With Great Power, Comes Great Problems

Beth jolted back. Though only in her mind—in the present, she opened her eyes to find herself in the exact place she'd been before.

She brushed her hand down Andrea's back, wiping away a streak of imaginary dust. But there was a painful weight in her chest. The things she'd seen and heard inside the other woman's head were still bouncing around within her own soul.

In a way, she'd already known the explanation. But she'd had to see it for herself. And now she regretted it.

Andrea glanced back and met Beth's eyes. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah," Beth said, pulling her hand away. "I got it."

She wanted to stop Andrea and turn her around. She wanted to wrap her arms around the older woman and tell her that it was okay, that what happened wasn't her fault, and that everything she'd done was forgivable. She wanted to assure Judge Harrison that life was worth living, that her father and sister would never want her to leave before it was her time, that she wasn't so awful as she made herself out to be, that she just needed a little more help, a little more support. That her therapist had a good point. And that she'd done the right thing by making room for the pain… even if that meant mistakenly making room for The Governor. That she just had to keep trying, keep making room for the good stuff, the happiness, the love.

More than anything, Beth wanted Andrea to know that she wasn't the only person who'd suffered at the hands of Philip Blake. She wanted to promise her that she'd be the final victim of The Governor.

But she couldn't.

So she just nodded and smiled weakly.

"Thanks," Andrea muttered, then she turned and continued walking.

Beth followed after her, back to the table where Rick and Daryl were waiting patiently. There was already a fresh beer sitting in place of Andrea's empty bottle, and the used shot glasses had been taken away.

As soon as the two women were back in their seats, Andrea started sipping from her beer and Rick started asking questions.

"Alright, so—before we leave, ya ain't got nothin' else ta mention?" He shot Beth a brief look, but she ignored it.

Daryl was also looking at her. She ignored him, too.

Andrea shook her head. "Nope. Unless you wanted intimate details about Mr. Blake…"

"Not those kinds of intimate details," Rick muttered. He glanced over at Daryl and Beth, then he said, "Reckon we'll be headin' out then. Hopefully we can track down that Masonic Lodge 'fore it's too late."

"Fingers crossed," Andrea remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

Daryl grunted. He muttered, "Thanks fer the help, Judge Harrison."

Her eyes flickered and she avoided meeting his gaze. "Don't mention it."

"Thanks fer takin' the time to talk with us, Andrea. We appreciate it," Rick said, nodding in goodbye.

"It was nice to meet you," Beth said softly, standing and stepping away from the table to follow after Rick and Daryl.

Andrea wouldn't meet Beth's gaze, either. Instead, she stared down at her beer bottle, wrapping her hand a little tighter around the neck, and offered no more than a muffled grumble of goodbye.

Beth didn't take it personally.

Rick stopped at the bar on their way out and ordered another beer and another shot for Andrea before paying the whole tab. When they exited the front door, rain was still falling. Merle was still leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the storm clouds.

There was a slightly wistful expression on his face, like he wished he could feel the rain on his skin. But it disappeared as soon as Beth turned her head and met his eyes. He gave a crooked smile and tossed out his cigarette.

The trio climbed back into Rick's car, but Rick didn't start the engine. Merle appeared in the backseat across from Beth. She noticed his smile had faded. He actually looked a little uncomfortable.

She could relate. Andrea's memories were rolling around in her head, and without realizing it, she'd pushed up the sleeve of her hoodie and begun absent-mindedly rubbing at the scar beneath her bracelet. A part of her wished she'd never been inside the judge's mind, but she knew it was necessary.

Rick twisted around in his seat and looked back at Beth expectantly. "So—did it work?"

Daryl wasn't turning around, but she spotted his eyes flicking up to gaze at her in the rearview mirror.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "She wouldn't tell me anything… so I touched her."

"And?" Rick prodded.

Merle was sitting silently, for once. Watching Beth with a mixture of intrigue and pity. He wasn't pushing her for details, or asking what she'd seen like he usually did. And he was frowning.

She cleared her throat and looked away from Rick, staring down at her lap instead. "And I was right… Philip hurt her really bad. She didn't lie because she wanted to. She just feels guilty. She feels partially responsible for Merle's death."

"She should," Daryl grunted.

"Why would she feel guilty?" Rick asked. "Because she slept with Philip after he killed Merle?"

Beth shook her head. "Not just that. He… assaulted her. She downplayed what he did. It wasn't just jealousy and weird questions—he literally held her down by the throat and demanded…" Her voice trailed off. She couldn't say it. It was too difficult. Too painful.

Rick's face paled. "Christ…"

Daryl made a sound of discontent. "Shit… now I feel bad fer laughin' when she told us she moved on."

There was a heavy moment of silence.

