Carol tried to push her way around Maggie and enter the room, too, but Rick was already closing the door in her face. She grabbed the doorknob to open the door but Shane put his hand over hers and gently pulled it away. "Y'all know how Daryl is. If we all crowd in there it'll make him nervous. Let Rick check things out first."
Carol pursed her lips, "I have just as much right to be in there as Rick does. I just want to make sure he's okay," she snapped.
"And I'm sure Rick will let us know what's going on, but you don't want to go busting in there all unannounced! You said you found his clothes on the washing machine and they were wet. For all you know, he might not be dressed. Calm down, take a few deep breaths and relax," he added "you stupid bitch" in his mind. What the hell was it with Carol that made her gravitate towards losers like Ed and Daryl? If she was that dumb, he thought, she probably deserved every beating that shit-ass husband of hers had given her.
Daryl was dead. Rick was sure of it. He was on his back, spread eagled on the bed and he was as white as the pillow his head rested on. Even his normally tanned face and arms appeared pale. A thin ribbon of blood ran from the right corner of his mouth down the side of his face and had dripped onto the light blue quilt beneath it, creating a small bright red almost perfectly round, wet stain on it. His lips were a pale purple/blue as were his fingertips and his toes. Rick grabbed Daryl's right wrist and moved his fingers, searching for a pulse, sure he wouldn't find one. Daryl's skin was cold and clammy and Rick could feel his own heart beating faster in his chest. Why the hell hadn't he checked on Daryl when he first got there and where the hell was T-Dog?
Rick was having a hard time locating a pulse at Daryl's wrist, so he placed two fingers against Daryl's neck, feeling for a pulse there as he placed his head on Daryl's chest to listen for a heartbeat.
Daryl startled at the sudden pressure on his chest and Rick jumped back. Daryl slowly sat up a bit and leaned back on his elbows and glared at Rick. "What the fuck?" he asked, his voice raspy and sleepy.
Rick sighed with relief. "You scared the living shit out of me, man. I thought for sure you were dead. Look at you! You look like a damned ghost."
Daryl squinted at him. It was hard to see, like there was too much light in the room, practically blinding him.
That's when Rick noticed it. Daryl's pupils were just pinpoints and his breathing was slow and shallow. Suddenly, everything started to add up. The sleepiness. The pale, cold, clammy skin and the blue lips, fingertips and toes. The slow, shallow breathing and the bleeding from the mouth. It all made sense.
Daryl sat up and noticed he wasn't dressed yet and he pulled the part of the quilt next to him over his legs and his hips. Shit, this was embarrassing.
"What the hell you doin' here so fuckin' early?" he mumbled as he smoothed out the quilt. "Ain't even dressed yet."
"Daryl, I know Hershel gave you a bottle of morphine tablets for pain. When was the last time you took any and how many did you take?"
Daryl scratched his head, careful to avoid his stitches. "Took one... a bit after midnight. Fuckin' thing took forever to work. Din't need one this mornin', pain wan't too bad. Took a few...Tylenol instead. Figured I wouldn't be so damned… tired...with the Tylenol. What the hell you doin' here so early?" he asked again and yawned.
"Daryl, it's almost 1:30pm! Where is T-Dog?"
Daryl's head was spinning and he sank back down into his pillows and shifted, careful to keep himself covered, so he was lying on his right side, facing Rick. Rick was crouched next to the bed and he leaned in so his face was about a foot and a half from Daryl's. It made Daryl nervous; Rick was too close and he was most certainly bullshitting him about the time.
He shook his head and was hit with a bout of dizziness. He closed his eyes. "Can't be… that late. Should be 'bout… 8:30, 9:00 in the mornin'," he mumbled and started to drift off to sleep again.
Rick had been a police officer long enough to recognize the symptoms of a morphine overdose.
He looked at the bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand and then opened the drawer. The bottle of morphine tablets was in there.
"Daryl? Daryl?"
Daryl didn't bother to open his eyes. "Hmmm?"
"When did you take the Tylenol and how many did you take?"
Daryl was quiet and Rick thought he'd fallen asleep again, and then he spoke, "'Bit after midnight …took three of 'em. This mornin'… about 8:00….took…. four of 'em."
Rick opened the bottle of Tylenol and shook a couple of them out into his hand. He recognized them for what they were immediately.
"Dammit, Daryl, do you think I'm stupid?! These are not Tylenol tablets! Don't you fuck with me! Daryl! Daryl?!"
