Touching Stuff and Seeing Things

Reluctantly, Beth opened her eyes. She blinked and the blackness faded away. She tried to take a deep breath, but it was impossible. Her lungs were coated in ice, her throat raw and dry. She looked around, taking in her surroundings.

This wasn't another plane. She could tell by the grainy haze that seemed to hang in the air, the low hum of static that filled her ears. This was another glimpse into the past.

She pushed through her disorientation and remembered: Daryl. Merle. Rick. The Governor.

Yes. She was here for a reason. She recalled it now. She'd touched something, and as a result, she was being shown a vision.

This was her Gift. She was the one in power. She was the one in control. It was a privilege to see what she was seeing, and she had to take in every detail, had to commit it all to memory and come back to Daryl and Rick with the important information.

A quiet voice echoed at the very back of her head: Here's not here.

The crystalline ice around her lungs melted away all at once. Her mouth and throat filled with air and she breathed in deep, until the oxygen was coursing through her entire body. Her heart thumped loudly inside her chest. She cleared her vision and observed her surroundings. Took a step forward. Another deep breath.

The rope that had wrapped around Merle's neck and strangled him to death held some sort of emotional and spiritual energy within its coarse fibers. It was showing her something.

All she had to do was pay attention.

Beth found herself sitting in the backseat of a vehicle she didn't recognize. When she looked forward, she saw him. The back of his head, the profile of his face.

The Governor.

He was in the driver's seat of his black Chevy Tahoe, parked alongside the road that led to the Dixons' cabin with the engine shut off and silence filling the cab. A duffel bag sat open in the passenger seat, a handful of zip-ties and other tools resting inside.

But he was occupied with the thick length of rope grasped in his hands and hanging down across his lap. His fingers worked carefully to twist one end into a noose, as he'd practiced with a dozen other ropes over the last few months.

All the while, he was grumbling to himself under his breath. Face red and damp with perspiration. Right leg jiggling nervously. Left leg aching painfully. Both hands working tirelessly.

"Fucking stupid goddamn motherfucker. You're gonna pay—pay fer robbin' me of the pleasure of killing your retarded backwoods daddy. I'm gonna give you everything I shoulda gave him, you stupid fuckin' prick. Goddamn Dixon's, no-good, waste-of-space, redneck pieces of fuckin' trash… Gonna skin every last one'a y'all and watch ya bleed to death… Fucking… stupid… assholes…! Can't wait ta see the demon spawn of Will White Trash Dixon hanging from the end of this pretty little rope. Every last one of you hick motherfuckers is gonna be begging The Governor for one more chance… Yeah… I'm gonna get what I'm owed. You better believe that… I'll exterminate this godforsaken bloodline. I'm fixin' to rid the earth of these abominations. Gonna find that fucking money—then I'm gonna piss on Will's grave and wipe my ass with a fifty-dollar bill. In his memory. Backstabbin' piece of shit—"

His phone began vibrating in his pocket and he paused, setting the rope down. He reached into his pocket and extracted his phone, looking at the screen. It was an Unknown number. But he had a pretty good idea who it was.

He answered and tapped the Speakerphone button with slight exasperation. An automated voice cut in and out: "—ral Prison… collect call from…" Then a very gruff and flat voice: "Caesar Martinez." The robotic voice returned to ask: "Will you accept the charges?"

The Governor grunted unhappily and hit End Call, shoving his phone back into his pocket without a second thought. He picked up the rope and went back to tightly knotting the noose. Back to grumbling angrily to himself.

