Ascension
Sasha smiled wide and quickly tried to temper her excitement. Bombarded by a rush of sudden emotions, she could not control the tears springing up in her eyes. Relief, gratitude, joy, embarrassment mixed in her gut on seeing Michonne enter the room.
The visitor's room in Ascension Psychiatric Hospital was bright and cozy. Michonne didn't quite know what to expect going in. But Rick had promised her that Sasha was in one of the top ranked recovery facilities in the country and seeing it now put her mind at ease.
The tall glass walls overlooked a serene courtyard and though it was bitter outside, the sun's rays warmed the spot where Sasha sat on an overstuffed couch. She was in a fluffy ivory sweater, light gray sweatpants and pale pink slippers.
The dark roots of her hair graduated into a curly blonde bush like a halo. Angelic. Remnants of her manic cut and color were giving way to the real her again.
Michonne wrapped her friend up in a tight hug. Sasha's embrace was not as strong but she received the love wholeheartedly like she never had before. They finally sat side by side just taking each other in. Happy to be together again. Pieces of themselves that only the other possessed were sliding back into place.
"God! I'm so happy you're safe. I'm so happy to see you."
"Me too," Sasha agreed and dropped her head. "Thank you for coming to see me."
Michonne's eyes welled up again. She wiped away rogue rolling tear drops. "Of course… of course. I love you so much, Sash."
"And thank Rick for me, too. The staff says there's usually a longer process to certify visitors, but your boyfriend pulled some strings."
"Let me tell you, Sash, Rick is just as proud of you as I am. He didn't want you to feel alone here. He knows how much we need each other."
Sasha nodded and tried not to weep. "Sorry, I keep crying. It's the meds. My doctor says it's to keep me calm and help me adjust to a new environment, but it also makes me feel... every little thing in my heart. He says that's not a side effect, but my emotions are so raw right now, I don't think he knows what he's talking about."
Michonne joked, "I see your urge to argue with authority hasn't been affected, though."
Sasha gave her a light chuckle, "I'm just saying…"
"I'm only teasing," Michonne laughed along, then softened and took her friend's hand. "Maybe you're just finally allowing yourself to feel things you've been avoiding."
Sasha sighed and shook her head at what she was about to confess. "I was so angry that you seemed to choose Rick over me. When you left me and went to stay with him, I thought you felt like he was the only one who could protect you."
"It wasn't that."
"Yeah. I know that now. I can see that now."
"And I didn't 'leave you' because you couldn't protect me. It wasn't about that at all. I'm staying with Rick because that's where I want to be." Michonne spoke softly through a smile.
"What about his son?"
"Carl." Michonne nodded. Her relationship with the sheriff's boy was still evolving. If she told Sasha how rocky things had been, child or not, she knew her self-appointed bodyguard since middle school would never forgive him. With relationships mending, it was her hope that one day they would all be a family, so she answered vaguely. "Carl is about what you'd expect a teenaged boy to be."
"Rick said something about him heading to a dark place… trying to point him towards the light?"
"Raising a child is not easy. Especially when the other parent is on some bullshit. Which you know I know all about."
Sasha exaggerated her very real shock at her friend's rare use of profanity. She gasped. "Chonnie! Did you just say bullshit?"
"Oops! I did." Michonne covered her mouth, embarrassed but unable to contain her laughter. "Rick has me saying bad words. We have a swear jar at home."
Sasha laughed along. "It doesn't seem to be helping."
When Michonne referred to Rick's house as home, Sasha could feel the coziness, the comfort in her tone. She measured that against the seriousness in Rick's voice when he told her that there were things he couldn't tell Michonne. Things he had to protect her from.
Before what happened at Robbie Vogt's house, Sasha would have used that information to drive a wedge between them. Now, she held her tongue, happy for her friend's happiness and finally willing to trust the man making it possible.
"No." Michonne raised a nonchalant brow. "The swear jar is not helping. Tell me something, Sash." She sobered her tone suddenly and changed the subject. "Are you sure about letting Andrea Mitchell handle your case?"
"Rick told you?"
"Yes, he did." Michonne confirmed, disappointed. "Sasha, after I told you what she said? How can you..."
