last chapter before the epilogue. which won't take forty years to come.

I don't own the walking dead

thank you for the reviews.

Please, reviews.

Wash your hand and stay home. be safe.


Chapter XIX: Rounds of burial


Carl immediately hugs his father. The tenderness in the act suffices to break Rick's heart. He returns Carl's hug and tightens his grip around his son.

Rick begins to think about ways to break the news. He kisses Carl's forehead. Rick stands awkwardly in between the corridor and Carl's room. He leans against the door. Carl notices his father's discomfort.

"Are you okay, dad?" Carl gently asks.

Rick looks at Carl, and his son's question embodies the boy's kindhearted nature. Rick's throat constricts. He shakes his head and quietly asks to enter Carl's room.

Carl walks to his bed, and Rick finds it difficult taking a step forward. He carefully closes the door and leans against it.

Oddly, Rick feels like bolting out of the room. Cowardice slightly appears as the safest solution. A look at a patient Carl reminds Rick how much his son has endured.

Rick exhales, and it does not alleviate the constricting pressure around his son cage.

"How have you been, son?" Rick attempts to delay the chaos.

"I was worrying for Michonne and you," Carl responds. "Now, I'm fine." He grabs a game on his bed. "I found this old card game. Grandpa says it's yours." Carl lifts the old box to show his father. "Can I use it to teach Andre how to play?"

Rick freezes at the sight of the old and torn box. Rick ultimately walks to Carl's bed. He sits on the edge of the bed frame. Rick is as uncomfortable as the night when he promised to protect Carl from the horror Lori inflicted upon him.

"I haven't seen this since I was ten. It was Shane's favourite until we lost it one summer." Rick sighs.

He takes the card from Carl to ensure that they look like what he remembers.

For a few seconds, the silence is oppressive. Carl stares at his father. The aura in the room is undeniably lugubrious.

"Dad?" Carl calls when the silence becomes irksome.

"Yeah, you can have it." Rick puts the card game on the bed.

Rick cannot escape it. After all the havoc, which he has wracked, nothing can be more impactful than breaking Carl's heart.

"I have to tell you something, Carl." Rick experiences another moment of cowardice. "I'm sorry." He stands because he needs distance.

However, Rick promptly retakes his spot. Carl requires his father's support and warmth.

"You see I could come back earlier," Rick hesitates. He searches his mind for the perfect words. "Something awful happened." He looks at Carl who attentively listens. "Shane," Rick inhales. "Your mother." Rick draws a deep breath as he continues to suffocate and choke on his words. "Lori was with your uncle Shane when…" Rick stops speaking, and he stares at Carl.

Rick stands, and he begins to pace. He finishes with his back against the wall. From a safe distance, he glances at his son.

"Dad?" Carl asks with relative calm. "Mom and Uncle Shane were together." He repeats.

"The bad guys came after Shane, and your mother was there." Rick begins to form an answer. "Your mom died."

Carl looks at Rick who ripped the Band-Aid. For a few minutes, he waits for his father to retake his words. Rick expects Carl to express emotions.

"Okay," Carl whispers.

He carefully picks the card game and puts it on the desk by the wall. A few seconds of silence turn into many minutes of discomfort. Carl returns to the bed. He lies down and covers himself with the blanket. The silence tugs at Rick's sanity. The minutes continue to pile on each other. The time feels like a stone attached to Rick's feet while he drowns. He sinks and sits by the door. Rick does not possess the bravery to intervene.

"Come grab your friend. We will go to every distant land…"

Carl's whispers shatter the silence. His voice trembles. Life is full of ironic twists of fate. Carl has no other way of coping with his pain than to sing a cartoon song, which he often used to mute the sound of Lori and Shane's sexual encounters.

The singing does not last. The first sob echoes on the walls. The pain, which it carries, is raw and full of distress. Another more subdued sob follows, and then all hell breaks loose.

Carl forms a small ball under the blanket as he used to do after endless emotional abuses. Carl attempts to dampen the sound of his cry out of habits and fears to be in trouble.