"…stupid fuckin' asshole… didn't look out for my ass when it mattered—the hell does he think I'm gonna do from the outside? I'm just as fucking broke as his worthless ass. Why the fuck would I talk to him over a recorded phone call and risk everything I've been planning? Pompous fuckin' Spic. Ignorant motherfucker never learned his lesson. Wouldn't know what discretion meant even if… fuck! Can't believe I let him pull me into his goddamn sinkhole of stupidity. I shoulda killed him when I had the chance. Hell, I never even shoulda given him the goddamn time of day. All the shit I did for him… Now look at me, limping around like some worthless fucking cripple. Fucking cowards. Idiots. Absolute imbeciles…"

He finally finished the noose, yanking one end and cinching it tightly. His angry frown curled slowly upward until it was a malicious smile. He chuckled to himself, turning the rope over in his hands, inspecting his work and testing its strength.

"Yeah. This oughta do real nice."

Then he leaned over and tucked it into the duffel bag before zipping the bag shut. Still smirking with satisfaction. His leg had stopped jiggling and now he was just giddy with excitement.

The thrill of a new kill. And a justified kill, at that. What a day it would be.

Not to mention… the money he would inevitably be rewarded with. As long as Merle cooperated, anyway.

But if he didn't?

The Governor reached over and opened his glovebox, checking to make sure the box of matches was still there. They were. Sitting right underneath the loaded Colt .45.

So if this didn't work, well… he had a backup plan. He might've fucked up killing Daryl Dixon once, but he certainly wouldn't let that happen again.

He grabbed the gun and set it carefully atop the duffel bag, shutting the glovebox and reaching back over to turn the key in the ignition. The engine came to life and he gazed through the windshield, toward the long dirt road that lay ahead.

"Time to pay up, Dixon," he mumbled aloud as he shifted into Drive.

Beth felt herself being yanked backward, like an invisible hand was reaching into her back and tugging on her spine. But she resisted it. She kept her eyes wide open and tried to take in every detail. But the connection was breaking and she was being shoved back to reality.

On the way out, she caught a glimpse of the back of the SUV she'd just been sitting inside. Just another vehicle rumbling down the dirt road, nothing identifiable—

Then she realized she could see the license plate. And as the blackness began to consume her and everything around her went silent once more, colors and shapes and sounds all dribbling away like wet paint, she managed to focus on the letters and numbers of the plate. She kept repeating them inside her head until it was burned into her brain.

Right before she was swallowed up by the darkness, she spotted a familiar image hovering before her: a big black dog with glowing red eyes. It was baring its teeth, snarling and growling.

And it was angry. Even angrier than The Governor had been. She could feel it.

The first sound that filled Beth's ears as she returned to consciousness was Daryl's voice. But he didn't sound frantic or concerned like back at the cabin. Instead, he was speaking low, calm and measured.

She was confused at first, wondering if he was talking to her, grasping at memories and trying to recall what had happened. It dawned on her much quicker than last time. She remembered touching the noose, being thrown into a vision, watching The Governor as he prepared to murder Merle.

By the time the blackness had ebbed away, she surmised that Daryl had to be talking to Rick.

"—maybe a full minute, but she was fine when she came to. I dunno if…"

His voice trailed off as soon as her eyes fluttered open. She felt the hard floor beneath her and something rough against her back and quickly realized that she was sitting on the floor of the evidence room, leaning against the shelves of boxes. She saw Daryl kneeling down beside her, one hand gently clasping her upper arm. And Rick was on the other side, squatting down and eyeballing Beth with a concerned and slightly fearful expression on his face.

"You good?" Daryl asked, giving her arm a squeeze and meeting her eyes.

She nodded weakly, licking her lips and sitting up. She still felt a bit dazed, and when she looked down, she realized the noose and rope was still loosely clutched in her hand, the plastic bag sitting on the floor beside her leg. She dropped the rope like it had burnt her and shook her head.

The vision flashed through her mind very briefly, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Crap," she muttered, looking first at Daryl then at Rick, embarrassed. "Did I pass out again?"

"Yer eyes rolled inta the back of yer head," Rick burst out, clearly still concerned. "Jesus, Beth. I thought you was havin' a damn stroke—"

"Told you it was fine," Daryl interjected. He turned to Beth and assured her, "Ya weren't out as long this time. Didn't let ya fall neither."