"Michonne," Sasha calmly interrupted. "I talked to her about that. I understand why she said those things."
Michonne squinted through her confusion. "You do?" She stressed her disbelief. "You do?"
"Yeah. She was… she is in love with Rick. She felt threatened by you and she lashed out."
"With overtly racist comments."
"Well, she's American, Chonne. Honestly, we all have some degree of racist views. How could we not? We're all taught the same narrative in school, in the media… hell, even in our own communities."
Michonne shook her head, not understanding. Unable to see a positive in the situation.
"Look, Chonnie. I know. You don't like Andrea, but I get her. I told you before. I'm not stupid… but she is the best attorney. She's the reason I'm not in jail right now."
"Hershel and Rick got you here, Sasha."
"Yes, they got me into Ascension and I'm so grateful. But it was Andrea that was with me at the arraignment. It was her arguments that made the judge agree that my actions were possibly due to severe mental distress. She's a fucking impressive lawyer and, bottomline, that's what I need right now.
"I'm just not comfortable with this, Sash."
"And I told you the same thing about Rick. But I was wrong. He's a good man and you and him have a connection that I don't get." Sasha paused, debating how much to reveal about Andrea.
When Ms. Mitchell came in, offering her help, Sasha felt a bond between them. She always had, even from a distance. Something about the way Andrea carried herself, her passion. It was why she sought her out for Andre's case in the first place. But learning why Andrea seemed like a kindred spirit made Sasha sure that she was the one to represent her in court.
"Chonnie, Andrea was raped, too. Years ago. She confided in me. She knows how I'm feeling. What that kind of humiliation does to you."
Michonne was shocked. She found it hard to imagine a woman as powerful and unyielding as Andrea Mitchell as a victim of any kind of injustice. It never occurred to her that she would have anything in common with Sasha. She thought back to the helplessness she felt when Jared Collins pinned her to a tree and threatened sexual violence. But it was a violation that she, thankfully, had never known.
Sasha timidly brought up the constant elephant in the room between her and her best friend. "She also knows what it's like to lose the person you want to be with. She knows that will make you say crazy things." Referencing Andrea's comments about Michonne, she threw her own actions into the mix, speaking from a place of regret. "Andrea knows that will make you do crazy things."
That disclosure gave Michonne a bit more insight, but not much more ease with the thought of Sasha's future resting in Andrea's hands. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
"Trust me, Chonnie. I do."
...
Negan stood in front of the men in his chapter in the dimly lit basement of their headquarters. The Saviors of the Confederate had many members but not all of them were aware of the macabre plans Negan had to start a race war. Only the most gullible and bitter could be trusted to participate in something so terrifying and insane.
The rest all assumed their dues went to fund the upkeep of their headquarters, printing literature and props for ceremonies like the one they were attending now. And to some extent that was true. The bulk of the money funding the hate they were brewing came from Jared Collins by way of the missing and trafficked women he sold to the mafia or the cartel.
Anonymity is always a hallmark of cowards. But instead of donning the infamous white sheets of the Klu Klux Klan, the S.O.C. hid their faces behind black hoods. A painted white skull on the face and a blood red gothic cross on the back.
This symbolized them standing before Christ stripped of everything, down to the bone. The irony was that any man, regardless of his race, would look the same so bare.
"Merle Dixon." Negan called the man to attention in his most powerful voice. Merle stood up, stone faced and sure before his fellow Saviors. The Ascension Ceremony would promote him to a Legion Axe. The same rank as Simon. Answerable only to Negan in their hierarchy. "Come forward."
Wearing his KC deputy uniform at Negan's request, he approached the altar in the headquarter's basement-
A round bar-height table, draped in black. A cross of chrome, two feet tall. The American flag and the flag of the dismantled southern confederate states stood in triangled cases side by side. A rifle used in the civil war, polished and proud, erect on a display stand. Bayonetta gleaming in the light of lit white candles. And a copy of the King James Bible dusted and placed by Jadis, who had set up the room, but sat in the back unable to participate with the misogynistic men of the chapter.
