The cellar was dark. Too dark. The only light streamed through cobweb ridden windows at the very top of the walls. But the man blindfolded on the chair would not know that. He may never see light again. His wrist twitched every so often against the harsh ropes that bound them together. His ankles did not have room to twitch against the bindings that kept him secure to the wooden chair beneath him. He blinked against the fabric covering his eyes. He wondered how long it had been.
A low growl came before him and he scoffed madly. "Oh, get off," he mumbled, his voice aching of misuse.
The dog stepped forward, encouraged by the man's words. His growl became deeper, longer.
The man laughed slightly, his head reeling. "Be of some use and go get me some water," he said to the dog. "Go get me some water you beast."
The dog snapped. The man thought he could feel the dog's breath against his leg. Bite me, motherfucker, he thought angrily. End it. End it now!
The sound of a door opening upstairs sent the dog scampering away. The man sighed and waited until the footsteps reached the concrete floor. There were two sets of footprints. Two sets of torture.
"I don't suppose you've brought any water?" the man asked, feigning politeness.
To his surprise, the cool mouth of a bottle was pressed harshly against his aching lips. Thinking too good to be true, he pressed his lips together until the sweet sensation of liquid dripped onto his now hair-covered upper-lip. He took a large gulp of water and nearly cried when the bottle was taken away.
"So you can speak," a voice mumbled. It was the Asian boy, Glenn.
"Ah, Glenn. How lucky to have you down here. You don't hit me quite as hard as the others," he chuckled.
A force to his face shut the man up immediately. That could be none other than Daryl's famous punch. He wished he could wipe the blood off his mouth. Instead it dripped down his chin.
"You ain't speakin' to us," the redneck whinnied.
"Then to whom am I speaking to?" the man in the chair asked, blinking rapidly against the fabric against his eyes.
"Mia."
The man in the chair leaned his head back as far as it would go. She would not be kind to him, he knew that. How could he make her see, he had only done the things he had done for love?
"Oh, is she coming to hear me out? Give me a second chance?" he knew the answer would be no. He knew she was coming to end his life. That would be why he was still here in the first place.
He heard the redneck grunt as he paced around the room. He heard panting and knew that the dog was pacing by his side. Traitor, he thought hopelessly.
"Now, tell me boys," he said, his voice cracking with every word. "What is the fate of our beloved Jan?"
Another hit to the face. The man was expecting that.
"You don' speak her name," Daryl growled. The man smiled a bloody smile. The girl was dead, then. That was all he needed to know.
The door opened again and three more pairs of footsteps made their way down the stairs. By now, the man in the chair had learned most everyone's footsteps. The sounds the made as walked down the stairs. The way they traveled down was almost like their fingerprints- no two people walked down the same way.
For example, the young girl Beth would come down at the beginning of his arraignment. She would bring a small glass of water and a stale piece of bread. Her footsteps were light, delicate, as if she did not want to be heard. He heard them though, he always did.
Her older sister Maggie chose to thunder down the steps. Her weight hit heavily against each stair, and it was almost as if she challenged herself to go faster each day. One day, Michael counted and realized it had only taken her four seconds to reach the bottom.
Rick's steps were very purposeful. He took them one at a time. His weight was heavy, but not like Maggie's. He was careful, but he knew exactly where each foot was going. And when he reached the bottom, the man in the chair knew exactly what was going to happen to him.
Rick was coming down now. And that woman, Carol. She had come down with Daryl a few times. Carol and Daryl, the man would sing.
The third set of footsteps he did not recognize, nor could he barely hear. The footsteps were light, and very slow. He felt a shadow loom over him and he smiled in anticipation.
The cloth was pulled off of his eyes.
He immediately squeezed his eyes shut again. Though the light was dim, he had been in the dark for so long now; any sort of brightness would make his eyes burn and water. He stared down at his hands and blinked a few times to help them adjust.
"Do you know why you're here?" A soft voice demanded from above.
The man raised his head slightly. There was a small body in front of him. Her tank top was bloodied and torn.
