We're All Screwed Down Here
Beth couldn't say where she went, because she didn't really go anywhere.
It was more like being shoved to the back of her own mind. Like someone else had invaded her head and taken control of her body. The blackness ebbed away just as rapidly as it had appeared, and she found herself as no more than an observer—seeing through her own eyes and hearing her own voice emitting from her mouth, but completely unable to control any of it. Paralyzed into silence.
Yet she recognized the stranger that was speaking through her. She heard the slight Irish accent, and she felt her own vocal cords straining and changing; the words that were not her own, though they were being projected from her throat, with her voice, in a strange tone.
For just a moment, she was a bystander within her own body.
She was looking directly at Merle, who was still standing a few feet away with a heavy frown on his face. And at first, he appeared confused. But then his expression slowly morphed into befuddlement… and fear.
"Merle Dixon—the one and only, aye? The master swindler of the Georgian backwoods." A witchy cackle escaped Beth's throat, though it was no sound she'd ever been capable of producing with her own voice. "You've prided yourself on breaking the cycle of suffering that your family has been plagued with for decades. Yet you wasted half a century bringing harm upon others and dragging your brother through a life of trials and tribulations. How ironic—the man who thinks himself the smartest is actually the most ignorant of all. And now you've no choice but to pay the price… at the expense of your beloved baby brother's soul. The brother you tried so desperately to save."
Merle's eyes were narrowed almost suspiciously. Though his face had gone pale, and his lips were pursed tightly shut.
"The Dealmaker put the fear within you, yet you still believe you're invincible. Don't yeh? Leanne Jacobs sacrificed everything for her children. And you've squandered her selfless act for the sake of selfish desires. You've played directly into the hands of the enemies. In the Motherland, we called folks like you 'easy prey…' Aye, you don't know any better—and that is your greatest fault. Crossing over requires a greater consciousness, Merle Dixon. It is far past time to put petty mortal emotions aside. There are many more than yourself relying on the outcome of this game. Everything you've done in life—and everything you do in death—will form ripples throughout the sea of time. Your failures will mean eternal suffering for those souls most innocent… And yeh don't even want to know what that means for your less-than-innocent soul."
His mouth opened and closed, like he was going to say something and immediately decided against it. His narrowed eyes grew wide.
Beth could feel her eyebrows rising and a smirk forming on her lips, though she had no control over any of it.
"That's right, love. Listen to the four-hundred-year-old Witch. Because if you don't, you will regret it. I know you hate women, but you have no other choice in the matter. A woman brought you into this plane of existence. A woman assured you had the ability to survive. And now, a woman is leading you towards the closest thing to salvation that you could ever be afforded. If you wish to cross over into an eternity less than miserable, then you must accept the help being offered. If you wish to save your brother's soul from the grasp of the demon who owns you… then you must learn to admit when you're wrong. There is a much larger picture here, Merle. Are you going to let The Dealmaker fool you into focusing on the insignificant details? Because he is well aware of your ignorance, and he's already taken advantage of it. And if you allow him, he will take everything."
Merle's lips were parted, but he barely appeared to be breathing. His shoulders went slack and he shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. But he couldn't break Beth's gaze—though it wasn't her own. It felt like someone else was staring at him through her eyes. She was only watching.
Still, he didn't say anything.
A low chuckle emitted from Beth's throat. She shook her head slowly, as if in pity. The Irish-accented voice grew quieter, yet stern and confident all the same.
"That's right, love. Lucifer and everyone knows about your indiscretions. They may be deceitful, but they are never incorrect in their judgment. You were well aware of your place on the mortal plane. Even before you were told… you already knew, aye? You always knew. You were smart enough to see, to feel, that your pure-hearted little brother would be doomed to carry the sinful weight of your existence for the rest of his life. You have always known that his fate lay in your hands. Yet you feigned ignorance… once again."
Merle blinked. But he remained speechless.
"How much longer must you play the fool before you realize it earns you nothing? Have the circumstances at hand not put it into proper perspective? Or do you think that you can still maintain control from beyond the grave?"
He barely shook his head. The fear was evident on his face and in his widened blue eyes.
"There is no control left to be had, dear. You are the firstborn; your purpose was weaved amongst the threads of fate long before your original return to the mortal plane. If you care at all for your only living blood, you'll do what's right… For the first time in your existence, you must make a choice that does not benefit you. The fate of Daryl Dixon's soul lies in your hands. If you wish to truly break your father's cycle, this is your final chance. Lest your brothersuffer in Hell for your sins."
