Well, this chapter ended up longer than I thought it would. Hope you enjoy it. :) Thanks for reading and commenting.

Negan stood so long everyone was becoming restless. Stock-still, hands clasped under his chin, pointer fingers placed over his lips. Pensive. Deep in thought. He obviously had something important to say and the Saviors waited on bated breath for what that something was.

But even the most devoted devotees had a cap to their patients. People began to murmur aloud becoming louder and louder. Even Simon, standing off to the side, was beginning to wish for a chair. Everyone else got to sit at least.

Finally, Negan rose a hand, silencing them before returning to the same position, waiting another few moments before speaking.

"I try, my Saviors. You know I try," he spoke urgently, voice straining.

Everyone nodded, though they couldn't have any idea what he was talking about. They were trained to go along with whatever he said.

"Still, for all that I do for you, I get shit on." The air reverberated with his deep bear-like growl. Some, mostly the newest members, jumped. The senior members braced themselves internally, knowing something was coming.

"I try to create a mecca. A sanctuary so you do not have to live amongst the sinners of this world. But what do I get in return?"

"I'm met with disobedience! Defiance! I get disrespected."

He turned his back on the group, as though gathering his temper. He spoke calmer when he turned back around and began again. "We had a visit the other day. Do you all want to know who from?"

There had been rumblings among the group. Rumors, but no one knew exactly what had happened. Those that had been there to witness it, Simon, Mark, and Al, knew better than to say a word to anyone.

"A Sheriff. Came right up to the gate!" He waited for the gasps of confoundment to subside. "You know what that means, right? The jig is up. That Sheriff knows we are here. And do you know how he came to know we are here?"

The people in the room simultaneously shook their heads no.

Negan stepped toward Simon, whispered conspiratorially to him. Simon disappeared down the hall to the right and returned a moment later dragging someone by their arm. He shoved her hard at Negan. Negan caught her by the upper arm, held her up, forced her to face forward, baring her to the crowd. He watched as they went from uncertainty to shock. Even horror. A heinous, feral grin split his face. He wanted them to be horrified by her. Once beautiful, now a shell of herself.

"This is who we have to blame. Sherry," he spat her name, "is the reason we had a visit from the police. Sherry is the reason all of our livelihoods dance in the balance of being taken away by one redneck sheriff."

Sherry peered out at the group of people she once thought of as family. He already had it all figured out; blame her for everything. Make everyone hate her. She shouldn't be shocked he was putting her in the position of fall guy.

"Betrayed! By my own wife." He held her an arm's length away with one strong hand wrapped around her bicep as though he couldn't bear to touch at her. "See, she decided she didn't want to be my wife. But once she got out into the world, she saw how scary and full of sin it was and came running back to me."

This revelation was met by more gasps of shock. Through her foggy mind, Sherry tried to focus on his words. They were more lies. She had no idea what he was referring to. In her short time away from the Sanctuary she didn't come across any sheriff.

She and Dwight thought they were home free once they were off the mountain. It didn't work out that way.

They were planning on ditching Negan's car anyway, just further away from the mountain. When it ran out of gas, Sherry didn't care. She wanted out, no matter what it took to get them there. They walked into town, every step taking them further from Negan.

They stole a truck and almost made it out of whatever little town was at the bottom of the mountain when somehow, who knew how, Simon and a car full of Negan's men descended on them while they sat at the town's only red light.

It was pointless, but she fought them off with everything she had. In the shuffle, she saw Dwight being dragged out of the truck. She tried to scream for him. Someone quickly held their hand over her mouth. She was easily overpowered. They threw Dwight in their car and kept her in the truck and brought her back to the mountain. It was the last time she had seen Dwight.

That was days ago. They kept her in a room, a cement cell in the basement of the main hall below the kitchen.

They drugged her, a jab of a needle in her upper arm, with something that made her sleepy, easy to handle. It made her mind mushy. They withheld food except for a small amount. Whatever it was, it was cold and stale, she ate very little of it. She was constantly cold, only allowed to wear a thin gown. No blankets. No bedding. No shoes. They had chopped her hair.

