The shot was so fast, it flashed across Beth's vision like a bolt of lightning.
The spark at the tip of a match. A bullet from a gun.
But it wasn't a gun. It was Daryl's crossbow, and there was now an arrow protruding from Negan's chest.
Blood seeped through the front of his shirt, and for a single, fleeting moment, Beth actually considered helping him. Panic flooded through her mind, attempting to grasp at some sort of logic to face the scene before her. Her instinct should have been to run, but she couldn't help but reach for the man as he fell to his knees.
Negan's breath hitched unevenly in the ever apparent silence of the room. Beth looked up to see Daryl step quietly out of the shadow that had been concealing him in the hall. He was now folding himself into the wedge of space that separated the door and the wall of Abby's bedroom, and she watched as he slid tentatively to the floor. He released his weapon with a sudden wave of relief, letting it thud onto the carpet at his feet. It was the first time Daryl had used the crossbow since taking it back from the saviours that stole it, and the toll of the act was clearly weighing on him.
Beth crouched low, hovering at the level Negan was now crumpling over in silent agony. It was already too late. The bolt was a clean shot, straight through the back and out the chest, piercing his heart. It was clear Daryl hadn't lost his accuracy. Still, she pressed her hand flat against the exit wound, her fingers splayed around the arrowhead marking the spot. Blood gushed beneath them. The harder she pressed, that much more of Negan's life drained out of him.
Why was she doing this? Maybe it was because she was a doctor now. She'd signed on to this new life of saving people, and that had to be why she felt so desperate to do something. Anything, but just sit there and watch the light slowly leave Negan's eyes.
He only lasted a few more seconds. After that, the weight of Negan's lifeless body fell harshly to the carpet beneath her, her precious baby's beautiful rug now stained with the world. Evidence that everything she and Daryl wanted to shield their daughter from was never more than a few taunting steps behind them. Death would always come knocking, even if you locked the door.
Beth and Daryl remained very still and very quiet. They both were at a clear loss for words. But it didn't take long for Beth to snap back to reality. "Where's Abby?"
Daryl led her to the hall and pointed to a closet. She opened it, the creak of the door piercing through the pressure in her ears, and she gazed upon her sleeping little angel. Undisturbed and unaware of the horror that had unfolded in the next room. She scooped the child into her arms carefully and took her to the master bedroom. Abby would be sleeping in the crib next to her parents tonight, not in the same room as a dead man.
As if hearing her concerns, Daryl cleared his throat and said, "I'm gonna go get Glenn and Rick. We'll get him outta here."
Beth glanced at him over her shoulder and nodded, mostly focused on the sleeping baby in her arms. She placed Abby in the small crib next to their bed - the one she'd slept in for the six months of her life. It wasn't until recently that they'd started putting her in her own room to sleep. Mostly for naps during the day, but Abby had successfully slept four whole nights in there by herself so far. Now the room was going to be tainted. Beth would have to get a new rug. Such an odd thing to be concerned with these days.
After placing Abby on top of the blankets and switching on the bedside monitor, she ventured back down the hall and peered into the room where Negan's body remained. She didn't look for long, just enough to confirm that the man was still there and still in fact dead. She looked down at her hands and only just realized that they were coated with his blood. Beth raced back to her room, horrified that she'd touched her own child with those bloodied hands. She checked the crib, and sure enough, the edges of Abby's onesie were now marked with dried fingerprints.
It took a lot of coaxing to get her back to sleep, but once Abby was changed into fresh pajamas, Beth felt much more at ease. It was worth the thirty minutes of crying she had to endure in order to remove the traces of a murderer from her daughter's clothes. She'd scrubbed her hands as well, using a toothbrush to get under her nails and make sure every last crusted drop was rinsed down the sink and away from her sight. It'd been a while since she'd had to clean blood from her skin. Almost a month in fact.
She descended the stairs and placed the baby monitor on the kitchen counter. She caught a glimpse of the new calendar Jessie had given them, hanging on the wall next to the fridge. For the first time in many years, Beth thought about the prison. The words '30 Days Without an Accident' flashed across her mind like a billboard whizzing past the car window.
When she stepped out onto the front porch, Glenn and Rick were just reaching the sidewalk. They jogged briskly up the steps and past Beth with determination, a hard line of concern set into Glenn's face, and a somewhat expectant joy on Rick's. Daryl was a few paces behind them, but he slowed to a walk when he saw her.
Beth sat down on the top step and stared vacantly out at the dark and empty streets of Alexandria. At all the houses with sleeping people. At the calm that rarely lasted before the storm.
"Do you remember that sign I used to keep in my room at the prison?" she asked plainly. "The one where you count the days without an accident?"
Daryl stared openly at her, not sure where the conversation was headed, but he nodded in confirmation nonetheless. He remembered it vividly. She knew he did. He remembered every time she had to take the numbers down and reset back to zero, because he was there. He was the one that came to break the news, more often than not, and over time it became part of their unbalanced routine.
"I just thought about it again for the first time," she continued. "I wished I knew how many days it's been, but I just remembered we have a calendar now." She dropped her eyes and examined her toes. She was still in just a pair of worn socks, for this had happened so quick that the thought of pulling on a pair of boots was beyond reason. Her hair fell loosely all around the contours of her face, obscuring the image of her husband hovering awkwardly in front of her. "Maybe we should start keeping count again," she mumbled softly, mostly to herself. "Mark off the days with a red sharpie." She looked up. "I'm sure somebody's got one around here."
That was Daryl's cue to engage. Instead of continuing to stand there staring, he took the initiative and sat beside his wife on the steps. He clasped his hands around hers, now dry and red from scrubbing so ferociously, and he held them purposefully.
"We don't gotta live like that," he told her. "Always waitin' for the next bad thing to happen. That ain't livin'."
She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. "I thought this place was gonna be different."
"It is," he said, forcefully.
Beth lifted her head and they locked eyes. "Then how come I still gotta watch people die?" She ripped her hands away in defiance, then added, "Not from old age like how it's supposed to be, but violent, terrible deaths, all the time. What have we done to stop it?"
"We can't stop it," Daryl challenged, looking at her now with deep scrutiny. "You know better than that. We're building something here, Beth. For the future. For our fucking daughter. You're the one that believed in that."
"I still do," she admitted. "It's just," she paused, "seeing him just reminds me that it's not over." Daryl narrowed his stare in uncertainty, so she clarified. "He's been locked in a cage this whole time where we couldn't see it, and I think a lot of us have forgotten about what he did. I know I did. I got really comfortable. I forgot that it's not just the dead that's a threat to people out there."
Daryl released a sigh. "I thought about that too," he said. "After the Wolves and Negan, I told Rick we shouldn't go lookin' for people no more, but maybe we should."
Beth released an agreeable hmmm in response, then said, "It's not over just because he's dead. Other Saviours might still be out there, too."
"I know. But I think that's why we should keep lookin'."
"You wanna start recruiting again with Aaron?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
She and Daryl had enjoyed only a month of time at home together, but it was enough. She knew he felt another responsibility tugging at his heart, and it was one he couldn't ignore. Daryl Dixon saved people. It was the purpose that coursed through his veins. It didn't always take priority, especially not now that he had Abby to consider, but it wasn't a thought he could push ahead for very long. That core trait was a key part of what made Daryl the good man he was. It was one of the many reasons Beth had fallen in love with it. Without it, they'd be lost.
Daryl looked longingly at this wife and caressed her cheek. He was delaying the answer to her question, because they both knew the moment he spoke it aloud, he would have to go. He gently kissed her lips, lingering against them as long as he could.
As they separated, he said, "I don't think I have a choice."