden door.
She stays stuck in that position for a tense moment, stretching to her full height as she feels around the top of the musty, splintery doorframe. Finally, she finds the carved out notch. She pulls it out, and roots around until she finds the key hidden inside.
Lori lowers herself down flat on her sturdy brown boots again with relief, key in hand.
She grasps hold of the big, heavy chain lock that keeps intruders and thieves out (well, she's neither of those since she's just borrwin') and gets the key in. It clicks, and she pulls the lock off with a huff, setting it on a rock near her boot.
The sun attacks the ceiling of trees surrounding her as she pulls open the musty door.
She's greeted with darkness and a stale, mildewy smell that makes her heart thump in her thin chest.
Lori shakes off her nerves, conscious of the time, feeling the distance between herself down this hill and her son waiting in the car.
She just hopes Shane is sleeping in at his house in town, not on his way out here or already out traipsing around in the woods.
Blowing her hair out of her face, sweat collecting along her hairline, she walks into the shed.
There's an overhead bulb just above her, tethered to a long, rusty chain. She pulls it and the dim light flickers on. It swings weakly above her.
Lori gasps when she realizes she's standing in front of a huge, jet black utility truck.
She stares at it for a moment, stunned.
The gun rack is on her right, near a set of tool chests and other bits and bobs Shane keeps in here. But Lori is distracted by the truck.
She's never seen it before. 'When did Shane buy this thing…?' she thinks, confused.
Why would he buy this scary-looking behemoth? He has a good-sized pickup truck that isn't even three years old. It doesn't make sense...except maybe it could be a sign of some sort of ego problem.
Shane definitely also has one of those.
She doesn't like it. She walks slowly around it, folding her arms around her, forgetting about Carl for a moment.
It's large, and cold, and kind of sinister. There's something about it that feels almost...alive. Like it's watching her. It's a ridiculous thought, but she can't shake it. The windows are tinted, but there's a fade out in the windshield that allows for the driver to be visible.
That's odd.
The plates are odd, too. The truck looks brand new, but the plates look...worn. Banged up a bit, if she has to put a label on it. Lori stares at the plates, standing stock still in the shed, the quiet noises of the forest surrounding her.
There is something else about those plates…
A cold breeze comes from out of nowhere, chilling her to the bone.
Lori doesn't want to look at the truck anymore. She doesn't understand where Shane's head is at sometimes. Lori shakes herself out of her fixation and turns to yank the plain canvas tarp off of the gun rack.
Back in high school, when he was a running back and still just as hunky, they used to call him The Beast for how he 'chewed the grass'. She also thought it had a lot to do with the fact that he was the biggest whore on the team.
Maybe he finally bought a truck that reflected that stupid nickname. She wonders why he hadn't brought it by to show Carl and Rick. But then, everything is still so awkward between them all with the drama of this case and Rick and Lori's domestic problems.
"Just get what you came for, Lori…"
Lori eyes the impressive collection of rifles until she finds the one she's looking for - the smallest, quietest one. This collection (and maybe now, the truck) was always the most well-kept thing in here. Regularly cleaned and oiled and dusted and probably read a bedtime story at night. Shane loves his guns.
And his best friend.
Feeling the guilt engulf her again like the sweltering heat waiting for her outside, Lori carefully lifts the rifle from its position in the rack.
She looks around until she spots the tool chests on her left and figures there will be bullets inside.
Lori opens the drawers one by one, until she spots a couple of stacks of boxes of bullets for the different kinds of rifles on the rack. She pushes them aside to find the ones she needs - and spots something else.
Something out of place. Something that spurs instant rage inside her, burning deep in her gut. Lori pulls out the balled up underwear with a shaking hand, her eyes narrowing to slits.
"That son of a bitch…" she whispers to the afternoon gloom.
He's been fucking some girl this whole time, is all she can think for a few agonizing seconds. Her mind reels, and she wonders what she should do. How much she should really care. She does care, she knows.
And then she looks at them. Really looks at them.
They look familiar. Not like hers - they are most certainly not the type of cheap, slinky thing she'd put on. But familiar in a way that makes the floor feel like it's made of quicksand. She unfolds them and realizes that there is a chunk of them missing. Like it was cut out. A hole in the shape of a rudimentary heart.
Snip, rip, snip.
Lori's heart thump, thump, thumps in her chest with real, sickening dread. She remembers this because Rick has been agonizing over the case of Rosita Espinosa and the other missing girls for months.
