Two: How the Archer Met the Good Girl
"You had any trouble?" Daryl asked over his shoulder as he mounted his bike.
Beth shook her head and her helmet jiggled off-center. She straightened it and took a seat behind him. Daryl waited until Beth was holding fast to his waist before he kicked up his stick and started the engine. He bolted out into the quiet night with the skill of a long-term rider. Beth rested her head between his shoulder blades and closed her eyes, feeling the coolness of his angel-winged leather vest soothing against her burning cheek.
She never liked riding motorcycles. It made her feel exposed to the hazards of passing cars and she hated to see the closeness of the pavement just beneath her feet. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She did her best to open her eyes and focus on other things. Buildings passing by. Skyscrapers like curtains draping the night sky. Colorful banners displaying the next date for the rodeo. Daryl.
Their apartment wasn't but a few blocks from the club. Beth was grateful for such a short trip. Daryl parked behind the two-level complex and he kept the bike steady until Beth was back on her feet. He liked to hide his bike under the particle board wheelchair ramp so no one would steal it. Beth had talked to him dozens of times about getting a chain or something else for security. Daryl had scoffed at the very notion. He seemed to think he could sense when someone was gunning for his ride and he would have no trouble defending it. Beth imagined he would use the crossbow he kept above the refrigerator. She hoped it would never come to that. Self-defense would be hard to plea in a case describing excessive use of a modern archer's weapon.
They walked around to the front and came up the steps. A brown stained door with a glass center greeted them. The porch light was dimmed from a rather zealous amount of June bugs and breeds of moth that appeared to come straight out of a science fiction film. Beth blew out of her mouth in disgust and held her helmet against her chest while Daryl made quick work of the door to let them inside. A few moths followed after them and Beth waved them away from her golden blonde hair which she had recently dyed with shades of deep red and orange.
"Bethy! Oh, Bethy! Oh, God, I'm so glad you're here!" Glenn came rushing out of his apartment in 17A to greet her.
He grabbed her by her lower ribs and lifted her up in a sort of awkward hello. The force almost knocked the wind out of Beth and she glanced wide eyed at Daryl. Before Daryl could pull him away, Glenn had already put Beth down and he was headed back down the hall. Beth watched as Glenn pointed at the door of 14B and stated, "I think the guy in fourteen B is dead...AGAIN!"
Beth held a finger to her lips to hush him. Glenn nodded and imitated zipping his lips closed. His almond-shaped eyes were red and bloodshot. His lighter skin had turned a pale yellow similar to victims of jaundice. He was a starving artist diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He was also prone to using street drugs to induce manic highs because he thought it made him more creative.
"Oh, Bethy! What can we do?!" Glenn started to get excited, again.
Beth quietly walked over to the door of the apartment 14B. She took Glenn's face between her hands and told him slowly, "If Mr. Sanders were dead, that would mean he couldn't pick up his mail. Maybe we should check his box and see what's there."
Glenn's face twisted as if it were being town apart by something invisible. It took him almost thirty seconds to fully process what Beth had said to him before his face beamed as if illuminated by goodness. Beth let him go so that Glenn could turn and open the letter box next to 14B. Beth could only hope that Mr. Sanders had thought to check his mail that day.
Fortunately, it was empty. Glenn cried out happily, "Oh, thank god! Thank the bastard who lives in fourteen B for being alive!"
Beth put her finger to her lips to hush him, again. Glenn went quiet, but the massive grin on his face refused to fade.
He leaned in to whisper to Beth as in secret, "I thought I saw his ghost in my room. I was gonna paint it so you'd believe me, but he was gone before I could really get a good look."
Beth took his hand and guided him back to his apartment. Glenn followed her to his bedroom and Beth told him as he lay down against the mattress he'd set on the floor, "I'll have Daryl take a look around. We'll make sure there ain't no ghosts, here."
Glenn made an expression of deep confusion, but nodded that he understood all the same. The bedroom was dark but the light from the kitchen shined through the open door and gave them enough to see. Beth helped Glenn take off his paint stained sneakers. She took a battered quilt from the far corner and draped it over him.
"It's an heirloom, you know," Glenn clutched the quilt and held it up so Beth could get a better look.
"It's lovely," she smiled and nodded.
Beth stayed by his bedside until Glenn's breathing slowed. She sang some lyrics pulled from a Carried Underwood song. She didn't even reach the chorus before Glenn was out cold. Beth turned to face the door and saw Daryl leaning against the frame with his arms folded like he'd been there the whole time.
"Get me a trash bag. I wanna clean up a bit," she told him as she stood up.
"You don't have ta do tha'," Daryl grumbled.
He was tired after pulling a double shift at the slaughterhouse. Beth was tired, too, but she couldn't bear to leave Glenn in the sty that had once been the cleanest apartment in the complex.
Daryl snorted and took off. If Beth didn't know him, better, she'd think he was abandoning her. He returned thirty seconds later and Beth dumped the armful of trash she had into Daryl's open bag. He silently helped her gather much of the mess, but he refused to touch anything that appeared wet or moldy. Beth also chose to stop when she found a pile of used condoms stuffed in a sock labeled in permanent marker: VATOS PROJECT.