Then Merle muttered, "This's why I didn't wanna go in there. Can't stand lookin' at that broad's face. She's got the saddest eyes I ever seen… I'll bet ya seen some real bad shit in there, didn'tcha, blondie? I'll bet she's wishin' The Governor had just killed her instead… isn't she?"

Beth flicked her eyes over and gave him a very brief look that confirmed his suspicions. But he didn't seem pleased. He just kept frowning.

"Yeah," he said. "She's got some demons alright."

We owe this to her, Beth thought. Philip has to be stopped. Not just for Merle or Daryl, but for Andrea's sake, too. And Dale's. The Governor has left so many victims in his wake.

Daryl was the first to break the heavy silence. "So'd ya find out anythin' about the party?"

Beth perked up and nodded. Rick raised his eyebrows.

"She wasn't lyin' about that either," she explained. "He didn't tell her much about the organization he's in, and she only saw the flier for the party once. But I saw it."

"Can ya remember any details?" Rick asked, his blue eyes bright with hope. "The name of the Masonic Lodge, the location, anything?"

"All'a that," Beth confirmed. She paused for a second and shut her eyes, replaying the memory inside her head. In the backs of her eyelids, she could still see the flier in Andrea's hands and the words printed so boldly on the crisp paper. "Buckhead Masonic Lodge… seven pm on October twenty-fifth… at The Wiltshire Estate."

Rick let out a whoop! of joy, slapping a hand down on the steering wheel and grinning wide. "Well, hot damn! Ya did it again, Beth! That's exactly what we need!" He pulled out his little notepad and pen and jotted down the info as quickly as he could.

Daryl merely grunted. "Good job," he mumbled from the passenger seat.

She smiled, keeping her gaze focused on the elated sheriff. "And one more thing—it's a costume party. Masquerade attire is required."

Rick barked out a laugh. "Even better!"

Merle laughed, as well. But for different reasons. "Aw, shit. This jus' keeps gettin' better an' better, don't it? So y'all got a reason ta cover yer faces when we ambush this bastard? How convenient. 'S like a shitty eighties movie or sum'n."

Beth ignored his remark. Shouldn't he be happy right now? They were this close to finally tracking down his murderer.

Rick started the car and shifted into gear, backing away from Milton's Tavern and pulling out into the street. "Alright, y'all. Back ta Senoia we go. We should prob'ly start workin' out the details an' makin' a plan. I mean, you guys were meant ta go to this party, right? So…"

But Beth was barely listening. She was looking over at Merle, who was turned away and gazing out his window. He seemed almost forlorn.

Maybe, she thought. Merle Dixon really does feel something. Maybe dying was the best thing to ever happen to him. Because now he can admit to caring about people without the fear of being seen as weak. Now he has no choice but to sit and wallow in his own regrets. Maybe he just never gave himself the time to accept what he feels, and now he's got nothing but time.

The Merle she'd seen in Daryl's memories and the Merle she'd come to know over the last week were seemingly one and the same. Yet at the same time… he was changing. Slowly. But with every day that passed, with every new discovery they made and every step closer they took towards The Governor, his armor seemed to be breaking down.

Regardless, she still couldn't be sure.

She was beginning to think they both needed a "confidence boost."

The rain lessened the farther they drove away from Atlanta. By the time they were halfway to Senoia, it was no more than a light spattering on the windshield. Merle had already started smoking, and Rick had already rolled down the back window to accommodate for the smell. Everyone inside the sheriff's car was quiet and thoughtful.

Soon after passing the sign that declared: Senoia 15, Merle turned and spoke to Beth.

"Say, blondie—you hear from Legba lately? While you was inside Daryl's head? Or Andrea's?"

Beth turned her head and met his curious gaze. She frowned, thinking for a second. Then she shook her head.

"Huh," he grunted, smirking. "Ain't that somethin'..."

She turned away and went back to gazing out her own window, but now she was thinking about it. And he brought up a good point.

She thought about it a little harder, and several minutes later, she realized she hadn't been caught off-guard by Merle's reappearance lately, either. Whenever he was around, she could sense it; her body gave her warning signals to alert her to his direct presence. And when it came to Papa Legba… no. He'd been mysteriously quiet as of late.

Whether that was a good or bad thing, she didn't know. But she'd like to think it was good.

Was it possible? Was she finally learning how to control her Gift? In more ways than one? Were the Swamp Witch and the Witch of Youghal right to believe in Beth Greene's abilities?

Or was she still in way over her head?

She didn't want to start getting cocky, so she chose to be cautiously optimistic. It had only been a week, after all. And if anything, her confidence had been shaken by being thrust into Daryl's head unwillingly. It made her think she was losing control just as quickly as she was learning to gain it. She had to step up, she had to try harder. They still had so much more ahead of them.

She still had so much more ahead. To learn, to accept, to piece together.