She paused and licked her lips, her gaze growing more intense as she stared at him.
"Lest you both suffer for Will Dixon's sins."
Merle didn't say anything. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes, a brief look of defiance crossing his face.
Then he disappeared.
And just like that, Beth took a deep breath and leapt forward. She returned to the forefront of her mind, her eyes, her voice, and her body. The person speaking through her—Florence Newton, she could only guess—was gone. Beth was no longer an observer from the back of her own head.
It was like it had never happened at all.
A moment passed in silence. Beth breathed heavily, still a bit shaken up from the odd experience, and looked around her dark bedroom in search of Merle. But he was nowhere to be seen. Or felt.
In all honesty, she didn't even have the energy to think about it.
A glance at the clock told her that she'd just lost another fifteen minutes of sleep. So she lay back down and rolled over, wrapping herself tightly in the blanket. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think about what just happened or what it might mean. She tried not to worry about how difficult Merle would be when he eventually showed back up, while also hoping he would stay gone until after church.
But damn. Had Florence Newton just spoken through her like she'd done with Morgan? Had she just used Beth as a vessel to lay down a hard truth for Merle?
Beth was beginning to understand why Morgan had called it "violating." She didn't much like acting as a microphone for a centuries-old Witch, either. Feeling like an outside observer within her own mind was something new and scary, and far less than pleasant.
Though she had to admit… it had been something that needed to be said.
And if anyone was going to get through to Merle, maybe it was the Witch of Youghal?
For the few hours she slept, Beth only dreamt briefly.
And it was nothing she had any control over.
It was no place she recognized. All she could see were her direct surroundings. It was all so blurry.
She was sitting cross-legged on a hardwood floor. There was a Ouija board set in front of her, and a dozen candles lit around it.
She could see her fingers resting gently atop the planchette, though they weren't her own fingers. They were someone else's; a pair of hands she didn't recognize.
Then the planchette began to move. She was doing nothing to move it. Her hands were frozen still, practically rubber as they jerked around at the planchette's demand. Yet she was watching closely.
The tiny window paused momentarily as it slid across the board, singling out certain letters and spelling out a phrase.
Y… O… U… R… E… S… C… R… E… W… E… D…
She jerked her hands back. The planchette kept moving.
It ran back over the letters. Once. Twice. A third time. Faster and faster with each reiteration.
"You're screwed"
"You're screwed"
"You're screwed"
It paused for a heartbeat. Then it ran over another set of letters.
"HAHAHA C U SOON"
Once. Twice. Thrice.
Another brief pause.
Finally, it settled atop "GOODBYE."
And it stopped moving.
She shivered. The candles blew out.
Everything went black.
The dream fled her mind as soon as she returned to consciousness.
She woke up to the sound of her alarm and immediately regretted her choices. Her head was pounding, her stomach was flip-flopping, and her mouth was drier than a desert.
Nonetheless, she forced herself up and out of bed. She threw on some clothes, chugged a bottle of water, and went about the morning chores. Thankfully, Merle was still gone, so she didn't have to worry about him making her headache any worse. Though she was wondering where he'd gone, and dreading his return because she knew he was bound to come back more belligerent than ever after being humiliated by a Witch.
Florence Newton's words had cut him deep. Beth could tell. And Merle didn't like being called out like that. He would surely make Beth regret it, even though she'd had no choice in the matter.
She tried to focus on getting back into her usual routine, considering Merle had interrupted it over the last few days. She got all her chores done and prepared breakfast with just enough time to hop in the shower and get dressed in her Sunday Best. Maggie and Glenn helped where they could, and Hershel seemed to be having a much better day than before considering he was up and moving about with no assistance. Even Shawn was being nice—though that was probably due to the fact that he'd just gotten a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in over a month.
The Greenes had breakfast as a family and there wasn't even one argument all morning. (Beth thought that might be a new record for them.) Then they headed off to church just as the distant storm began moving in. It clouded the sky in layers of gray and left a new chill in the air, the smell of wet earth permeating everything while the humidity gradually grew thicker and thicker. Thunder rumbled, low and ominous, from miles away. Flashes of lightning could be seen lighting up the clouds in the far-off distance. It was only a matter of time before the rain would arrive.
They all piled into Shawn's Ford Explorer, with Shawn driving while Hershel occupied the passenger seat. Maggie sat in the center of the backseat with Glenn on her left and Beth on her right. They chatted and joked during the drive. Beth's hangover was just starting to recede thanks to the shower she'd taken and the food in her belly. For the first time all week, she wasn't even thinking about Merle or Daryl or her Gift.