"Huh?" She asked.

"You touched that noose an' then it was like ya—blacked out or somethin'," Rick explained, gawking at Beth. "Yer face went all pale, you went topplin' over. But Daryl caught ya 'fore ya hit the ground. Like he was expectin' it."

"She damn near cracked her skull open at the cabin," Daryl said, rolling his eyes at the sheriff's astonishment. "Figured if it happened once, it'd happen again. I was jus' prepared this time."

"Does that mean you saw somethin'?" Rick asked, quirking a brow and looking at Beth expectantly.

She nodded slowly.

He flashed a grin and pumped his arm in celebration. "Yes! I knew it, I knew them psychic powers would spark up once ya touched some evidence. Jus' like on TV!"

Daryl ignored Rick and asked her, "Anythin' that'll help us?" He released her arm, retracting his hand when he realized she was able to sit up on her own. "Didn't catch his real name this time, did'ja?"

She frowned and shook her head.

"What did you see?" Rick urged, unable to tear his eyes away from Beth's.

Beth leaned back against the boxes once more and sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment as she recalled where she'd gone. It played in the blacks of her eyelids like a distant memory.

Her voice poured out past dry lips, "The Governor. He was in his truck, tying the noose an' cursing the Dixon name. He was on his way to Merle's cabin to kill him. And… he got a phone call."

"From who?" Daryl asked, beating Rick to the punch.

She opened her eyes and found both men staring at her, hanging on her every word. "Somebody in a prison. I didn't catch the name, but I think it mighta been a federal prison… Caesar Martinez. He tried ta call The Governor. But The Governor rejected it."

Rick let out a deep sigh and frowned, furrowing his brow. "Damn. That could be anybody. There's about a dozen Caesar Martinez's in any given prison. Federal or otherwise."

"Y'couldn't try an' look 'im up anyway?" Daryl suggested.

Rick shook his head. "It'd be a waste of time. We could never narrow it down. Even if we did, who's ta say this Caesar guy would talk to us? I have limited access to prison records as it is. He could be anybody; an old buddy, an accomplice, maybe even a relative. Could be he's still on The Governor's side."

Daryl let out a sigh of frustration.

"I mean, we could try," Rick added with forced optimism. "But this ain't the kinda lead I'd jump into following if I was doin' an official investigation. Most likely just a dead end. We can keep it as a last resort, if anythin'."

Beth had let her eyelids fall shut again, wracking her brain for any other information that could help. Then it hit her very suddenly, churning up from the back of her mind, foggy at first and slowly becoming clearer.

She'd seen it. She'd repeated it to herself over and over, like a hymn or a nursery rhyme. She'd forced herself to remember it.

But that damn dog…

What was it again? All she could picture was that black hound with glowing red eyes. The fury radiating off of it in waves. The bared teeth, the low snarling.

"No," she said.

She opened her eyes to find Daryl and Rick staring at her, confused.

"No what?" Daryl asked.

"There was somethin' else," she clarified. "I don't think I was supposed ta see it. I…"

Wait. Yes. She remembered now. The overwhelming sensation of seeing something she wasn't supposed to see. The sight of the back of The Governor's big black Chevy.

"His license plate," she huffed out.

Rick's eyes widened and lit up. Daryl's eyebrows rose.

"You saw The Governor's license plate?" Rick questioned.

Beth nodded, feeling more and more certain by the second. The numbers and letters were falling together inside her head, slowly but surely.

"Yeah," she explained. "I caught a glimpse at the very end. It was an Alabama plate."

Daryl still appeared surprised and he'd begun chewing on his lower lip, looking back and forth between Beth and Rick.

But the sheriff was grinning, already standing up and gesturing for them to get to their feet and join him. "Well—c'mon then, what're we wastin' time for? Let's get back upstairs so we can look up the plate. I wanna know this guy's name before supper time."

Even with Beth's "psychic powers" on their side, they seemed to be hitting a new obstacle at every turn.