"I've never known a man like Merle Dixon. He truly is what we all should aspire to be. A man who loves his country, his community, his culture. Some folks will tell you the white man has no culture." Negan put on a smug smile. "They'll tell you that speakin' the white man's English. In the white man's country. A country that we dreamed up and brought about with our own ingenuity."
Scattered saviors clapped in agreement, proud of what their forefathers accomplished. They gladly took all the credit for America's greatness and none of its flaws.
"A country guided by a constitution guaranteeing that we all live free. A country protected by the bravery of men like Merle Dixon. A man willing to do whatever it takes to protect our community from the wave of muddy... shit-covered criminals. The niggers. The spics. The towel-headed jihadi bastards that terrorize our great country on a daily basis."
Negan was doing what he did best: grandstanding. Rhetoric like this had bolstered Merle to do something unbelievably grotesque. He was in too deep now. But still deep inside himself, his conscience pricked him. He was sweating under the cotton cowl trying to shut out memories of his partners and the guilt he felt.
Morgan Jones and Shane Walsh. Both had backed him to the end of their lives. Merle was never convinced of life after death. But he could feel both of them pushing in on him, disapproving.
The hairs at the back of his neck rose with the rest of the hooded fanatics as Negan called the assembly to attention. Their leader pulled his own personal hood over his head. His voice boomed like thunder.
"Merle Dixon, will you bind yourself, now and forever, to the cause of American greatness?"
Merle answered with a voice that betrayed him with a quiver, "I will."
"Merle Dixon, will you keep yourself separate from the mongoloid subspecies that overrun our country, keeping the white race pure and holy?"
"I will."
"Merle Dixon, will you shed blood, sweat and tears to keep our enemies under the heel of their God-given masters?"
"I will."
"Merle Dixon, will you accept this mark identifying you as a Legion Axe, a tool, a weapon and a sacred emblem of the Savior's ranks?
"I will."
"Amen," all in attendance agreed.
Merle unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his right shoulder and sat in a chair facing his supporters. A man in the front row pulled up a chair and wheeled a compartmentalized travel case along with him. Opening it, he immediately went to work. Sanitizing his subject's skin and placing the stencil of a Celtic battle axe just so. The artist began tattooing the image's outline.
The ceremony itself was over. Black hoods were lifted off white faces as black ink punched beneath white skin. But before the attendees could disperse to the refreshments provided, Negan continued his sermon over the buzz of the needle.
He pointed to Merle with pride."You know, our brother is a champion for the cause. We all know how he put everything on the line." A mischievous grin bloomed over Negan's face. "Killed two niggers with one stone, I like to say."
His joke garnered chuckles and a few hoots and whistles. Merle chafed at the praise for killing the boy, but it was what he'd done. Nothing would ever change that. It was not the time to give in to the shameful feelings and private panic attacks he'd been experiencing because of that truth.
"Well the daddy, Inmate Lancey, ain't dead yet, but I'm positive the S.O.C. in his cell block been makin' him feel real welcome. He'll put a bed sheet round his neck soon enough."
Negan laid a hand on Merle's other shoulder. "But that ain't all. This man is an inspiration. A lot of y'all have told me so. Dennis, he helped your momma get her car back from them repoing bastards. And Wallace, I know you said months ago, he taught your boy everything he needed to know to pass his police academy exam."
Dennis and Wallace nodded respectively in thanks. "And that's why I'm so proud of what I got to say next." Negan looked like a kid on Christmas morning. "Merle, I got a surprise for you. It actually came as a surprise to me. I can't call it nothin' else other than divine intervention. See, even as committed as our brother here is, sometimes it's still a struggle to do the right thing."
Those words felt like gasoline in his belly. There was only one thing he'd been "struggling" with. Only one thing he'd flat out refused to do for Negan. He was at a loss trying to figure out what the S.O.C.'s frontman could have been viewing as so valuable.
"Jadis!" Negan yelled to the woman and she stood up instantly as if she'd been waiting for this moment. Merle was even more confused. There was nothing the resident groupie could ever do to persuade him. But then, instead of coming to Negan, Jadis opened a door at the back of the room.
The queasiness in his gut was lit aflame. Merle almost fell out of his seat when his baby brother followed Jadis to Negan's side.
...
