RE: Your Review on GiftAdvisor

Beth spent well over an hour on the phone with Maggie, summarizing everything that had happened since the last time they discussed details. She spoke in a hushed voice, getting up and creeping over to the bedroom door every few minutes to peek out and make sure Hershel and Shawn were still locked away in their bedrooms.

Her sister listened and agreed with most of Beth's viewpoints, though she made her discontent clear from time to time. And that was why Beth had called her—she knew she could trust Maggie to be honest, even if it was a harsh truth that she needed to hear.

When it came to giving advice on the current situation with Daryl, she said, "You're just gonna have to be brave and corner him—make him talk to you. Apologize and explain your stance, and then make it as clear as possible that it doesn't affect how you see him, and let him take it from there. If Daryl is the kinda man I think he is, he'll forgive you. It might take him some time, but he doesn't have much of a choice, does he? Force him to confront his feelings for once. He can't keep runnin' forever. Unless he wants to end up like Merle. But ya know, you were naive for thinkin' your Gift wouldn't take you to that place after you kept tryin' so hard to get inside his head. You have to remember what kinda power you hold, Bethy, and don't let it get outta control. Because it will get outta control. It's like a bushfire: you can dig yer trenches deep and keep it contained, but every now an' then, a spark is gonna fly a little too far and set an entire acre ablaze. You can't keep givin' oxygen to those sparks."

And when it came to giving advice on Beth's moral dilemma concerning The Governor, Maggie just sighed deeply. She hesitated. She asked several questions, and went silent for a long moment. Then she said, with a lot less confidence than usual, "You might not like hearin' this, but somethin' like that is exactly why I let my Gift fade away. I just… couldn't imagine makin' such a decision. All I can tell you is that you should follow your best instincts. When it comes down to it, Beth… you have to do whatever you think is right, and whatever you think is gonna keep you safe—and keep Daryl safe. Rick might be a sheriff, but he only has so much power. And you might be able to travel to The Other Side, but you only have so much power. Sometimes, ya have to accept that there's gonna be things that are outta your hands… outta your control. And you gotta just… shit, I dunno. Go with the flow, I guess."

Despite the less than helpful solutions that Maggie offered, talking to her made Beth feel a lot better. She felt like she had at least some idea of where to go from here.

It was nearly 1 am when Beth finally put her phone on the charger and shut off her bedroom light. She contemplated sending Daryl a text, but only for a moment.

No. It wasn't time yet. She wanted to talk to him face-to-face.

Merle hadn't reappeared yet, surprisingly. She wasn't complaining, though. She snuggled down into her bed and shut her eyes. She listened to the quiet drizzling outside her window, and the hum of the central heating coming through the vents.

And she thought about Daryl. She wondered if he was lying awake in bed right now, or if he was fast asleep. She wondered if he was agonizing over their fight like she was, or if he was fuming mad at her and thinking of her in a resentful light. She remembered what she'd seen inside his head, and though she didn't want to, she also thought of what she'd seen inside Judge Harrison's head.

She thought of that cliff's edge. The vast water beneath. The salty smell of sea air. The glowing woods and the sound of her own voice in the distance. The tentacle-vines that she knew were resting somewhere within her core, squirming and wriggling and itching for freedom.

She thought of Leanne Dixon and Annette Greene and all the sacrifices they'd made. All the people they'd left behind.

Death is swallowed up in victory, she thought, on the brink of consciousness. But what kind of victory is worth dying for? Can the faint scent of hope ever mask the pungent stench of death?

Then Beth drifted off to sleep.

She found herself inside a strange room. She'd never been here before. She didn't recognize it. She could barely see anything. Darkness surrounded her. There was a row of small windows above, but when she looked through them, all she saw was a starless sky.

She stepped forward. Old wood creaked beneath her feet. There was a larger window ahead, and she approached it and gazed through the water-stained glass.

She was standing inside the top of some kind of tower. A vast, dark ocean lay before her. Waves rippled and the tide crashed against rocks at the shore.

Suddenly, a bright golden light flickered from behind her. She spun around and saw a column in the center of the circular room. It led upwards, into the ceiling and beyond. A beacon was shining from the top. The light flickered in and out. Blindingly bright.

She realized she was inside of a lighthouse.

A pair of voices echoed on the sea wind. She turned back and looked out the window again. But she couldn't see anyone or anything. Just the dark water and the even darker sky.

Yet the voices persisted. Distant, faint, weak. Familiar. One was scratchy, the other was gruff. Calling out to one another, it seemed.

Were they calling out to her, too? Did they know she was here?

The light flickered. It kept going out, shining across the surface of the water for seconds at a time, offering only the briefest of glimpses. But during one of those glimpses, she spotted a shape floating upon the waves. She couldn't recognize it at first.

She squinted, pressing her nose to the glass and peering through curiously.