Then they pulled into the church parking lot and Maggie burst out loudly, "Isn't that Daryl's bike?"
Beth's eyes snapped over to where her sister was pointing through the windshield and her heart skipped.
That was definitely Daryl's motorcycle parked in one of the spots outside church. But why?
"What the…"
Shawn chuckled and pulled the Explorer into its usual parking spot while Beth craned her head around to search for the owner of the bike. Just as Shawn shifted into Park, she spotted the last living Dixon.
Daryl was leaning against the side of the faded white church, standing in the grass around the corner from the front door. Smoking a cigarette and watching her brother's truck through an overgrown fringe of dark hair.
"Beth, why didn't you tell me Daryl was gonna be joinin' us today?" Hershel asked, turning around in the front seat to look at her with a surprised smile. "You should've offered him a ride, sweetheart. We could've picked him up on the way."
She could feel her face growing hot as everyone in the car turned their eyes on her. She shrugged awkwardly, staring at Daryl through the back window. "Um—I didn't know he was coming. He didn't tell me."
"Aw, how cute!" Maggie cooed. "He surprised you! Is he actually gonna attend the service with us?"
"Doubt it," Shawn muttered, pulling the keys from the ignition and unbuckling his seatbelt.
"Doesn't seem like the church-going type," Glenn commented. "But hey, maybe he just wants to see what it's all about."
"There's always room in God's House," Hershel said. "Let's just do our best to make him feel welcome."
Shawn scoffed. "Don't wanna go scarin' off Beth's new boyfriend with our Bible talk," he remarked, his tone heavy with sarcasm.
"Shut up," Maggie scolded. "He's not her boyfriend."
But Beth was barely paying attention. Her eyes were locked on Daryl from across the parking lot, even as she climbed out of the truck and prepared to approach the church.
He was still watching her while he smoked his cigarette. Like he'd been waiting for her.
And maybe he had been, she thought. What other explanation was there? He certainly didn't come here on his own random whim. Her mother's memorial was one thing. Showing up early for a church service he probably had no interest in was something else entirely.
It was a little awkward to walk across the parking lot and up to the church steps knowing Daryl was walking over to meet them at the same time. Beth stiffened and directed her gaze towards Daryl, readying herself to greet him. But Hershel beat her to the punch.
He stepped forward and reached out a hand as soon as Daryl was within arm's reach, a beaming smile showing from beneath his thick white beard. Daryl reached out and took his hand in greeting, albeit a bit stiff.
"Didn't expect to meet you here, Daryl," Hershel said. "But we're glad to have ya."
Daryl simply nodded, pulling his hand back as soon as he could. "Yeah. Figured I'd take ya up on yer invite, Mr. Greene."
"Please," Hershel insisted. "Mr. Greene was my father. Call me Hershel."
"Right," Daryl mumbled, his ears going red. "Hershel."
Thankfully, another member of the congregation appeared from behind the front door and eagerly beckoned Hershel inside. So while the Greene patriarch was preoccupied, and Shawn, Maggie, and Glenn were following after him, Beth stepped off to the side in order to greet Daryl personally.
"What're you doin' here?" She asked, though she couldn't suppress the smile on her face.
Daryl shrugged awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. She gave him another once-over and realized he was dressed a lot nicer than usual—brand new jeans, a pair of boots she'd never seen, and a dark blue button-up that actually looked like it had been ironed. Even his hair looked different, like he'd just gotten done washing and blow-drying it. He'd made an effort to brush it away from his eyes, too.
"Yer daddy invited me. 'Member?"
She rolled her eyes, smirking, and responded, "Yeah, but… you said you don't believe in all this. He only invited you outta courtesy. You didn't have an obligation to accept. He wouldn't have been offended."
"Well," he muttered, meeting her eyes for a brief moment before flicking his gaze back down towards the ground. "Reckon if there is a God, I'd best get on His good side… Ya know, 'fore it's too late."
"Oh."
It was all she could really say.
There was a beat. He wouldn't meet her eyes. So she finally reached out and grasped one of his hands in hers.
That got his attention. He gave her a quizzical look, but he didn't pull away. She smiled.
"You look really nice today," she said.
His ears went pink and he mumbled sheepishly, "Not as nice as you."
Her smile grew into a grin. "C'mon," she urged, pulling him towards the front door. "We got some good seats."
to be continued…