The muffled tears draw Rick out of his cowardice. He walks to the bed, and he lies by Carl's side. He wraps his son with all his limbs. Rick is another blanket. He adds to Carl's feeling of safety. He becomes the needed layer of protection, which he failed to be all those years.

Carl cries, and then he is silent. He sobs and mumbles his songs. The horror will not immediately end. His mother was not shouting. He does not need a cartoon song to cover the sound of his pain. Lori will not yell at him. Carl's mom is dead.

"Can I be sad?"

The question is odd. Rick looks at Carl, and he will never understand the root of it. Carl might never be able to explain why he requires permission to express what he should feel.

"Lori was your mom."

However, she hardly behaved like one in the last years. Perhaps, it is why Carl requires permission to cry.

The tears ultimately stop around four in the morning not because his sadness ends. Exhaustion from over-crying claims him. Carl falls asleep with fresh tears staining his cheeks.


Frustrated, Rosita throws the files against the board. She rushes to pick them up as her eyes encounter Captain Jones' eyes.

Rosita draws a deep breath. She has to redeem herself after what she did. She has to prove to Rick how deserving of his trust she is.

Rosita shakes her head at the thought that she almost lost her job. She blames her obsession for Rick Grimes for the debacle with Eugene.

"Everything is alright, Espinosa." Morgan bends to pick the files on the floor.

Rosita quickly takes them out of Morgan's hand. She carefully places them on the desk.

"A setback nothing more," Rosita sighs, and she opens a new file. "I can't find the starting point. I got the pattern down, and still, I don't know where it begins."

Rosita pulls Mike's picture from the wall, and it does not fit in her bigger picture.

"What are those?" Morgan says while he sits on Rick's desk.

His finger points at a series of young black women.

"Unsolved disappearance cases." Rosita stares at the picture. "They are very young girls between the age of sixteen and twenty-two." She continues as she grabs one of the files. "Similar social profile. All from poor families although with a certain level of education." Rosita passes the file to Morgan. "They disappeared in similar circumstances."

"There is a pattern and an ugly one." Morgan comments, "Anyone in the department could have noticed earlier with the number of girls." He finishes.

Rosita begins to arrange the picture to show the overview.

"Clusters," Rosita says while she shows that there is a small succession of disappearances. "Three to four girls in six or seven months. All these cases began on different desks, but Dixon asked to have them." She explains." Now, he classified each case as a runaway. I think we have a prostitution ring. Dixon works for a prostitution ring. He covered the disappearances."

"We know Dixon is dirty," Morgan says," but we also know his death has to do with Mike Anthony." Rosita frantically searches her desk, and she pulls two more pictures. "Andrea Harrison and Philip Blake," She places the picture on the board. "They do not fit the pattern. Dixon covered their disappearance. He started with this man." She circles the picture. "Philip Blake is your average Joe. A suburb white man with a daughter. His wife informed the precincts of his disappearance, and Dixon closed the case a week later. The file for this case is full of holes and missing information. Before this specific case, Merle's files are exemplary police works."

Rosita begins to search her drawer, and she pulls more of Merle's resolved case to demonstrate the impressive contrast between his works before Philip Blake's case.

"Two months after Blake's disappearance, a suburban white lady case is equally odd." She looks at Andrea's picture. "These two have their little cluster." Rosita stares at the group of pictures. "Anthony does not fit in any cluster."

Morgan stands, and he picks Mike's picture to put it next to Andrea's picture.

"Andrea Harrison was the first suspect in the Anthony case," Morgan says. "An old FBI agent who worked undercover in the mob. Do you want to bet that she often met Anthony?" Morgan asks. "Well, the actual story is better. She ran away with him. She also killed him, and later, someone killed her. Possibly Walsh."

Morgan begins to arrange Rosita's board. He places Philip's picture in the centre.

"He does not fit in a cluster. If I heard you right, Merle started on this case. Here, we have two options. The first option, Philip Blake is creating those clusters. The second option, he is a sad random case." Morgan points out." But suburban white men are not poorly treated cases of disappearances." Morgan takes away Philip's picture.