It was a boat. A tiny rowboat. It glimmered against the darkness of the water, despite the lack of light. As though it were made of glass, reflecting the flickering beam of the lighthouse.

Someone needed help.

She spun around and rushed over to the column in the center of the room, searching for some kind of switch or power button or something. Anything. She needed to make the light brighter and more consistent. She needed to help that wary sea traveller find their way to land. Did they even have any idea that they were so close to shore? Probably not, she guessed. They needed help finding their way through all the seemingly endless darkness.

She could still hear the distant voices calling out, echoing, fading away on the sea breeze. She moved with urgency.

Finally, she found a power panel near the bottom of the column. She opened it up and discovered several rows of buttons, but none of them were labeled, and she had no idea what they did. She didn't have any experience in operating a lighthouse—she didn't even have the first clue as to what to do.

Regardless, she tried. She started pressing every button and hoping for the best. With each touch of her fingertip, she prayed it would make the light brighter. She willed the lighthouse to cast a helpful beam out towards the lost sailor.

There was a sound like glass shattering. She looked up and saw that the lighthouse was glowing brighter than ever—shining like the sun at the peak of day. But the room around her was getting warmer. And then it was so hot that it was stifling. She could barely breathe.

Did they see the light yet? Could they find their way to shore? Or would she die of the heat inside this lighthouse before it mattered?

She turned back and went to the window, looking out. She caught a glimpse of the rowboat on the water, a single person sitting inside and desperately paddling at the water with bare hands. They looked as if they were about to jump overboard and take their chances swimming to shore.

'No,' she thought. 'You can't. The ocean is unforgiving. Don't let it pull you under. Just keep rowing. Keep coming this way. I'm showing you how, I'm lighting the way. Don't give up.'

Sweat was pouring down her face, dripping down her neck, soaking through the clothes on her body. She was burning alive, but all she could worry about was whether or not the sailor could make it back before they drowned.

The beam atop the lighthouse circled, and circled, and circled again. On the third go-around, it cast a glow upon the rowboat.

Beth squinted and tried to make out the figure sitting inside the rowboat.

But then everything faded away.

She didn't even know whether they made it to shore or not, let alone whether they saw her beacon of hope.

Beth's alarm went off and jolted her out of sleep rather abruptly.

Her eyes shot open and she gasped in a deep breath, her chest heaving as she looked around frantically. She was drenched in sweat, leaving her pajamas and bedding damp. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to realize where she was and what was going on.

Before she could reach over and grab her phone, her eyes landed on Merle. He was sitting in the desk chair, a magazine open on his lap and a pile of old issues sitting on the floor beside his feet. He was looking at her curiously.

As soon as their eyes met, his mouth curled up into a knowing smirk.

She grabbed her phone and turned off the alarm, then she shook off the odd sensation she'd been left with after emerging from her dream. Merle was watching her the whole time, though she was doing her best to ignore him. She checked her phone for notifications. There was nothing to be found except a text from Maggie that read: 'Text me if you need anything. I can call you tonight if you want. Please be safe, Bethy. Love you xoxo'

She set the phone back on her nightstand and climbed out of bed. Merle chuckled, low and mischievous.

"Sleep well?" He taunted. "What'd ya see in them dreams, blondie? Bet it was good."

Beth shot him a scowl and turned away. "Fuck off."

He barked out a laugh. "Oh, yer feelin' feisty today! That's fun. But don'tcha wanna know what I saw last night?"

Against all her better instincts, she turned and looked at him with intrigue. She couldn't help it. "What d'you mean?" She already knew what he meant. But she wanted to be sure.

Merle rolled his eyes. He looked back down at the magazine in his lap, licking a finger and turning the page with leisure. "Officer Friendly's pretty observant. He just couldn't resist askin' Daryl why yer gettin' the silent treatment."

Beth's heart skipped and her stomach churned, but she tried to appear unaffected. She shrugged. "So what'd Daryl say?"

Merle cackled, dragging his eyes up to meet Beth's. "Oh, now you wanna talk to me?"

She sighed, already exasperated. "Not that badly." She turned and headed for the bedroom door. It was too early for Merle's games, or more torturous thoughts about Daryl's newfound resentment towards her.

Merle clucked his tongue, but she ignored him. She had more important things to worry about at the moment.

Beth headed straight for the bathroom, where she did her business and took a shower and got ready for the day. The storm had finally passed and the dark clouds were nearly absent from the sky, and when she returned to her bedroom, the first light of daybreak was shining in through the windows. Merle was still sitting in the desk chair, though he'd moved on to a different magazine. He didn't say anything while she gathered a fresh outfit and got dressed. She was nearly finished drying and brushing her hair when he finally spoke.

"Should I wait till ya have yer mornin' coffee 'fore I try ta tell ya what yer besties were sayin' about ya?"