Daryl was asleep again. Rick was furious. He stood up and marched over to the bedroom door and stuck his head out. Carol, Maggie, Andrea and Shane were all crowded around the door and Carol strained to see around Rick and to get a glimpse of Daryl.
"He's stoned out of his damned mind on painkillers…." Rick sounded completely pissed off.
"I knew he was a doper, I just knew it." Shane's disgust was evident in his voice. "Number 13, huh? I'm not one bit surprised."
"Yeah, well, I need to try to keep him awake and talk to him a bit more, so why don't y'all just busy yourselves for a few minutes. Shane, I'd appreciate it if you'd check third floor for T-Dog. I'm beginning to worry. It doesn't make sense that he wouldn't be here. He knew we were coming."
Carol glared at Rick. "I want to see Daryl, now." she said as she tried to push herself through the space Rick had opened up as he peeked out into the hall.
"Carol, I don't think…"
"Rick, I don't care what you think," Carol snapped. "I want to see him now and I'm darned well going to!" She pushed past Rick, walked a few steps and stopped. Her eyes fell onto where Daryl was curled on his right side, sleeping on the biggest bed Carol had ever seen. She approached the bed and her heart sank. He was so pale and she hadn't noticed before how much thinner he was than he he'd been when she first met him and his crazy brother. His skin was a patchwork of bruises and scars, and his neck, his whole neck was one big fading bruise. Part of the bandage over his incision peeked out from where the quilt was partially draped over it.
Rick had closed the door and he lowered himself into the chair next to the closet and watched as Carol approached Daryl.
Carol reached out and put her hand on Daryl's left shoulder. His skin was cold to the touch. She reached over him to pull the quilt up higher on him, and then stopped when she saw how the lower half of his body was twisted in the sheets and the quilt. She squinted her eyes. Good heavens, was he..? Her eyes started at his feet and followed the sheet and part of the blanket that covered the back of his legs upward. The bed linens came up almost to his waist in the front, but had only been pulled up partially in the back, totally exposing more than half of his blindingly white left butt cheek. He was naked. Carol blushed a deep red.
Rick saw Carol blush and he said, "I tried to warn you." If the woman had just given him a minute instead of barging in, he would have made sure Daryl was properly covered up.
Carol glanced over at Rick and then turned her attention back to Daryl and rested her hand on Daryl's shoulder again. Outside of being incredibly pale, he looked almost peaceful. The scowl he wore most of the time was gone and the angry furrowed brow she was so used to seeing was smooth. She smiled. He was so….clean. She'd never seen him this clean. His hair was lighter than she had always thought and she wondered it if was because it was now free of dirt and grime and pine needles and road dust. She ran her hand down his arm, tracing the outline of the well defined and solid muscles there.
Rick rolled his eyes. He was going to make some rude comment along the lines of asking Carol if she wanted him to leave and she could call him back into the room when she was done checking Daryl over; but he didn't need Carol pissed off at him and telling the whole group that he'd said something like that to her.
Carol's hand moved up and stroked Daryl's hair.
She shrieked as his left hand shot up and grabbed her by the wrist. Hard.
"Stop….pettin' me!" he snarled. He saw that it was Carol that had been doing the offensive touching and he let go of her wrist and pushed it away from himself. Daryl narrowed his eyes at her and she shrank back away from his furious and slightly glassy glare.
"I was worried about y..you," Carol stuttered, "…I just.."
"You need to stop worryin'….. 'bout shit…that ain't none a your concern!" Daryl's angry and loud voice grew progressively quieter and slower. He was fighting sleep and losing. "I fucked ….up.. I didn't find …..your daughter. I'm a fuckin'…. failure. I know…know that…so why… why you gotta.. keep on …torturin' me? Remindin' me...I'm sorry. Said….. I was.. sorry. Know I….fucked up. Get…..out. Jus' go. Don't want …you…here." The last words were whispered as he closed his eyes and sank back into his pillow.
"But Daryl…"
"Get.. out," came a muffled voice from the depths of the pillow.
Rick got up and opened the bedroom door. He stood against the doorway, indicating that Carol should do as Daryl had said.
Carol wrung her hands, took one last look at Dary, gave Rick a dirty look and headed for the door. Rick closed it behind her once she'd exited the room.