"Captain?" Rosita hesitates. "A prostitution ring is bad, but it does not cross Negan's line of work. Why would he come after Dixon?"

Morgan stares at Rosita. He returns Philip's picture to her.

"How much Grimes has told you about the ongoing case?" He knowingly asks, and Rosita's lack of answer suffices to conclude. "Shane's murder has confessed last night. We only need an order from the judge to arrest Began. However, we had to strike a deal, and it came with more information. The entire thing is an active mob war and a quest for territory expansion."

Rosita fails to hide her hurt. The anger in her grows. She cannot believe Rick excluded her.

"Can't blame him with what happened with Walsh." Morgan attempts to soothe Rosita's hurt. "You should tell him about your little discovery. We should learn more about Philip Blake before we jump to conclusions."


Somewhere his grandparents are crying their daughter. Carl has spoken to them for a few minutes. The conversation was awkward. His grandparents talked about how kind and loving his mother was. Carl believes he has some memories of that kindness. Those blurry and old memories from the first years of his life.

Those memories, which one often doubts of their veracity, have remained. It is nothing particularly happy, but Lori was kind to him. She was his mother. Therefore, he nods at what his mother's parents say.

Carl looks at his father. Rick does not share stories, and he certainly does not share the pain. His father would prefer to be somewhere else, and Carl would love to be everywhere but in his grandparents' living room staring at his dead mom.

"Can we go home?" Carl dares to whisper to his father.

Rick squeezes Carl's hand, and it is an answer. Carl must endure the surplice. He straightens and sighs. He averts his eyes from the coffin.

Carl looks at his shoes, which Michonne helped polished. Andre had laughed because Carl's shoes were shiny. Carl wanted Michonne and Andre to come, but his father and Michonne said it was impossible.

Michonne had kissed his forehead before he left. She would wait for him home. Carl believes his grandparents speak about his mother's kindness because they think Lori was gentle and kissed his forehead. She did when she was not angry.

The problem is that Lori was often angry with his father. When she was happy, she sometimes made banana pudding because Carl liked it. Sometimes, Lori could be a kind mother. This last year, she was far from gentle. She did not make pudding. Somehow, he cannot forget those other years although something has nibbled on the happy memory. Therefore, Carl cries after staring too long at the coffin.

"Can we go home?" He whispers.

Rick hesitantly looks at Carl, and he might agree. However, he has no time to formulate an answer. It happens too fast. One second, Carl is staring at the coffin in his grandparents' living room, and the next one, he is staring at the priest collar.

Carl has never been at a burial before his mother's funeral. What he knows of burial is the Hollywood cliché. The day is sunny, and some people wear colours.

Carl is in tears, and he tightly holds his father. The scene is far from the cinematic universe. The sun is bright in the sky. There is no rain to match his pain. His father stands by him, and there is a gloomy aura.

Carl does not throw sand nor does he offer a chrysanthemum. Everyone including his doting grandparents does not force him or ask that he do it. Certainly, his heartbreaking tears deter everyone to force him to suffer more than he needs.

Later, his grandfather approaches Carl and Rick. Carl does not want to hear how kind and loving his mother was.

"Can we go home? Carl asks with desperation.

Rick and Carl leave before Lori's father can catch up with them. However, they do not go home. They stop in front of his old comic book shop.

Rick does not know how to console Carl. He wants safety. Now, he is uncertain about how to be a father. Fortunately, Carl refuses to simplify the work for him. Carl does not leave the car.

"I want to go home."

The silence is heavy, and it is unbearable. For the father and son duo, it feels as if Lori found a way to increase the rift between them. Rick shakes his head. He loves his excuses. Truthfully, he is lousy at fatherhood.

"You're not sad." Carl points out.

He does not accuse. Carl might understand. He envies his father for not having blurry memories of Lori, which make him sad.

"I'm sorry," Rick does not deny the truth. "Lori wasn't the kindest person to me."