Near the three bodies they've found, they also found underwear fragments. Little, cut out hearts.
'Why are these here…?' the thought knocks around in her head as her sweat turns ice cold.
As Lori looks around, bewildered, confused, trying to think rationally, she spots something else.
It's a bright orange parka. Something camp counselors wear.
It's stuffed in a trash bag at her feet by the tool chests.
It's glaring up at her. It's a bright orange parka.
Rosita Espinosa was a camp counselor. She was wearing a bright orange parka - smiling, surrounded by toothless kids - in one of the photos Lori had seen in the case files Rick pored over night after night.
A bright orange parka the police never found.
Not in all their searching of these woods and the surrounding areas for miles.
And yet it's here. In Shane's shed. Along with underwear Lori is beginning to understand also belonged to Rosita - just as surely as she knows that she needs to get the hell out of here.
Right now.
Seized with panic and overwhelming adrenaline, Lori turns so sharply that she bumps into the tool chests, making a racket that scares the shit out of her. She drops the box, spilling bullets everywhere.
Blindly, her cheeks red and fear climbing into her throat, she stuffs the panties back into the chest drawer and slams it shut. Then she skids over rolling bullets as she makes a dash for it, leaving them behind in her haste to be away from here immediately.
Rick.
She needs to see Rick. She's desperate to see her husband.
He won't believe it, but he will know what to do.
Lori's hands are shaking as she slings the rifle over her shoulder by its strap and hauls the heavy, rickety shed door shut again. She realizes too late that she's forgotten to turn off the lightbulb, but fear is so prevalent in her mind that she doesn't care.
The truth of what she's just discovered hammers through her, the puzzle pieces all slamming into place with brutal realism. The trees spin around her. The tall, slender housewife hastily gets the big lock back onto the chain but drops the key.
Lori bolts, leaving everything ashambles, now desperate to flee back to her car.
She's already pulling her cell phone out of her back jeans pocket as she turns and starts power walking back up the little hill.
She runs smack into a wall of sweaty brawn smelling of beer, trees, musk, and the stink something dead. Probably a deer or a fox.
Startled out of her wits, Lori yells and starts pounding Shane's chest.
"Whoa, whoa - whoa, woman!" He grabs her by the wrists, easily forcing her back from him, his muscles flexing. "It's just me! Damn, this case got you spooked like everyone else in town."
Lori shakes, staring up at him, trapped.
He gazes down at her, looking terrifyingly sinister under the glare of the sun for a moment, his black ball cap shading his dark eyes. Then he rolls his eyes and lowers them almost sheepishly, letting her go.
"What the hell are you doin' out here, Lori?" He asks quietly, stepping back. "And what the fuck are you doin' with one of my rifles? What, you come out here to gimme a piece o'your mind about what I said the other night?"
Lori flinches at the mention of his declaration that he intends to tell Rick about their affair.
At that same moment, she realizes that he hasn't caught on to her. She can still get away, if she plays this right.
Fighting down a sudden swell of nausea as she stares at him, Lori tries - with difficulty - to get her trembling under control.
She manages to look him in the eye, despite being repulsed by him. He is no longer the same man she...she slept with…more than once...for months...while poor Rick was drivin' himself crazy over this case.
She feels sick.
"I..I w-was just...borrowin' the rifle for the raccoons, remember?" She manages, her eyes flickering to the patio in the distance, and her car beyond it. "I was gonna leave you a note."
She starts to inch her way around him, dropping her eyes, but he steps closer.
"A note, huh? Really - a fuckin note?" Lori's panic rises to claw at her stomach at the sound of the anger in his voice. "What, you ain't got nothin' to say to me no more? After all we've been through?" Shane leans over her, his sweaty hair falling in his eyes, making her feel small. "You think Rick ain't gonna notice that? After us bein' so close? Huh, baby…?"
He is attempting to be charming. Attempting to use his usually attractive swagger to back her down. Get her to soften. To forgive him. To fuck him 'one last time' and another 'last time'. And a 'last time' after that.
Lori is sick to her stomach, cramps seizing her abdomen, tears stinging her eyes. She needs to get away from him before she panics and attacks him.
But she can't beat him in a fight. Maybe, her keys...if she can wound him enough to stun him…
"No, Shane, we don't have anythin' to say to each other. And how dare you use Rick against me." She pulls her keys out of her pocket and courage up from her bowels to look into his dark eyes again. He looks like a lost puppy. It disgusts her. "I gotta go. Carl's waiting."