Rick pulled the chair by the closet over next to the nightstand, facing the bed. It was heavy and took a bit of effort, and when he had it situated next to the bed, he collapsed into it. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands. He stared at Daryl, who had dozed off again. Was the man in front of him a narcotics addict? Had he really taken four of those 60mg Oramorph tablets this morning after taking three the night before? Even after ingesting that amount of morphine, Rick was convinced that Daryl was going to be okay. The minimal amount of Morphine required for a fatal overdose was 210 mg. If the overdose hadn't killed him hours ago, it wasn't likely that it was going to now. These tablets weren't timed release tablets. They kicked in full strength shortly after you took them.
Was Daryl trying to kill himself? Where was T-Dog? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on Daryl. That was the whole reason for having him spend the night at the house. Why the hell were the morphine tablets in the Tylenol bottle? Why would Daryl put them there? Hershel had given him a whole bottle of the morphine pills, so why would he feel the need to hide them in a different bottle? It didn't make sense. Rick decided it was time for some answers and if he had to be a dick to get them, so be it.
"Hey, Daryl," he said in a normal tone of voice. He wasn't going to be quiet and pussyfoot around. He wanted some answers and he wanted them now. "Daryl!"
Daryl didn't respond so Rick cleared his throat and yelled, "Daryl Dixon! I need to talk to you!"
Daryl jerked his eyes open and looked wearily at Rick. "Whatcha..want?" he mumbled.
"I want some answers and you're going to give them to me, so wake the hell up, now! First question. Where is T-Dog?"
Daryl's half opened eyes met Rick's and what was that look on the hunter's face? Was it sorrow? Regret? Guilt?
Daryl tried to pull himself into an upright position but damn, it made him dizzy. He felt Rick grip his upper arm and steady him and although the initial touch made him flinch, he didn't pull away or push Rick off. He straightened up, took a deep breath and Rick released his arm. Daryl met Rick's blue eyes with his own.
Rick sat back again and looked at Daryl expectantly.
Daryl swallowed and dropped his eyes. "We got attacked.. by walkers. He got…bit. Bit real bad. "
"Where is he now?!" Rick demanded.
Daryl looked at his hands and rubbed the star tattoo on his right hand with his left thumb. "Buried by the family used to live here. "
"And you didn't tell me this?!" Rick shouted as he leaped to his feet. Rick was feeling all kinds of emotions at once; disbelief, sadness and white hot rage towards Daryl. He wanted to strike the man. Hard.
Daryl brought his eyes up to meet Rick's only this time they were full of anger as well as hurt. "Not like I could fuckin' call you up on the phone or nothin'!" he yelled. Adrenaline was kicking in, kicking the ass of any hints of drowsiness he'd been feeling. Thirty seconds later, Daryl Dixon was wideafuckin'wake and after the last shitty 24 hours he had experienced, he wasn't in the mood to take any crap from anyone.
Rick was livid. "Why the hell were you outside of the fence!? You guys didn't have any reason to go outside the fence! Couldn't you just stay in the damned yard for one fucking day?! Christ, you just had surgery!"
Daryl's anger entered the red zone and he could actually feel his blood pressure rising. "W'ant like that!" he roared. "They got inside th' fence! They was in th' back yard! Three of 'em behind the garage! You think I'm a fuckin' moron? You think I'd go lookin' for walkers after havin' my guts rearranged?! Fuck you, Grimes, just fuck you!"
Rick put his right hand on his hip and scratched his head with his left hand. He stared at the man in front of him. Daryl was red in the face and trembling like a wound up spring ready to snap. He reminded Rick of a rabid dog. Rick took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. He sat back down in the chair and his eyes met Daryl's again. "Okay," he said, in a clear and calm voice. "What happened?"
Daryl told Rick about the walkers that had congregated outside the fence and how T-Dog had seen them when he was bringing some frozen food into the house. Rick felt a small smile play on his lips for just a second. That sounded just like T-Dog. The freezer in the house was almost packed full, but T-Dog wanted a better selection of frozen goodies to choose from. Rick closed his eyes and shook his head when Daryl related how the walker was right behind T-Dog right then and how his bowstring had snapped and he'd been too late to save T-Dog when he drew his revolvers.
"Why didn't he use the damned crowbars to defend himself." Rick asked, incredulous that the man had two crowbars in his possession and still was taken down by a walker.
Daryl bit his lower lip and looked at the floor. "Dropped 'em both when I hollered for him to duck," he said quietly.