"The lights aren't really necessary, eh?" He could not look at her face. There was a bulb right next to it. The light was excruciating.
He was slapped. The slap was weak, but it stung, nonetheless.
"Would you people stop hitting me!" he shook his head, blood still oozed down his unkempt chin.
"Answer me." The voice came again.
The man laughed.
"Answer me," her voice broke.
The man laughed harder.
"Answer me!"
She grabbed him by his shirt collar and forced him to look at her. She was a mess. Her hair was crusted with blood. The whites of her eyes were replaced with red veins that revealed her lack of sleep. Her lips were almost as chapped as his were. But there was something there that hadn't been there before. Hate. Rage. Torture.
"Oh my, Mia," the man breathed. He wished he could reach out and touch her.
"Don't say my name," she mumbled. "Don't."
"You loved me once," he spoke softly, his eyes hovering over her friends in the back. They all had a gun. A gun for him.
"I never loved you."
Her eyes were weapons.
"We had a wonderful life, didn't we?" he smiled, staring up at the window that could lead to his freedom.
"You're a murderer."
"I've never killed."
"You never let anyone go, did you?"
Her eyes were madness.
He cocked his head to the side.
"You told us you gave them food. Water. Things to get them by. But it was all a lie, wasn't it?"
The man bit his lip. Hard.
"You killed them all, didn't you? Every poor person who came by this place? Who knew what you had? You killed them, and you lied to us. You killed them—
"I had to Mia!" He screamed as blood poured from the opening in his lip. The girl backed away from him. "Don't you see? Don't you see this world we live in?" He laughed again. "No, no. You never saw. You never saw how bad it could be. I took you in. I saved your life! You never saw how bad it was!"
The girl's lower lip trembled. "There were children."
Michael stared up at the girl. "You would've never survived out there. You're too soft. I saved you."
"Why me? You kill everyone else. You save me, you save Jan, and you save Jim. Why us?"
"If I had left you in that clearing, they would've gotten you. You would be one of them. I saved you."
"Why me?" Tears flowed down her face. "Why me?"
"You think you could've survived out there?" He laughed. "You don't have it in you. You would've died. You'll always need me. I saved you."
"You knew this was going to happen. You knew about the biters. And you saved yourself. And you saved three other people to make yourself feel good."
"I loved you."
"You are a liar."
"I loved you, Mia."
"I hate you." She leaned close to him and her eyes burned into his.
She stood up again and grabbed a knife from Carol. She looked at it almost lovingly. Michael closed his eyes.
"You're going to die, Michael." She stared at him through green eyes. "But I won't be the one to do it."
Michael felt wetness fall from his eyes. He was not crying. He knew this was coming. He would not cry.
"I knew you wouldn't kill me. You don't have it in you." His voice trembled but he kept his head high.
"No. But she does."
Mia stepped back into the shadows. Rick stepped forward now, and gently let down a body that he had been carrying in his arms. Michael had not noticed her.
Jan steadied herself with the help of Carol and stepped forward. The middle of her body was wrapped a few times. Blood stained her jean shorts.
"You did this to yourself, Michael." She held up a knife. "It was a group decision," she added, smiling.
His vision went black.
xx
A/N: Okay, firstly I should apologize- no, BEG for your forgiveness for leaving the story hanging. To be honest, I lost some interest in the story just because the season ended and I guess it hadn't been on my mind all that much. (Plus Game of Thrones season five was on and I'm finishing Supernatural… So yeah, I've been distracted. But I was re-reading it and think there's definitely still potential for this to keep going (starting with the end of Michael and the rebirth of Jan) and their new life. Will they stay at the house? Will Jan ever be the same? Will Daryl ever bathe? FIND OUT IF YOU KEEP READING MY STORY! Haha, but anyway, please leave a review and let me know if you'd like me to keep writing! I probably will but I do like reviews. Thank you to everyone who has previously reviewed and again, I'm so sorry I disappeared! Love you guys!
Madison.