She could only imagine what she looked like standing in front of everyone. A human example for the people of the Sanctuary of what not to do.

"You can see what the world has done to her," he said, splaying his hand towards her. "But here, unlike out there, I am forgiving. I am your safe haven." The Savior's applauded. "I will not hurt you. Isn't that right, Sherry?"

Sherry almost laughed. It was all so absurd.

He pulled Sherry back to him, stroked her cheek affectionately. "Yes, that's right. All that matters is that you're here now. We'll take care of you. Bring you back to health and then you can take your place once again as my wife."

She squinted her eyes shut when he leaned in and pressed his lips to her temple. This wasn't happening, it all had to be a bad dream. She wanted to scream out. Tell everyone that he was lying but she couldn't. She couldn't formulate the words in her mind and force them to come out of her mouth.

Negan sat in his high back leather chair, a foot propped up on the edge of his desk. Nonchalantly he smoked a cigar, puffing the smoke into the stale air when Simon knocked on the door to his cabin.

"Everything okay?" Simon asked, after being called inside. He kept his stance by the door in case he needed to make a quick exit. He'd die for Negan. Probably would, in fact, die for Negan, but he didn't want that day to be today or by Negan's own hand.

He gave Simon an incredulous stare.

"Ya' know. I think Sherry learned her lesson. I think she's okay to come out of the cell." Simon suggested, trying to bypass the subject of the sheriff. "Since everyone knows she's here and all." He hadn't expected Negan to bring her out in front of everyone, now that he had, it only made sense that they couldn't keep her locked up anymore.

The cells in the basement were reserved for those people that broke one of Negan's rules. Or for the ones that thought they wanted to leave. They'd spend a few days down there, cold and wet and hungry, they'd come out thankful for a second chance and knew better than to speak of it to anyone.

Negan kicked his feet to the ground and stood, stubbed out his cigar. He fetched his bat, affectionately named Lucille after his dead wife, from where it leaned against the desk. As he swaggered to Simon, he propped it against his shoulder.

"Who are you?" He sneered, and inch from his face.

Simon looked at his boots, knowing better than to look Negan in the eyes when he was in one of his moods. Confused, he asked, "Pardon?"

"God damn it, Simon. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?"

Perspiration beaded his brow. "Negan. I'm Negan. We all are."

Negan took a step back, "That's right. What is in my best interest is in your best interest. Got it?"

No, Simon didn't get it. But he nodded his head just the same.

Negan went back to his chair, picked up a book and flipped through the pages. He didn't actually read. The books he kept in his cabin were for show to make him seem scholarly and intelligent.

"Go on get Sherry. Let her have a shower because that bitch is rank. Put her back in her cabin, be sure her bunkmate knows she's not to be left alone."

"Yes, Negan." Relieved, Simon turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh, and Simon," Negan said, snapping the book shut. "Find out everything you can about this Sheriff."

The bookstore quickly became Beth's favorite place other than being home with Daryl. She worked a few days a week but managed to find herself there even on days she had off. When Daryl got a call while they were at lunch in town, she decided to stop in and get the sweatshirt she'd forgotten the last time she was there. She had a limited amount of clothing and didn't want to lose one of the only sweatshirts she owned.

Entering through the backdoor, the comfortable scent of lavender wafted through the air. Carol always had some sort of essential oil wafting through the air thanks to the diffuser she ran all the time.

As she made her way through the darkened backroom, Carol could be heard speaking to someone at the counter. Her words stopped Beth in her tracks.

"Daryl really cares for her. I don't think Beth is that way."

The conversation caught her off guard, so she stopped where she stood and listened for a moment. She thought Carol must have been on the phone since no one spoke in return. Moving again, she stepped quietly as she wound her way through the backroom, past boxes, a desk, and miscellaneous inventory, and then into the area behind the counter. She discovered Carol wasn't speaking on the phone. She was talking to Connie.

Connie's curly hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot. She wore a green army jacket with a striped shirt underneath and blue jeans with holes in the knees. She was fashionable in a casual way. But that wasn't why she made Beth uncomfortable. Connie was one of the only people in town that seemed to go out of her way to ignore her.