"I don't even know what that means," Beth whispered to Daryl.
He shrugged.
Daryl took the trash to the dumpster outside while Beth made her way upstairs to their apartment. She immediately took a shower and washed away anything that clung to her that she didn't want to keep. Standing under the warm water, Beth thought about touching herself, but all she could see when she closed her eyes were Glenn's bloodshot ones staring back at her with a mix of fear and self-loathing. She gave up trying to get aroused.
Beth pushed the curtain back and stepped out of the tub. She smiled. Daryl had slipped in at some point and left her a towel and a change of clothes. Her nighttime wear consisted of a white tank top and a pair of Daryl's red and black boxers. They were like shorts but way more comfortable. The towel was warm when Beth used it to dry herself. The clothes were also at perfect temperature. Daryl had just taken them out of the dryer.
She tied her hair back in a loose ponytail. Beth checked herself in the mirror before she met Daryl in the kitchen. He was sitting at the patio table and looking over the classifieds while his left hand idly peeled at the label of a half-empty bottle of beer. Daryl had already set out a glass of milk and a plate of spaghetti for Beth. She glanced at the meal. There were meat slices in it that resembled chicken, but Beth knew better.
Daryl had been working at the local slaughterhouse the past six months. It was back-breaking work, and most of the men there were illegals or ex-convicts. Daryl had managed to make a friend with an Irish fellow out of Boston named Connor. The money was also very good and Daryl could have all the discarded meat he wanted. He was keen at finding the good pieces to take home so they had some protein on their table every night.
Beth took a big bite. It tasted just fine. Daryl didn't look up from the classifieds until Beth asked quietly, "You lookin' for somethin' new?"
"Maybe," he shrugged and chewed his lower lip.
Daryl turned back to the classifieds. Beth chattered between bites, "Your typin' is lookin' real good."
He scoffed. She ignored him and went on, "Most jobs need computer learnin' nowadays. If you've got above thirty-five words on the minute, there'll be more options."
Daryl's somber eyes drifted up from the papers. He watched her face for a moment before his silky blues sank down to her chest. He stared a while. Beth tried to read him, wondering why he looked like he was checking her out.
She looked down. Beth cursed under her breath when she realized some of the spaghetti had spilled into her tank and spread orange sauce down her front.
"Goddamn," Beth mumbled as she reached down her tank to fish out the tangles of pasta.
"Ain't no big thang," Daryl replied.
"Yeah, it is! You go an' spend all that time on the laundry an' I screw it up in three shakes of a lamb's tail," Beth argued as she stood up from her chair.
She opened the fridge and searched for a bottle of club soda. The Greene Family were long accustomed to using club soda for stains. It was good for messes with alcohol same as food.
Beth pulled her tank over her head, taking little notice of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. She dabbled her tank with club soda and massaged the stained fabric. After a short while, she sensed she was alone and looked up. Daryl was gone.
Beth frowned as she pondered if she had been too comfortable exposing herself in front of Daryl. He had seen her at the club plenty of times before so she thought she had nothing to hide, but his swift exit made her think she had done something wrong. Beth closed the fridge and went to the sink to wipe off the excess sauce from between her breasts. She couldn't help feeling self-conscious that maybe Daryl didn't like what he saw. When she was on stage, it didn't matter if men liked her body or not. Only Daryl made her feel this way.
He returned without warning from the back room where the laundry was kept. He had a clean tank top in his hand. Beth still felt insecure and she instinctively draped the stained tank top over her front to cover herself.
Daryl remained stoic as he said, "Brought you a new one," and added as he held it out to her, "Gotta take the old one back."
He didn't seem bothered by the fact that she would have to expose herself once more. Beth reluctantly revealed herself again as she handed over the stained one. He took it and she snatched the new one out of his hand. Beth quickly put it on. Daryl watched her all the while, his expression betraying nothing. She searched his face. Whatever he was thinking, he didn't make it known.
"Can I ask you somethin'?" Beth said to break the silence.
He shrugged. She quickly added, "You can't get mad, though!"
Daryl stiffened as he braced himself to hear something he wouldn't like. He nodded shortly for her to continue.
"You think about guys the way I would?" Beth asked, wondering if she'd be met with an outburst.
She didn't want to ask Daryl outright if he were gay. He usually shut down when it came to blunt questions. By asking in a way that gave him an out, he might take the bait and respond with less ire. Daryl's eyes wandered over her frame and down to the spot between her breasts that was stained moments, before. She knew the answer to her question even before he said it.
"No," his tobacco-charred vocal cords hummed.
Beth felt the desperate need to ask him more. She wanted to know how he felt about her. He seemed to sense where the conversation was going and he left the room so fast, Beth had to blink a few times to register he was really gone.
"What do ya think of me?" she whispered to the open air.
Whether he heard her or not, he didn't answer.