She couldn't let herself fly too close to the sun. The risk of being burned was very real and very possible. And despite his recent absence, The Dealmaker was still a threat. Ready to catch her and keep her for his own if she fell.

Rick's police radio crackled to life sporadically throughout their drive back to the farm. Beth passively listened, too lost in her own head. It became no more than background noise.

Ever since they'd left Atlanta, she'd been wondering to herself when Daryl would give her a chance to repent for the accidental journey through his memories. If he would give her the chance.

But he had to, right? He needed her just as much as she needed him, even if he claimed he didn't. They had to go to that party, and it was only a few days away. They would have to come up with a plan, find costumes, coordinate some kind of attack on The Governor…

But when they were still about five miles out, a dispatcher's voice emitted from the radio and caught her attention.

"Attention all county units: Be On The Lookout for a missing woman in Atlanta. Possible kidnapping victim, reported this afternoon. Caucasian, age thirty-three, red hair, five-foot-five, one-hundred-and-twenty pounds. Last seen wearing black leggings, a long-sleeved, dark blue blouse, and black ballet flats. Tattoo of a butterfly on her left ankle. She may be with a pair of African-American men in their mid-twenties. They're driving a newer model red sedan with Georgia license plates. Keep an eye out, officers. Report in with any suspicious activity. Over."

Beth could see Rick tensing in his seat, but he didn't say anything or acknowledge the transmission. He just kept driving.

She didn't know why, but it unsettled her. She recalled the screaming that had woken her up in the dead of night. A strange sense of unease bubbled in her stomach.

She attributed it to the beer she'd drank, and the rollercoaster of emotions she'd experienced over the last two days, and continued staring out the window. Continued wondering when Daryl would speak to her again, and when she'd be given the opportunity to make amends.

Would he ever trust her again?

The tailend of the storm was passing over the farm when Rick pulled up to the driveway. Rain was still drizzling from the sky, but the thunder and lightning were absent and the clouds were blowing north with purpose. The farmhouse was dark except for the porchlights, security lights, and one bedroom upstairs—Hershel's room. Beth hoped he hadn't waited up for her.

Rick's car rolled to a stop at the side of the road and he shifted into Park before twisting around in his seat. He gave Daryl a brief look before settling his gaze on Beth.

"So this is it, huh?" He said. "We're finally gonna come face-to-face with The Governor. Y'know what that means."

Merle chuckled. "That you ain't the least bit qualified fer what this shit's gonna entail?"

Beth ignored the dead Dixon and focused on Rick. She nodded. "We need a plan."

"A solid plan," Rick agreed. "We need ta figure out how to get some hard evidence on this guy. Then we need to obtain said evidence without spookin' him. If he flees, we'll never be able ta track him down, or pin him fer his crimes."

Daryl scoffed from the passenger seat. "You still think we're gonna be able ta make a case against 'im?"

Rick frowned and turned to Daryl. "'Course I do. It'll take some work, some caution, some patience, but it's possible. Why else would I be helpin' y'all?"

Daryl shrugged. Beth tensed. She remembered the conversation they'd had the night before church, fueled by moonshine and open air. And now she was realizing that she needed to pick a side, because it was very clear that Daryl and Rick had two extremely different definitions of "justice."

And what the hell was her definition?

"What the fuck does he think y'all are gonna do?" Merle remarked. "Walk in and ask Phil if he ever killed anybody?"

"What if we can't get any hard evidence?" Beth asked. "I mean—it's not like we can just go in an' schmooze with him during a party and expect him to confess to murder."

Rick sighed and shook his head. "Nah, nah. We can get evidence. Trust me. I got some tricks up my sleeve… Gotta move fast, though. That party's only three days away."

"You know where the Estate is?" Daryl grumbled.

"The Wiltshire? Yeah," the sheriff confirmed. "Been there a couple times. It's northeast, near city limits. Up by all them swanky neighborhoods where the rich folks live."

"So what kinda plan are you thinking, Rick?" Beth asked. "What kinda tricks d'you have up your sleeve?"

"Not sure yet," he said. "But I can contact some friends, get somethin' together... " He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "I gotta get home an' relieve the babysitter, though. How 'bout we meet up tomorrow evening an' flesh this out? I'll call in a couple favors while I'm at work, see what I can get together 'fore then."

Daryl grunted an agreement, and Beth simply nodded, her lips pursed tightly.

This was getting more and more complicated by the second.

Nonetheless, she thanked Rick for picking her up, and thanked him again for taking the time to do all he was doing, and he promised to contact her about meeting up. Merle remained in his seat, eyes set on his brother up front. Daryl was still and silent. He didn't even turn his head to give Beth a glance as she opened the back door and stepped out.

She began to walk away, but as soon as she heard the tires kicking up gravel and the car pulling away, she turned to gaze after it. And she couldn't tell in the darkness of late evening, but she thought she could see Daryl turning his head and looking back at her through the passenger side window.