Beth reminded herself not everybody had to like her. This wasn't the Sanctuary where everyone's livelihood relied on everyone else's. Besides, she was the new girl in their town. She was the interloper, not Connie.

She thought maybe Connie's dislike for her was just her imagination. Now she was sure it wasn't. No matter what, she didn't like being the apparent subject matter of this conversation. She froze where she stood, wanting to stand up for herself, but not knowing how.

Connie was scribbling something into the notebook she always carried with her to communicate with those that didn't use sign language. When she was through writing, she slapped the pen down on the counter and signed with her hands as if to emphasize the point. Beth didn't know any sign language, Carol seemed to understand what she meant though, and immediately began shaking head no.

"Aw come on now. You haven't even given her a chance," Carol told Connie. It was then that Connie noticed Beth standing in the shadow of the doorway to the backroom. Carol glanced behind her to see what caught Connie's attention. She looked warily at Beth then back to Connie.

Connie sighed sufferably and snatched her bag off the counter, stomping off without looking back.

"Hey there!" Carol said a bit too cheerily. "Didn't think you were coming in today."

She felt her face grow red with embarrassment. They had obviously been talking about her. Well, Carol wasn't necessarily talking about her. It sounded like she was actually defending her.

"I came for my sweatshirt. I think I left it in the chair in the corner."

"Oh, I'll grab that for you," Carol said and shuffled off to the corner of the store needlessly, Beth could have gotten it herself.

Alone at the counter, she noticed Connie had forgotten her notebook. She took a step closer. It's not like she was snooping, it was laying there open after all. The page showing in the pocket-sized notebook was filled up, the last sentence stuck out because it was underlined.

She's using Daryl!, was written in bold black letters.

Beth felt her stomach drop. Connie thought she was using Daryl? Did others feel the same way? Though she couldn't blame them. Pragmatically thinking, it probably did look that way.

But was she using Daryl? She lived in his house, didn't pay rent. Ate his food. He took her wherever she needed to go if she couldn't walk there herself.

Carol appeared again with Beth's sweatshirt. Noting the notepad on the counter in front of Beth, Carol gave up the facade. She was busted and she knew it. "I'm sorry about that."

"Were they seeing each other before I came here?" Maybe that would explain her disklike of Beth.

"No. As far as I know they weren't. But I think Connie was interested. Daryl's quite the catch," she added, chuckling.

"Do you think I'm using Daryl?" Beth asked.

Immediately Carol shook her head no. "No, I don't. But don't you worry about what Connie or anyone else thinks. She doesn't have anything to do with you and Daryl."

Beth nodded as though it were that simple.

Beth woke in a panic less and less as time went on. If she did, she was easily calmed by Daryl's presence. But since she gave her statement, she'd hadn't been sleeping well. Add to that her encounter with Connie at the bookstore and she tossed and turned most of the night.

She did her best to not wake Daryl. Unfortunately, though, he was a light sleeper. If she rustled the blankets or got out of bed he was awake. Just like that. He said it was a side effect of being a sheriff. He had to be up and ready to go at any second. That proved to be true the few times he was called out on an emergency since she started living with him.

So when she woke in a panic late one night Daryl knew the drill. She'd need water, he kept a bottle on the nightstand, because her throat would be dry. She'd kick the blankets off because she would have worked up a sweat. Sometimes she wanted to talk, other times she just wanted to lay still until she caught her breath. Sometimes she read to him. It was as soothing to him as it was her. Her voice, soft and hushed, the only sound in the quiet house.

Sometimes, she'd fall back to sleep, but if she couldn't they'd stay up until it was time for Daryl to head off to work. Luckily he survived easily on very little sleep. Sometimes she'd cling to him, needing his touch and they'd end up having sex. Quick and hard or soft and slow. Whatever she wanted, he gladly gave her.

Tonight Beth apparently wanted to talk. She sighed, laid her head on his bare chest. He wound his arm around her shoulders, ran his fingers down her bare shoulder, down her back.

"Do you think about the future?" She questioned out of the blue.

Daryl yawned, adjusted his head against the pillow. "Like what I want for dinner tomorrow? Sure," he teased.