Carl agrees with his father. Carl's mother was not the woman who his grandparents made him want to know. Lori was despicable, but Carl is sad.

"I'm sad," Carl whispers out of shame for feeling what he does.

Rick looks at his son, and he must do something to stop the hurt. He draws a deep breath.

"When you were around six, Lori used to sit you on her lap every afternoon to read you a book. The words were difficult to understand for me, and I can't imagine for five years old. You still liked it a lot. When you were four years old, she took every weekend to that park you loved so much. It was far from Atlanta, but you liked to feed the duck in the lake surrounding it. You remember that she gave you your first comic book. There are many more, and I can tell you more if you want." Rick smirks.

He thinks Carl would prefer kind and intelligent words. However, Carl sniffs. He waves a new wave of tears. He knows the woman who his grandparents describe. He should be sad. Lori was a monster, but it does not change that a piece of that monster was Carl's mother.

"We're home," Rick announces.


"Andrea Harrison," Rosita places the picture on the table.

Rick lifts his cup of coffee, and he dusts the crumbs from his sandwich.

"Amazing, you know how to do police work," Rick says while he takes a sip of coffee.

Rosita fails to contain her anger, and yet she refrains from shouting her frustration. She leans to whisper, and she looks around the room for prying ears.

"How much did you hide from me?" Rosita asks, and she waits for Rick's confession.

Rick chuckles, and he drains his coffee. He has learned how to manipulate Rosita.

"Oh, you want to be a hypocrite. Don't ask for my loyalty when you went and made a fool of yourself trying to stab me in the back with your imaginary love triangle." Rick quietly says.

Rosita draws a deep breath, and her anger immediately disappears.

"I was wrong." She dares to admit. "Shane was a corrupt cop who ran an armed cartel. Michonne is nothing but a pretty bitch who married an idiot. You're the only one with a clue on what is going on here." Rosita pushes Philip's picture toward Rick.

"Who's that?" Rick feigns ignorance.

"I hoped you could tell me," Rosita replies. "I will share first. Philip Blake, he handles a prostitution ring and paid Dixon to clean his mess. He also worked in the FBI as Harrison's handler."

"Walsh, Blake, and Negan. We stumbled on a mob war." Rick picks Philip's picture, and he looks at Rosita with a smirk. "You exceeded my expectations."

Rick does not add more to the conversation, and he stands to leave. Rosita has given him the legal way to wipe Philip Blake.

"Grimes," Rosita calls, and Rick turns to face her. "We're good?" She anxiously asks.

"I will get you up to speed."


"Dad is downstairs," Carl announces when he notices Michonne by the door of his room.

Rick has slept in Carl's bed for the last week. Since Lori's demise, Carl has not slept peacefully.

"I came for you," Michonne replies.

She pulls a manga from behind her back.

"Can I?"

Carl nods, and Michonne immediately walks to his bed. She is not as hesitant as his father is. Michonne stands like unwavering comfort.

"I got a new tome and Kit Kat."

Michonne extends both things toward Carl, but he only picks the kit Kat bag. Michonne keeps the manga since they began to exchange tomes. It must be the tenth one, and so many days have passed.

For a long time, they eat chocolate bars in silence. Carl senses that Michonne will ask. However, she does not say a word. Carl is grateful for the silent company.

"Can you read the last page?" Carl asks Michonne.

Michonne places the manga before Carl's eyes, and she begins to read the dialogue. She changes her voice to mark the different characters. From the daredevil protagonist to the caricatured villain, Michonne has a voice for each character. She says every word with a passion. Soon, Carl asks Michonne to read the entire manga. Michonne does it for the two hundred pages.

"I don't think he sounds like that," Carl sometimes comments when she picks the wrong tone for the character.

"Oh my god, you're a tough critic," She laughs, and Carl does too.

They would not know who does it first. Carl begins to sleep on page hundred and fifty-five, and Michonne reaches page hundred and sixty-three.

Rick cares little for such detail when he finds his spot taken by Michonne. He kisses Carl's forehead and the crown Michonne's head.