"Goddammit!" Daryl cursed, slashing his arm through the air angrily and taking a step back from Rick's desk.

"No, it's alright," Rick assured, grabbing a notepad and a pen and jotting down a name. "This is fine. This is a lead, Daryl—a good lead. I can contact the rental car company an' find out whose name the SUV is under. That'll take us straight to The Governor."

Beth couldn't help but feel the same disappointment that Daryl was audibly experiencing. But Rick sounded pretty confident, so she tried to remain hopeful. Just because the license plate belonged to a rental car didn't mean they couldn't still track him down.

At the very least, they'd find out his real name. They had a police officer on their side, which opened a lot more doors than they'd normally have access to.

"An' how're you gonna convince 'em ta give you that kinda information?" Daryl asked, beginning to pace angrily on the other side of the desk. "Ain't they got confidentiality policies an' shit fer that? Pro'lly won't give us a damn thing without a good reason."

Rick smirked and gave the other man a smug look. "I'm a cop. They'll tell me whatever I wanna know."

"Yer a sheriff in a honky town," Daryl argued. "That rental place isn't even within yer jurisdiction."

Rick scoffed and waved him off without the slightest hint of offense, turning back to his computer and typing for a brief moment. "Don't you worry 'bout my jurisdiction. This ain't my first rodeo, hoss. Jus' relax an' let me do what I do best. Yer soul ain't doomed yet."

Beth shot Daryl a look that said she agreed, and maybe he should have a little more faith. Daryl interpreted her silent message and shrugged, frowning heavily. He went back to pacing, chewing on the end of his thumb out of nervous habit.

"You gonna call 'em right now?" She asked, watching Rick jot down a phone number and address beneath the name on his notepad.

"Nah, their office is already closed," he replied, setting his pen down and looking up to meet her gaze. "But I can call 'em first thing in the morning. They'll prob'ly only release that kinda information in person, so we may have ta wait till I can find a chance to drive into the city an' flash my badge. Maybe tomorrow afternoon."

"What time?" Daryl asked. "I can call outta work tomorra an' come with ya."

Rick shrugged. "I'll have ta see what my schedule's like when I get in, but I'll keep y'all updated." He looked from Daryl back to Beth. "Yer gonna come along too, I reckon?"

Beth paused before shaking her head. "I can't. Tomorrow is the memorial."

"Oh, right," Rick quickly said, realization dawning upon his face. "Sorry, Beth. It slipped my mind."

"No, it's fine," she assured.

"What about Saturday?" Daryl asked, looking from Beth to Rick.

"Depends how tomorrow night goes 'fore I'll know how much free time I'll have," Rick replied.

"I should be free," Beth answered simply.

Daryl nodded and pointed to Rick as he said, "Alright, then me an' you can make a visit ta that rental car place tomorra, see what we can find—" then he pointed to Beth "—an' if that insurance company gets back to us, we can all go have a talk with whoever works there on Saturday." He raised his eyebrows, awaiting their approval of his plan.

Rick appeared somewhat surprised by Daryl's determination, and admittedly, Beth was a little surprised, too. He'd seemed no more than complacent throughout this whole thing. Until the cabin. Now he was ready to jump in and take charge, formulating plans and insisting that they don't waste any time.

It was pretty nice, actually. It made her feel much more confident about the entire situation.

Rick nodded in agreement. "Sounds good to me." Then he stood and motioned towards the door. "Best be headin' out now 'fore the sitter decides to charge me fer another hour. I'll get a hold of y'all tomorrow, as soon as I talk to somebody from the rental car place."

"Jus' call me," Daryl instructed. "I'll keep my phone on an' let my boss know I might be takin' a half day."

Rick smirked and asked, "Well, y'all will be together after the memorial, right? So if I can't reach you, I'll jus' call Beth."

Daryl shrugged. "Not necessarily."