Smiling in the dark, she lightly punched his chest with a loose fist. "You know what I mean." At least she hoped he did.

"I jus' always focus on the day, I guess. When I was in the army it was dicey work. I jumped from place to place. I did my job. If I made it to the next place, great. If not," he shrugged his shoulder.

Even after he took the job as sheriff and it was obvious the job was long term, he never thought ahead much. Until he met Beth.

"And now?" Beth questioned. Connie's words still nagged at her. She wished she could just let them go.

"I don't know, darlin'," he answered honestly. "Things are up in the air right now." The uncertainty unnerved him. He didn't want to pressure Beth. He also didn't want to lose her. She needed to make the decision of being with him for herself.

"There's a small apartment above the bookstore. Carol said I could stay there for cheap if I wanted. I'll find a job other than the bookstore. I can make my own way," she said as a suggestion rather than a statement.

How she would do that, she didn't know. She had no social security number, no birth certificate. Carol currently paid her cash as a favor to Daryl. Any other place of employment would most likely expect her to be a legitimate employee and wouldn't hire her otherwise.

Awake now, he asked, "Why do you wanna' do that?"

"I don't know. Some people might say I'm using you." She chose not to tell Daryl about Connie. She didn't want to cause any unnecessary problems. Beside it was a legit concern. She loved him, she didn't want to use him.

Daryl chuckled at that. "Using me for what? My fancy house? Using me for all the cash I'm raking in as a small town sheriff?"

She rolled her eyes at herself. "I don't want anyone thinking that. And I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"How can I convince you?" He rolled over, his upper half covering hers, kissed her slow and strong, finding his spot in between her legs. Her arms curled naturally around his broad shoulders, her fingers combed into his hair. "I want you here. You understand me? Fuck what anyone else says or thinks. And whatever the future holds we'll figure it out together. You and me."

"I don't know how you can overlook what I've done or where I've been." She was horrified by her own actions, how could Daryl not be?

"I think you were searching for something. I won't pretend to know what that something was, but I understand it. I was chasing something I never found all those years I spent in the army. I did some bad shit during that time."

"But you helped people."

"So did you," he gruffly whispered.

He always knew the right thing to say when her mind was running on overdrive. She tried to keep her thoughts from bubbling up and out of her mouth, but she couldn't help it. She'd been quiet for too long. She'd been told her thoughts don't matter. That she didn't matter.

Watching him through the obscured moonlit room, throat thick with emotion, she whispered, "What if I've been gone too long to find my way back to a normal life? What if I can't find my way back home?"

A grunt sounded deep in Daryl's chest. He ran a hand over her hair, cupped her cheek. "Far as I'm concerned, you are home."

"Glenn? Hello!" Maggie said, snapping a finger in front of his face. "You're looking at me funny."

They'd been having a conversation about something. He wracked his brain trying to remember because Maggie gets super pissed when he doesn't pay attention. He had gotten distracted by something so simple - Maggie had twirled her hair just so around her finger before tucking it behind her ear. A common tick she always did when she was talking. Now, though, it reminded him of something, or someone, else.

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit distracted by a patient of mine."

"Oh? Tough case?" Maggie was always interested in Glenn's work. Staying at home all day wasn't exactly stimulating. She craved adult conversation. Occasionally, Glenn shared interesting cases with her leaving out the person's name and any identifying factors.

He nodded, took the glass Maggie just rinsed, placed it in the dishwasher. The kids were in bed, whether they were asleep or not was another matter. The short time before he and Maggie had to go to bed was usually spent doing mundane things, such as loading the dishwasher. Or sorting socks. Or watching lame TV. They looked forward to whatever alone time they got and they wouldn't trade their mundane evenings together for anything.

"Yes. Sweet girl. Very unsure about everything. She's got some sort of amnesia or dissociative disorder. Doesn't remember anything past a few years ago."

"Hmm. What caused the break in her memory?"

"I'm not sure. I think it was just too painful to remember. My theory is that she had to forget her past to protect herself in the situation she was in."

"What situation was she in?" Maggie asked, rinsing the last plate from dinner. It was Friday. That meant take out pizza. No pots and pans to wash.