He told Rick how T-Dog had been bleeding heavily and that he'd asked for one of Daryl's Blackhawks. Rick saw the hunters eyes water as he spoke T-Dog's last words to him. Daryl closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, ran the back of his hand across his eyes and then continued. He told Rick about the open gate and the crude ramp and then finding the notched crossbow string when he inspected the weapon after the string had failed.
There was a knock on the bedroom door and Shane's voice came into the room. "Rick? You need to come out here for a minute."
"Can't it wait?" Rick spoke loudly towards the door.
"No, it can't wait. You need to come out here now."
"Be right back," Rick told Daryl as he stood up from the chair.
"You might wanna put your boots on, pretty sure the shit's gonna be deep." Daryl warned..
Rick left the room and closed the door.
Daryl slid off the bed and rummaged through the two piles of clean clothes on his dresser. He was pulling his boxers on when it hit him. Carol had been in the room not too long ago. He vaguely remembered feeling her fingers running across his arm and then she was fucking petting his head and what the hell was it about these people that made them want to pet him? Did he look like a fucking dog to them?
Anyway, she'd been there putting her hands all over him and he hadn't been wearing a stitch of clothing. His face flushed a deep red and he felt, well, he felt violated. Not in a huge 'oh-my-God-I've-been-violated!' way, but in a 'wow, this makes me really uncomfortable' way. He remembered kicking her out of his room. He felt overwhelmed with guilt every time he saw her, so the easy solution was to make sure he never saw her. If she was going to be living under the same roof, that would be impossible, but he would make an effort to have as few interactions with her as possible.
Shane pulled Rick out onto the deck with an urgency that startled Rick. Rick noticed as he walked towards the table and chairs set that no one else was out on the deck.
Shane sat down and Rick sat across the table from him.
Shane spoke, "The ladies are upstairs arranging Andrea and Carol's bedroom. I wanted to talk to you privately. I took a walk around the back yard. There's a fresh grave back there with the other ones. I don't have a good feeling about this, Rick." He leaned back in the chair and waited for Rick's response.
Rick leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "Daryl said T-Dog got bit. He said he buried him after he died."
Shane sat forward, a look of disbelief on his face. "And you believe that bullshit?! You said yourself; he's stoned out of his gourd! There aren't any signs out on that back lawn to indicate that there were any walkers out there, and how the hell would they have gotten in? There's a fence around the yard and the gate is closed!" He glared at Rick. "I'll tell you what happened. T-Dog caught Daryl getting into the Vitamin M and confronted him. Daryl was higher than a kite and flew into a rage and killed him. Then he buried T-Dog and thought up a cockamamie story to cover his ass. He's fucking chasing the dragon and feeding you bullshit. Please don't tell me you're stupid enough to believe him."
"T-Dog is a big fella and Daryl wasn't at 100%. I don't see how Daryl could take him." Rick looked across the table at his friend. At this point, he didn't know what the hell to believe. Dammit. T-Dog was gone. They'd lost someone else. And T-Dog….big, imposing, solid, smiling teddy bear T-Dog. Everyone liked T-Dog. He was friendly, helpful, funny and kind. He was going to be sorely missed.
"You don't need to be at 100% when you've got a crossbow and you're packing heat. Come on, Rick, are you blind? Dixon is high, you know that the Dixons are racists, there's no body for us to examine to confirm Daryl's story, no sign of walkers ever being in the back yard, and no witnesses. " Shane paused for a moment and then continued. "Daryl had surgery yesterday. I can't imagine feeling up to digging a large enough grave to hold a person after having surgery earlier the same damned day. Can you? And why the hell would he do that? He knew we were coming today. He could have waited and we would have helped. No, Rick. He was highly motivated for some reason to dig that hole, even as he was bleeding through a side full of stitches. This just stinks like a bucket of catfish after a day in the sun. Daryl killed T-Dog. It's obvious. Now he's trying to get away with it. Are you going to let him?"
Rick was going to bring up the fact that Daryl had claimed to have taken the morphine believing it to be Tylenol, but he held his tongue. He also decided not to mention what Daryl had said about his crossbow being tampered with. He had something else he needed to check out before he said anything about those things to anyone.
"Tell you what. Let's go into the back yard and I'll take a look around with you, see if there is any trace at all of walkers and then we'll figure out what to do about Daryl."
Shane smiled. Rick had said "we'll figure out what to do about Daryl." Shane liked the sound of that.
WARNING: You'll never get back the moments of your life spent reading this story. Yes, I am a stinker to remind you of that.
