Chapter Fifty One
Rightful Owner

The next morning, Beth was released. The man she saved, wasn't in his bed that morning. Beth was driven home by a doctor who lived in her neighbourhood and was warned to stay warm and keep hydrated, and not to go skinny-dipping anytime soon. It was taken on-board and the doctor drove down the block. Beth went into her apartment building and felt around in her coat pocket for her belongings. Her wallet and keys were there. But it felt different. She stopped by the stairwell to investigate her pockets. Her keys were there, well and fine. But it wasn't her wallet. There must've been a mix up at the hospital or at the very least, in the ambulance. On the stairwell, Beth sat with the wallet. This was the sad man's.

There was no licence. No money. Scrap pieces of paper and receipts for cigarettes and liquor. And there was her. Faded and crumpled in the money-fold of the brown leather. Her legs collapsed beneath her and she rested on the bottom step. She breathed heavily and quickly with her hand covering her mouth. Her hands shook and the wallet dropped to the ground. She looked up to the frosted glass door with her eyes filled with tears. He was here with her. He was there. This whole time. She didn't know what to do. No idea where he stayed or what he done for a living. She wasted no time in running upstairs to her apartment and fishing through her box of photographs. She knew she had one. A perfect one to advertise around the city. There was nothing to go on except flyers and posters. He was no longer in the hospital. He could be anywhere in the city.

In her bright and spacious apartment, Beth sat on her bed that looked onto the kitchen, boxes of pictures surrounding her. Some were hers; that she had taken in the city and before the war finished. Some had come from the farm, loose pictures that were in the bottom of her drawers when she gathered all of her clothes. There was an album from the shack that Beth had kept just in case.
Deciding on one photograph of Daryl, she scrambled around for paper, tape and a marker.

Missing Person
Daryl Dixon
Late 30s
5'10
Medium Build
If Found, please call Quirky's Bar and Grill (Lower Manhattan)
Ask for Beth

She didn't hesitate to make copies at the nearest library with her picture of Daryl on his bike outside the shack right in the center of the flyer. There was too much adrenaline that she could barely stand still at the copier. Beth fumbled with the stack of posters, handing one to anybody that she passed leaving the library on the street outside.


One week later and there was nothing. No calls to the bar. It was Thursday now. The remaining flyers were in her bag as she made her way down to the Subway. If she wasn't finding Daryl, she was working. That was where she was headed. Work.
It wasn't busy on the street. It was quiet. The sun was shining but the air was cold. She usually worked the dinner shift behind the bar and it was creeping nearer to four in the afternoon. She had some time to waste.
She decided to take the longer route to pass some time and get her head together. The next train was due any minute and Beth grabbed a few flyers from her bag, pinning them to the columns as she waited. There was a loud screech and a large breeze of wind from the train as it pulled up. A man went before her, and an elderly man with his groceries. It was the round-trip from Connecticut ready to make the trip again. The doors squeaked closed. She was in the second carriage, dusted with graffiti and wear-and-tear. Dents and stains on the ground. On a clean wall, she picked pins from her pocket to hold up one of her flyers. An old dear tugged at her arm for her attention. Beth smiled kindly as she always had done. There was some hope in the elderly woman's smile.

"That man. Let me see that, girl." Her hand was extended and Beth warily gave the flyer to her. The woman studied it, pushing her glasses up her nose and lifting her head. She nodded and Beth was given it back. "He's always here. Rides this car every day. Down there. Snores a lot."

Beth's entire body relaxed but her heart raced,
"Thank you, so much! Thank you!" Her feet were already making their way down the carriage that seemed to go on for miles. Beneath a cracked and dirty window, he was lying on his back with his forearm over his eyes. He was deep in sleep and reeking of booze. He was in the same clothes as when she dragged him from the water. It was stained and crinkled. She didn't know what to do. Crouch and wake him up or sit across from him and wait. Tears built up in her eyes and it was her sniffling that roused him. His eyes were glazed and hazy. He had no idea where he was. He got up slowly, looking down the carriage with a scorn before shoving his head into his hands.
"Daryl." Beth sighed, taking the free seat beside him and putting an arm around his back. He couldn't form words. He grunted and couldn't keep himself sitting up for long. Beth watched him, watched as he relaxed back and his head lolled to the side. Her arm was trapped behind him. Her lips were tense and she made the decision to move him at the next stop. "Come on. You have to sober up."

He was far too heavy to lift or even move. He moved on his own accord. For a while, Beth sat with his powerless body, his head rolling back and forth between her shoulder and the wall. His skin was clammy to her touch. He was silent the entirety of the journey to the bar. "Come on. We're not goin' to Connecticut anymore." Beth sighed and with all her strength, she tried to lift him up onto his feet. She managed alright, but some moments, his feet gave way to him. "Daryl, come on. You have to try!" Beth panted, getting to the stairs of the Subway station. Daryl took in a deep, strong breath. He was seemingly all there. He put his first foot forward, missing the step and stumbling down, bringing Beth for a short moment. Passers-by seen Beth's struggle but soon, they made it to the street. She continually propped him up and looked past the stink of booze. Slowly, Beth managed to get them to the bar, sitting Daryl in a booth for a short second as she informed her manager.

"I can' work. My friend, he needs my help. He's sick," Beth said, following her manager around the bar as he continued to work,
"We need you here, Beth. You can't go tonight. It's ladies' night!"
"I gotta! He's really sick!"
From the other side of the bar, there was a growing argument between Daryl and two of the regulars. Beth looked over quickly at the two men standing over Daryl, "I gotta go. I'm sorry. I'll work all week next week, I promise! I really gotta go!" Beth raced over to the booth where Daryl was and pushed past the two men. "Leave him alone," she warned them, struggling to help Daryl up again, "Come on." Beth prepared herself for bringing Daryl past the men who clearly had some beef with the drunk. She escorted him outside into the fresh air and propped him against the brick wall of the alley as she waited for a cab to hail. With one hand at his chest, her fingers pressed onto him to keep him from falling, Beth watched the street, daring not to move away from him. "I'm gonna take you home. You're gonna kill yourself out here like this."