"My brother, sir?" Merle tried to sound as submissive as possible to Negan as he carefully investigated the size of the hooks reeling his baby brother in. "I'm just a little shocked. How'd this happen?"
"I told you, he wanted in. He's a good egg. Ambitious. Just like you. He wants to be just like you. He even sounds just like you. You taught him well. He's new but, thanks to you, he ain't a novice."
Merle watched Negan suspiciously as he complimented Daryl. That same smug smirk he always brandished when he was letting someone know he had the upper hand was painted on his clean shaven face.
"Don't worry. I'm not sendin' him to get in any trouble. You guys are too high profile anyway. I'm puttin' him with Jared. Keepin' him under the radar."
"Why don't you let him help me?" Merle tried to get Negan to just come right out with it. But, ever the cat when he catches a mouse, Negan only wanted to play.
"Nah," he said with a nonchalance that was anything but negligent in this situation. "I want you focused on your thing."
"What thing?"
"You know what I want." Negan reminded him, pulling him close with a heavy hand on his shoulder, "You just swore you'd be a tool for the S.O.C. A skilled craftsman always uses the right tool for the right job. Now, I could send the Pieman but you can imagine how messy that would get. And anyway, Simon doesn't have your connection."
Under pressure so intense, his tongue dried up, Merle declined the assignment again. "I can get you whatever else you need. But, I still think that would be a mistake. It'll just bring too much heat."
"An axe doesn't think, Merle. An axe swings and chops for whoever's holdin' the handle."
Merle was prepared to beg. "Please, I... Look, you already have my brother."
"I was just about to say that to you." Negan's face lit up with a sinister glow.
Merle went quiet. There it was. The threat behind Negan's charismatic hundred watt smile.
"You remember how Dwight met his end? You did a great job with that. And I know you'll make me proud again… If not, I'm sure Simon wouldn't mind putting you and your brother in your daddy's old car and parking it at the bottom of that same lake."
He nodded to Simon, the psycho tipping back a beer on the other side of the room. He was the only man who stood alone. Everyone was too afraid of him to attempt any light banter, even in the current jovial atmosphere.
"They ever tell you why they call him The Pieman?" Negan didn't wait for Merle to respond. This story had a very important lesson in it for the King County deputy.
"In his younger days, he was doin' a little time for some small time bullshit. Two niggers cornered him in his cell and tried to nancy him. He put one guy in a wheelchair, but the other one got away. At least for a time."
Merle's eyes were fixed on Simon as Negan continued.
"Just so happened that after he was released back out into the world, he ran into those same monkeys again. They was still friends 'cept now they hung out at traffic lights in the city, peddlin' some black power magazine and bean pies," Negan said with a disdainful scoff.
"So, Simon, he pays some hookers to go home with them. Lace their weed. When the guys woke up, the girls were gone, they were naked and tied to their kitchen chairs with this bug-eyed white boy standing over them in an apron." Negan widened his own eyes for a moment, mimicking a man insane.
"I don't know if you ever watch those cooking shows where they give you a bunch of random crap and expect you to make something edible… Well, that day the secret ingredient was cock and balls… for Mandingo Pie." Negan popped the top off another beer and threw it back.
Merle's face couldn't hide how unnerved the story made him. And as if Simon could smell his fear through the crowd, he turned to meet Merle's gaze. His sociopathic energy amplified the longer he stared.
"He didn't castrate them both though. That's the beauty part… why Simon is such an artist. See he fed the other guy to his best friend. And the one who got to keep his junk got a knife in his throat." Bringing his beer up again for another swig, Negan nearly did a spit take laughing at the gruesome fate of those two men.
In another corner of the party, Daryl was still being congratulated by the other members. But the younger Dixon looked on through the slightly open door as his new commander and his only brother whispered in private . He could see how upset Merle was although no one else seemed to notice the weighty conversation between them.
He was tempted to crash their secretive exchange, but he knew he didn't rank high enough yet to hold an audience with the Commander of the Saviors. The customary meet and greet for a minute or so between Negan and new recruits was treated like meeting a living legend. But his brother was part of the inner circle. Daryl could only hope that his family connection would grant him access and powers sooner rather than later.