Why won't you just talk to me, you stubborn asshole? She thought.

But Beth had to remind herself for the millionth time… Dixons ain't turnips.

If her dad's bedroom light had been on, it was already turned off by the time she reached the second floor of the farmhouse. His door was shut tight and she contemplated knocking, but quickly decided against it. Shawn's bedroom door was shut, too, and the whole house was quiet. It was nearly 11 pm—way past Beth's bedtime.

There was no way she'd be falling asleep anytime soon, though. Even in Merle's absence. She knew it was only a matter of time before he got bored and showed back up, but her mind was racing.

After she changed into pajamas and settled into bed, she pulled out her phone. For several minutes, she hovered over her conversation with Daryl, composing a variety of text messages inside her head that she couldn't bring herself to type out. What could she possibly say? Why would he ever listen? He didn't trust her anymore, and he'd made it clear that he was still very upset with her. Maybe he just needed a little more time to cool down. She could hope.

That didn't solve the biggest problem she was facing, though. Everything was coming down to the wire, and within the next few days, she'd have no choice but to make a huge decision. The weirdest part was the little voice inside her head that kept telling her Philip was sick—that he needed help, not harm. Yeah, he'd done some extremely unforgivable things, but he was still a human being. He was a person who'd apparently suffered in some way or another, and decided to take it out on the world. He wasn't too terribly different from Merle, or even Daryl, when it got down to it. But he was dangerous. He was a threat. He was… almost too far gone to be helped.

Or was he?

Beth didn't feel like she had nearly enough life experience to be making these kinds of decisions. She had a sense of right and wrong that had been instilled within her from a very young age, a concrete belief system. Yet ever since Merle had appeared, she'd been questioning a lot of those beliefs.

The Dixon brothers might be an exception to most rules, but was Philip Blake? Was a man who called himself The Governor capable of being forgiven, helped, and redeemed? Could he still be saved? Could he be stopped? And even if he could, what did that mean for The Dealmaker's debt? He demanded two souls, but did one of them really have to be Daryl's?

Or was the Witch of Youghal right? Did they have no other choice in the matter? Was it really "that simple?"

She sat back and stared up at the ceiling, and she started thinking about her sister. She wished Maggie were still here. Maybe she would have the advice Beth so desperately needed. Or at least some kind of suggestion.

It was getting pretty late, but she knew Maggie usually stayed up until about midnight, so she picked up her phone again and dialed her sister's number. It rang three times, and Beth was about to hang up and send a text instead, apologizing for not calling earlier. But then Maggie's voice came through from the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hey, are you busy?" Beth greeted, smiling weakly into the phone. Just the sound of her sister's voice was making a knot swell up in her throat. She wasn't sure why, but she kinda felt like crying.

"No, I was just gettin' ready for bed," Maggie said. "I was startin' to think you wouldn't call tonight. Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Beth lied, clearing her throat before she continued. "I just—well, me an' Daryl went with Rick to meet this lady that Morgan saw in his visions. She was gonna be Merle's judge in this case he had pending before he died. And um… I dunno. It was just kinda tough."

Maggie lowered her voice. "Hold on, Glenn's in the other room—I'm gonna step out on the balcony, gimme a second." There was some rustling on the other end while Maggie slipped on a jacket and a pair of shoes and crossed her apartment to get to the sliding patio door. Beth could picture it in her head as she listened to her sister through the phone. Once Maggie was outside and the patio door clicked shut, Beth could hear the faint sound of city noise in the background. "Okay, so what happened? This is good, right? Did you use your Gift again? Did you find out somethin' important, or helpful?"

"I mean, yeah," Beth said. She fiddled with a loose thread in her comforter as she mumbled into the phone. "We found out where Philip is gonna be, we're gonna make a plan to like… incriminate him or whatever. But um…" She paused, heaving out a sigh. Tears were pooling in her eyes, no matter how hard she fought them back. "Daryl won't even talk to me right now."

"What?" Maggie hissed. Her tone turned sympathetic. "Bethy, why? He's not mad at you, is he?"

A sob escaped Beth's throat. She couldn't help it. There was just something about confiding in her big sister that made her feel like a scared little girl again. She wanted to be comforted and told that she was doing her best, and that everything would be okay. "'Cause I screwed up. This stupid friggin' Gift is screwing everything up. I thought I could control it, but sometimes, it-it just…" Her voice trailed off and she sniffled, stifling another sob.

"Oh, Beth," Maggie moaned sadly. "He's just a man—we can figure this out. Okay? You're not all alone. He's gotta come around eventually. Yer all the help he's got. Now tell me what happened so we can fix it."

Tears were sliding down Beth's cheeks. And yet, she smiled.

to be continued…