Rick's smirk faded into an expression of confusion. "You…" He paused and glanced at Beth briefly, then finished, "Wait. The dating thing wasn't a lie, too—was it?"

Beth felt her face heating up.

Daryl scoffed. "'Course it was a lie. Only reason we're hangin' out is 'cause of Merle. Weren't you listening when she told ya how she tracked me down?"

"Oh. I jus' thought…" Rick actually appeared a bit disappointed. Then he shrugged and chuckled awkwardly. "Well shit, ya coulda fooled me."

Beth chose to ignore that comment.

And though she knew Daryl had heard it, he was already heading for the door and pretending he hadn't.

By the time they got back to Beth's house, the sun was sinking behind the horizon and a biting breeze had picked up. She clung a little tighter than usual to Daryl's back, pressing close against him for protection from the cold wind while also trying to soak up his body heat through the thin leather vest. She loosened her grip once they slowed and turned into the long driveway that led up to the farmhouse.

He stopped the bike a couple yards away from the back porch and put his feet down on the ground, silencing the engine. She unwrapped her arms from around his middle and leaned away, pulling off her helmet and shaking out her hair before she stepped off the motorcycle. Then she handed him the helmet and stood awkwardly, unsure if she should bid him goodnight and turn to leave right away or… thank him. Or something.

Even though she knew this was more of a favor from her, she still felt like she should be thanking him. Maybe just for being understanding? Or for being willing to take charge when she was overwhelmed and at a loss for answers? If nothing else, she definitely owed him one for not letting her crack her skull on the floor of the Sheriff's Department evidence room.

But before she could find the right words to say, he was giving her a clipped nod and muttering, "So—see ya tomorrow? After yer uh, family thing?"

"After my mom's memorial, yeah," she agreed softly.

"Right," he said. "After yer mom's memorial."

She smiled when she noticed his shoulders relaxing, his jaw unclenching.

"Can you text me as soon as you hear from Rick?" She asked. "And then if there's any developments, I'll call you when I get a chance."

He nodded. "Sure. I'll keep ya in the loop, jus' text me back if ya have time."

"Um—if nothin' ends up happenin'," she started, glancing away and fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "You'd be welcome to join us. Like, fer lunch or whatever. It's not a strictly family thing, and my dad's always happy ta have more company."

When she finally met his eyes again, she found him studying her, scrubbing a hand across the scruff of his jaw. Then he muttered, "I'ono, still don't feel right. Figured I'd give ya some space fer the day. Hopefully Merle does, too."

"Right," she quickly agreed, smiling and hoping to God that her cheeks weren't flushing pink right now. She couldn't really tell because of the cold breeze nipping at her face. "Well, he hasn't shown back up since before we left the cabin. I'll prob'ly regret sayin' this, but I kinda wish he would show up again. I have a lotta questions."

Daryl grunted. "Me, too." He gripped the handlebars of his bike and cleared his throat. "Alrigh', Greene. I'll text ya tomorrow."

Beth took a step back and smiled as he started up the motorcycle, and when the loud rumbling filled her ears, she spoke up over it, "Okay, see you tomorrow—and hey. Thank you."

He furrowed his brow, raising his voice over the noise. "Fer what?"

She shrugged. "I dunno, fer everything. For not lettin' me fall an' bust my head open."

The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked down, gripping the handlebars a little tighter. "Right. Well, you too." Then he revved the bike and said, "Get some sleep tonight."

She tried not to smile too wide. "I will. 'Night, Daryl. Drive safe."

A moment later, as she watched him drive away, she found herself still smiling. And what was the deal with the weird fluttering in her stomach?

Food, she decided. She was just hungry. That's all.

Maggie was wiping down the kitchen counters when Beth stepped through the backdoor. The eldest Greene sibling paused to look over in surprise, wadding up the wet paper towel in her hands and tossing it into the nearby trash can. She offered Beth a smile.

"Hey, yer back earlier than I expected."

Beth smiled back, uninhibited. "Yeah. Did I miss supper?"