"You brought Carl?" He huffs, stepping still closer, looking agitated. He's been in the woods hunting, and drinking. Brooding. Getting his head all foggy with frustration. "You didn't wanna see me alone? Is that it, Lori?" Then he pauses, eyeing her salaciously. "You can't resist me, can you? You know this thing ain't over."
God, she should have seen this coming. Lori grips her keys in her hand, a jagged edge poking outward.
She can make a run for it. She will.
"You're wrong, Shane." She grits. "It's over. And I'm gonna tell Rick. Not you. Now, I gotta go. Carl's friends are expectin' us at a pool party…"
But he isn't listening.
"Gimme just one more chance, Lori, please?" Shane is on top of her, now, kissing and groping her, trying to force her to return his affection. Lori twists around in his arms and jerks her hand up, scratching him hard across the neck.
"Get off me!"
He steps back, stunned, and she takes off.
"Don't follow me! Just stay away from me, Shane!"
"Lori! WAIT! Don't do this…! PLEASE!"
She runs for her car, her hair swinging, the rifle bumping painfully against her back.
Shane watches her go.
The red veil falls across his vision, and he contemplates going after her. But he can't if Carl is with her.
And then he thinks, his neck stinging.
He turns around, glaring down the hill towards his shed.
Feeling The Beast licking at his heels, Shane makes his way down the slope and gradually sees that the lock is hanging off the chain haphazardly. The key is in the dirt. She hadn't bothered replacing it.
Cold fury and prickly suspicion begin to rush through him as he stalks the rest of the way to the shed and knocks the lock off the chain. He throws the big, long door back, almost breaking it.
He sees his truck, which Lori didn't mention in her haste to get away from him.
But if she's been in here, she's seen it.
The fury persists. The suspicion swells. He sees the box and the bullets all over the floor.
She borrowed a rifle, but she left those. Now, why would she go and do somethin' like that…?
The tool chests are off-kilter on their wheels.
Rosita's underwear are sticking out of one of the drawers.
And her parka is hanging out of the trash bag. On his hunt, he'd made up his mind to finally get rid of it, now that the heat is off from the search.
But Lori has seen it.
The Master was right. He'd been right all along. Shane let his dick do the thinkin' with Lori and now he's in trouble. Real trouble.
Damn. Damnnn. DAMN.
The red veil pulses behind his eyes. The Beast takes over, silencing Shane before he can even have a second thought. He stalks over to his truck and opens her up in the back, ducking in to grab his special rifle. The one he uses for occasions just like this.
With no thought but the preservation of his monster, his Master, and himself, he climbs into his truck.
The engine rumbles to life, awakening the monster. It's time to hunt.
Lori makes it to her car, trembling, heart quaking with adrenaline, and practically dives inside.
She dumps the rifle, startling Carl. He pulls his earphones out and sits up straight as he watches his mother hastily start the engine and begin to back out.
She looks nervous. Startled. Downright spooked.
"Mom...what's up…? Are you crying?" He asks, alarmed, forgetting his silent treatment of her. Her son eyes his mother cautiously, wondering where Shane is, as she turns the SUV around and guns it down the earthy drive. "What happened?"
"Nothin' baby, it's just...w-w'ere late and I'm sorry, okay?" She is crying while she drives, but she wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm real sorry Carl, for everything." Lori blows her nerves out through her pursed lips, still shaking. "I'm-I'm gonna just drop you off at the party, okay? I gotta do somethin' real quick. But you keep your phone on you, you hear me?"
Carl is immediately disappointed as they fly through the back roads of King County, surrounded by trees for at least a mile further. Despite his annoyance with her attitude toward his dad, he'd been looking forward to spending time with her doing something fun.
Now she looks shaken up. And it's probably because of his 'uncle' Shane.
Carl glowers. "What do you need to do all of a sudden, mom?" He demands, now becoming slightly wary about the way she's driving.
Then she does something that makes him really nervous, causing him to forget his disappointment. His dad hates it when she does this, too. She takes out her cell phone and starts to dial.
"Uh, I need to see your dad for a little while. No back talk. Mama's gotta concentrate."
Lori's head starts to clear the further she gets from the cabin, and Shane.
The thought of him still turning her stomach, she searches for the intersection that will lead her to the highway.
If Shane figures out what she's found, it will be over for him in the blink of an eye. And he's gonna, real soon.
She needs to see Rick first, and break the news to him before things turn ugly.