"Goodnight," Michonne mumbles.

She begins to steer, but Rick swiftly stops her.

"I will share the bed with Andre," Rick whispers while he leaves the room.

...

...

Michonne wakes up because she is a light sleeper. Muffled crying sounds are too loud for her sensitive hearing. Now, Michonne understands Rick's tiredness these last days.

"I'm here," Michonne tells Carl.

She wraps her limbs around him like a blanket. Carl does not talk for a few minutes. He cries with his shattered soul. Carl sobs until his eyes and throat hurt. Michonne tightens her grips. It is different from his father. Rick always talks over the tears because he does not know what to do.

However, Carl enjoys that Rick tells him he will feel better with the kindest word, which he manages to find.

Tonight, it is different and slightly better. Yet, comfort is similar. Michonne does not speak. She allows Carl to cry. She brings warmth and listens.

"She wasn't a good person." Carl angrily says.

Carl needs someone beside him to know that Lori was a horrible person.

However, it does not take the pain away.

The hurting does not magically stop with that knowledge.

"Sometimes, we love horrible people too," Michonne explains. "You loved your mother."

Her words shape Carl's pain.

"I'm sad. I don't miss her, but I do miss her a bit." Carl maladroitly explains.

"You can feel all of it at the same time." Michonne kisses the crown of Carl's head. "You have your dad, Andre, and me. In case you want a hug when you feel like this. No more crying alone, promise." She hugs Carl, and he cries on her shoulder.


Andre climbs in the spot, which Rick has left after saying goodbye to Carl. The morning is quieter. Carl stares at the ceiling while a bubbly Andre attempts to his attention.

Andre finally climbs on Carl, and he sits on the older boy's stomach.

"You're sad." Andre points out at Carl's expression, and he cups Carl's cheek in his small hands.

"My mom is dead," Carl replies, and he finds it simple to be truthful with Andre.

Andre has no grip on these words. He nods as if Carl told him something trivial.

"My daddy is dead." He blurts aloud, "It's a secret." He whispers.

Andre heard an unfortunate conversation between Rick and Michonne. From their hushed tones, he rightfully assumed it was a secret.

"I'm sorry…" Carl says with kindness, and he hugs Andre.

"It's okay…" Andre replies. For a second, he stops to form a coherent thought." I should be sad too?" He genuinely asks. "I'm not sad." He adds with a smile.

"You should be sad because it means you won't see your daddy again," Carl attempts to explain death.

Andre blinks, and he hardly knows what his dad looks like. He looks at Carl, and he comes close to understanding.

"Sorry, you're sad." Andre attempts to wipe Carl's dry eyes.

"Thank you," Carl manages to form a smile to reassure Andre.

"I give you my mommy," Andre announces after a few minutes of silence and serious thinking.

He watches Carl to see if his offer takes away Carl's sadness.

"Thank you," Carl chuckles. "I give you my dad."

"Thank you," Andre politely replies.


Rick draws a deep breath, and he faces a dozen pairs of eyes staring at him. He drags his helmet down, and he hastens his body camera. Tyrese and he exchange a look before Rick steps forward to the men of his intervention squad.

"Remember to check every room twice at least," Rick explains.

He raises his hand to gain the attention of the logistic team.

"Check the body cam."

Rick moves around to see if the logistic team has a visual.

"Do not hesitate to shoot," Rick delivers the advice. "They have heavy artillery and won't hesitate to shoot. Don't freeze when you have to shoot." He insists.

Rick calls for Tyrese with his flexing hand.

"We have two teams of twelve men. William will lead one to the north side of this mansion." He continues to expand on details. "No one should escape. Save the collection of proof for the end. Again do not hesitate to shoot." Rick lifts his assault rifles, and he checks the viability of the safety.

His team does the same.

"On?" Rick asks the logistic team after switching on his wire.

"Sound and clear," Rosita replies.

She begins to stare at the multiple screens.

"Let's go," Rick orders.

His men follow him toward the south wing of the saviour hideout.