Maggie gestured towards the fridge. "I saved you a plate. I was jus' finishing cleanin' up."

Beth chuckled. "Just like old times, huh? Always on kitchen duty."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "No, I just thought I'd give Dad an' Shawn a break while I'm here. They work hard." She paused and her smile faded. "Ya know?"

Beth glanced away awkwardly and walked to the fridge. "Yeah. Harder than they should have to." She opened the door and spotted the covered plate Maggie had saved for her. But she reached past it to grab a bottle of water. She could hear the sound of talking and laughter from the other room. "Is everybody in the sittin' room?"

"Yeah," Maggie replied, leaning back against the counter's edge and watching Beth shut the fridge and open the water bottle. "Dad busted out his bowl of candy corn. I guess it's Glenn's favorite Halloween candy, too." She feigned an exasperated look and laughed.

Beth smiled. "Match made in heaven." She took a swig of water.

"So what'd you find out today?" Maggie asked. "Did you guys talk to Rick?"

Beth clasped the bottle of water between both hands, eyebrows raised. "Uh, yeah… to say the least. It was a long day."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

Beth hesitated. But it only took a couple of seconds before she'd decided, yeah. She did wanna tell her sister about the long day she'd just had. Maybe it would make it feel a little more real. Maybe she could begin to untangle the mess of information that was currently filling her head. If there was anyone she could open up to about all this, it was Maggie. Surprisingly. Relievingly.

"Sure," she replied. "Lemme put my stuff away an' change first. You wanna sit on the porch? It's pretty nice out."

Maggie's smile spread into a genuine grin.

Beth opened the door to her bedroom, stepping inside and simultaneously slipping her purse off her shoulder while reaching over and flipping the lightswitch. The room lit up and the first thing she saw was Merle, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring down at his clasped hands in his lap.

She jumped, yelping in surprise, "Jesus!"

He raised his head and flashed her a crooked smile. "Hey now, yer daddy wouldn't want ya takin' the Lord's name in vain like that," he quipped. But his icy blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle.

She sighed and shut the door behind her, setting her purse aside before narrowing her eyes and glaring him down. "And where the hell have you been?"

Merle frowned and scoffed. "All you've done is bitch that I never leave ya alone, an' now that I did, yer gonna bitch that I was gone? Make up yer goddamn mind already, princess."

Beth snapped back, "We could've used yer help today, ya know. Don't think I haven't noticed that you only bail when yer too scared to face the truth."

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah well, I'm ready ta face the fuckin' truth now, so how 'bout ya jus' shut that trap an' listen. 'Cause we need ta talk."

"So which is it—am I supposed to listen or are we supposed to talk?" She asked sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be a smartass. Can't you read a fuckin' room?"

She pursed her lips, swallowing back a retort. The audacity of this dead guy…

"This is serious," he went on, lowering his voice and staring at her with what was possibly the most stoic expression she'd seen him wear thus far. "I didn't wanna talk about it 'round Daryl. Don't concern him none. It ain't gonna affect the outcome of this ass-backwards fuckin' demon deal—'s just more red tape. Ya feel me?"

Despite her growing frustration, Beth nodded in understanding and kept her mouth shut, silently urging him to go on.

Trepidation flickered across his face. His voice was no more than a croaky whisper as he told her, "It's only gonna make him resent me… gonna make 'im hate my fuckin' guts. If he doesn't already."

Her stomach tightened. But she remained quiet.

He let out a deep and tired sigh, shoulders slumping with defeat. "The money existed. Okay? It was there. I found it. And I ain't proud, but…"

He paused and licked his lips, tearing his eyes away from hers to stare down at his lap.

And if she wasn't mistaken, he looked… downright guilty.

Was Merle Dixon actually feeling remorse right now? Beth couldn't be sure.

Then he said, low and half-choked, "I spent it. Every last cent."

"You stupid son of a bitch."

to be continued…