She dials, just as she finally reaches the intersection. She almost feels relief as she listens to Rick's phone ring. She's almost to safety. She'll take Carl where he can be safe, in public surrounded by witnesses and other adults. Then she'll go talk to Rick.
If he would just pick up the goddamned phone.
Of course, it goes to voicemail. Lori sighs, feeling the panic beginning to well up inside her again.
"This is Deputy Rick Grimes. I am otherwise occupied, so leave a brief message. I'll get back." His gentle twang sounds into her ear. Then the beep.
Lori tries to keep the panic out of her voice. She needs to get Rick alone, so they can think of what to do together. Something she should have been doing with him in the first place.
Feeling on the verge of tears, Lori impatiently waits for the light to change as she leaves her husband a voicemail.
"Hey, Rick. Look, I know you're working, but I've got somethin' to tell you. And I need us to talk in person, okay?" She takes another deep breath, focusing on the wedding ring on her hand that rests on the steering wheel. She wants to cry but her child is watching her. She can't begin to think how to explain all this to Carl. "As soon as possible. Can you do that for me? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really, really important. It-it's gonna sound crazy but you have to listen to me."
She bites her lip, hoping her husband will listen and believe her. Just this once, not deviate from his rigid, honest, honorable self like she's been naggin' him to since before this case began. Just this once let him trust her like he used to.
Just this once - let him see his best friend for who he truly is.
"I'm gonna drop Carl off and come up there. Please, Rick…"
"Mom!" Carl grumbles from the back seat. "The light's changed."
"Shit." Lori hangs up just as a loud car horn sounds behind them.
She is about to get her Tuscon going again, when she looks up at the rear view mirror and sees it.
The scary black monster truck from the shed. Barreling down on her.
And, unmistakably, Shane's enraged face. His eyes hooded by his black ball cap through the clear fade in the tinted windshield glass.
"CARL, GET DOWN AND STAY DOWN, NOW!"
Carl is momentarily confused, but he does as his mother says, unbuckling his seatbelt to slide down out of view. Lori shoves her foot down on the gas. Her phone slides from her lap and lands haphazardly at her feet as she swerves away, narrowly escaping being rammed into by Shane's - The Beast's - behemoth.
But the chase is short lived.
Lori's mind is rent in three directions as she tries to fish for her phone to call Rick (or 911, or both), steer and maintain her speed, and make sure her son stays out of sight.
She takes her eyes off of the road for a second, thinking she's found her phone, as the truck keeps coming, keeping up with her Soccer Mom Approved Hyundai easily.
She swerves, diving off the road, slamming into a tree.
Before she can recover, gunshots.
The Beast has climbed out of his truck. He's walking in the middle of the street toward the SUV.
She sees him, her world closing in on her, his eyes shaded by that cap. Coming for them.
And the dings and flashes of bullets ring out all around her as she sits trapped in her SUV. Glass shatters, Carl cries her name, and things end for them on that road.
When it's over, the red veil lifts.
Shane stares at what he's done. Again, again, again he's lost his mind - and this time it's Lori.
And...he sees the boy in the back seat. His eye blown out. Dead or dying.
It's Carl.
She hadn't been lying. He had hoped she was lying.
They lay there, glaring up at him. The dead bodies of his best friend's child and wife. The woman he loves and the son he'll never see again. Shane stumbles back to his truck, losing the feeling in his legs. He feels his breakfast rising to his throat with ferocious force, and a few seconds later he's vomiting his guts out in the truck bed.
He begins to sob, kicking the truck grate with an explosion of fury and anguish.
He had to. He had to. She was gonna tell Rick. She was gonna tell everyone.
Why'd she bring Carl?
Shane punches himself in the head repeatedly through his cap, tears flooding his eyes. He needs to get it together.
Calming down, gradually shifting to cold stillness, The Beast rises again, and takes a look around.
It's almost the afternoon, but there's nary a soul in sight.
The sticks. Gotta love 'em.
He pulls out his cell phone, the special one The Master gave him, and dials the special number.
The Master picks up on the third ring, like always. "This had better be worth my time."
"I did somethin' bad."
1. Everything happens for a reason.
2. The next two chapters will be here sooner than you think. :)
3. Moving forward, we'll do one "flashback" chapter alone, followed by two "present day" chapters.
4. Again, thank you all so much for your reviews and messages of encouragement. I'm in writer's heaven right now, tbh.
-Kendra