As soon as Rick's team successfully implodes the door, the shots begin to fly. In a matter of minutes, chaos erupts. The scene is bloody, and between the smoke, Rick struggles to see.

He pushes the night mode of his gargle. He raises his rifle, and he begins to carve a path paved by dead bodies. In the chaos, Rick is uncertain to find Negan.

He focuses on creating a clear path. Rick endlessly fires at any soul moving wrong. His rifle blocks for a second, and he curses.

Rick lies down, and he takes cover by a corpse. He fumbles with his gun until the mechanisms flow with ease. He carefully crawls to the next room. He stands again, and he looks behind him to see if his men are still following.

He counts eleven heads, and Rick raises his head to order them to split and cover more rooms. He forms two with his fingers to indicate the number in each new team.

Rick and his partner move from room to room with ease. As they clear the hideout, Rick eagerness to find Negan grows. He begins to move faster to lose his partner. The saviours become scarce, and dead bodies are lying everywhere. Some others surrender and lie on the floor.

"Negan is nowhere in sight," Rosita's voice fills Rick's ear. "The north side is under control."

Rick draws a deep breath, and he decides to listen to his instincts. He heads toward the basement with the hope that Negan had planned his exit.

He focuses on the endless corridor before him. Rick releases the safety of his rifle. There are flashes of lights, and Rick hears fast steps.

"Fuck," Rick begins to sprint toward the source of the noise. "I might have found the target," he breathlessly announces. "Where are you," Rosita asks. "I will send back up your way." She continues.

Rick does not respond, and he pulls out his wire. He expertly covers it to create static noise. Rick follows the echoes of steps. After a few minutes of the cat and mouse game, the sound stops. Rick begins to run with the fear that Negan has succeeded to escape.

"Fuck," Rick shouts when his body collides with a wall.

He feels lightheaded after the crushing shock. His helmet falls, and he confusedly looks around him. Negan's boot slams into Rick's face.

Rick's eagerness made him miss clues. Negan attempts to kick Rick again, but Rick moves out of the way. With all his senses returning, Rick remembers what Michonne did to Megan's knee. When he rises on his feet, Rick focuses all his strength in breaking Megan's patella.

Rick slams his foot in Negan's knee where Michonne already inflicted damage.

"Rick," Rosita's voice carries panic. "We lost visual." She yells. "We lost sound and sight."

Rick looks at his helmet on the floor, and the camera is now in pieces. He feels relieved. He never expected such freedom of actions.

He grabs Negan by the hair, and he begins to drag him across the corridor. Negan desperately attempts to sink his nails in the floor, and Rick steps on his hand until he breaks it.

Rick grabs Megan's head, and he repeatedly slams it against the granite floor until he hears the sound of cracking bones. Rick checks his watch, and he knows he has a few minutes before back up arrives.

"Lucky you," Rick states as he crouches to be at high-level with a disoriented Negan. "You're getting a fast and painful death."

Rick stares at his broken camera. The cavalry robbed him of a worked and meticulous murder of Negan. He grabs Negan's neck, and he drags him up until his lips are at ear-level with Megan's ear.

"Seven days," Rick says to remind Negan of his threat. "Sweet peach, send her regards." He pointedly uses the pet name, which Negan gave to Michonne.

Rick puts Negan on his knees, and he shoots Negan's thigh. He levels his gun with Negan's chest, and he almost empties his charger. With his last bullet, Rick aims for the brain.

Negan's body hits the floor and his blood splatter all over Rick.

Rick feels his lungs take a rejoicing breath. He sighs, and Rick repeatedly throws himself in the wall until his body has signs of struggle.

Exhausted with a bleeding forehead and many self-made bruises, Rick lies, and he drags Negan's body over him like a blanket. He closes his eyes and patiently waits to have anyone from his team find him.

"Grimes?"

Rick opens his eyes, and he rightfully looks exhausted. He watches as his team partners sully the crime scene and wipe any proof against him. They drag Negan's body off him, and he remains in the pool of Megan's blood. Rick draws a deep breath filled with the scent of death.

Negan's death.