"She joined a cult. Or, a cult-like very controlling group, anyway." He had to be careful to speak in general terms. No locations. No names.

Maggie sucked in a breath. "Well, that sounds heartbreaking."

"Yes, it is." He was watching Maggie out the corner of his eyes. Studying her movements, though it wasn't necessary. He knew her body and how she moved better than his own.

It had to be a coincidence.

Once the dishes were done and the doors were locked and the lights turned out they made their way upstairs. Maggie went to take her nightly shower and Glenn, feeling every bit the sneaky person he was being, quietly, stepping over the floorboards that were known to creak, went into Maggie's walk-in closet.

Just like the rest of the house, it was organized and tidy. Shirts hung by color and length, shortest to longest. Jeans folded neatly over a hanger, were hung along another wall. He could pick any of the drawers in the tall chest tucked into the corner and he'd find everything in order. Her socks would be neatly rolled up in one drawer, his in another. Her underwater and his boxers would even be folded. She said keeping things in an orderly way made her feel calm in a chaotic world. He called it OCD once. That didn't go over well. The memory brought a smile to his face.

What he was after was a box hidden in the bottom drawer of the chest underneath a spare wool blanket. It wasn't large, no bigger than a shirt box, rectangular in shape.

He wasn't snooping exactly, he knew it was there and he knew what was in it. Maggie knew he knew it was there but it wasn't something they talked about. It wasn't something she looked through often reminiscing about her childhood.

Anything that might remind her of Beth, which was everything - even the absence of a person could affect your day to day life - was upsetting, so she avoided the box.

Glenn never asked her about it other than the day they moved in together, she briefly and unemotionally showed him what was in it. Never speaking of it again. Still, the box came with them every time they moved, including when they moved into this home.

He slid the box out from under the blanket and removed the cover. It was probably the only thing that wasn't in an orderly fashion. It held memories from Maggie's childhood all the way up through college. Ribbons from a few horse shows she was in. A few birthday cards she wanted to keep for whatever reason. A dried wrist corsage from her senior prom where she won homecoming queen.

At the bottom, buried under everything else was a stack bound by a rubber band. Careful to make as little noise as possible, he unwound it. On the top of the small bundle was a brief article from a newspaper about a missing young woman that had probably "taken off on her own", the police representative was quoted as saying. There were also a couple of letters Beth had sent to Maggie when she was away at college. Maggie had even printed out and kept a few emails that Beth had sent her during that time. There was nothing earth shattering in them. Just your basic, Hi, how are things? Miss you. The farm is soooo boring with you gone.

What he was searching for was at the bottom of the stack. A handful of pictures. Maggie didn't keep them in the main photo albums or scrapbooks because it was too difficult to open up a book at any given time to see her sister's beautiful face staring back at her as a reminder of what they'd lost.

Not that Maggie was ever able to forget.

The stack of photos appeared to be in order, from youngest to oldest. The first photo was of a young Maggie holding an infant Beth. There were a few other photos of them with Shawn as well. There was a picture of the five of them when Maggie was a teen and Beth and Shawn were around ten. In another one, Maggie was in the foreground and Beth in the background. Scowling. Not happy.

The last item was a folded up piece of paper. Unfolding it, the word "missing" in large black letters appeared at the top. Underneath was Beth's full name, as well as her height and weight, was listed. The date last seen was a little over five years ago. The photo on the flyer was Beth's senior picture. Her hair was chopped short and it was a yellow-blonde. The color of the sun shining in the evening light.

Glenn's legs suddenly felt weak in the squatting position he held and he sat down hard on the floor.

Angel was an older, more mature version of Beth. While Angel and Maggie looked nothing alike, there were similarities. Maggie's eyes were green, Angel's were blue but they were the same shape. Their chins were also comparable. Mostly, their mannerisms were almost identical.

How could he have been so blind? He'd seen this picture every time he went over to his in-laws house. Sure, the woman that had come into his office twice a week for some time now was thinner and her hair was more white blonde than sunny blonde. But Angel was Beth. He was almost certain of it.

I know therapists aren't supposed to talk about their patients but I'm sure it does happen in a vague way.

Again, thanks for reading.