She glanced at him in the mirror of her vanity table, continuing the strokes of her brush through locks of drying blonde hair. "If yer gonna tell me, yer gonna tell me. But if it doesn't directly affect our situation, I can't really say I care."

Merle's smirk faded. He frowned, and his eyebrows knit together in slight confusion. "Don't lie to me. I know you better'an that, princess. You care. 'S not like yer gonna try ta tell me, after all this, that you don't give a shit what my brother thinks. I ain't that stupid. Yer all kinds'a tore up that he won't talk to ya."

Beth sighed and turned her blow dryer back on, pretending to be too occupied with drying her hair to listen to Merle. He rolled his eyes and went back to his magazine.

She finished drying her hair and began brushing it out and parting it into sections for a braid. Even when there was no more than silence intermittently broken up by the turning of magazine pages, she couldn't retain her defenses. Admittedly, she was weaker than usual without any caffeine in her system. But she was more weak than ever considering her current standing with Daryl. And yeah, she was desperate for any insight into his emotions.

She kinda hated herself for it, but she couldn't resist breaking the silence and asking, "Well? What'd you see?"

The dead Dixon perked up. He leaned back in his seat and gazed across the room at her, grinning. "Oh, how the tables have turned."

Beth rolled her eyes and concentrated on braiding her hair. "Don't be a dick about it. Either yer gonna tell me or not, but I'm not gonna beg you."

Merle laughed. "Yeah, I've said that before." He paused, sucking his teeth loudly and letting the suspense hang between them.

He always knew how to get on her nerves.

"Merle, I swear to God," she started, muttering through clenched teeth and glaring at him in the reflection of the mirror.

He put up his hands in surrender, still grinning, and said, "Fine, fine! I was gonna tell ya anyway—I mean, why the fuck wouldn't I. You really think I'm that much of a selfish asshole?"

Beth raised her eyebrows but didn't respond.

Merle's grin disappeared, morphing into a scowl. "Don't answer that, smartass."

She sighed and resumed the meticulous braiding of her hair.

"Listen, it was jus' some guy talk," he explained, a passive tone in his voice. "Rick's not a total moron. He picked up on the awkwardness. Daryl ain't exactly discreet neither."

She waited for him to go on, keeping her lips shut tight.

"So 'course Officer Friendly wanted ta know how come y'all went from bein' attached at the hip to barely even makin' eye contact."

"And what'd he say?"

"Not much. You know how Daryl is. Think he pictures himself the strong, silent type, but I think it jus' makes 'im come off like the—"

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Beth interrupted.

Merle rolled his eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. "Jeez, blondie. You are cranky today."

She finished braiding her hair and mumbled, "Sorry, I'm just not really in the mood."

He scoffed. "I can tell." He went back to gazing down at his magazine, but continued explaining, "It wasn't nothin' much, alrigh'? Daryl's just pissed 'cause he thinks you saw a whole lot more shit than ya actually did. He ain't scared that yer gonna pity him—he's scared that yer gonna see him fer who he really is… a no-good burnout. Just like his daddy. And just like his brother."

Beth's face fell and she stared at her own reflection in the mirror. Her voice escaped in a weak tone, "What? That's…"

"Stupid, I know," Merle said. "I mean, shit. If ya didn't already know, you'd have ta be blind. But nah, he's jus' scared yer gonna tell yer old man."

"Tell him what? What does he think I saw in his head? Why would I ever tell my dad anything to make him think less of Daryl? "

Merle shrugged. "'Cause Daryl did some pretty dirty shit when he was runnin' 'round with me. Lot'sa drinkin', fightin', robbin'. Some drugs, some women. Hell, I watched that boy put a knife ta some guy's throat in a back alley, and I thought fer a second he was gonna actually use it…" He laughed fondly. "We was real wild back in the day, but hey, we had ta eat."

Beth's stomach tightened, but she didn't allow this to change her opinion. She was thankful she hadn't seen any of those memories. Not that they would've affected how she currently viewed him—just because she had no desire to see Daryl at his lowest point.

Even though she was fairly certain she'd already seen him at his lowest possible point when he was only eight years old.

Merle went on casually, "He wouldn't say it, but I think he's scared yer only goin' along with this shit 'cause ya got some kinda moral obligation. And once The Governor is all dealt with and I've crossed over, you'll tell that criminal Dixon boy ta kick rocks."

She already knew that's what he thought. They'd certainly discussed it enough times. She'd tried to convince him otherwise, but he was stubborn. Maybe hearing it from a close friend would finally change his mind. "And what did Rick say about it?"

Merle shrugged. "Typical Rick shit. Transparent sympathy an' what-have-ya. Tried ta tell Daryl in so few words that it's pretty obvious you got a crush, an' that you ain't goin' nowhere 'cause ya ain't easily scared off, but my baby brother ain't ever been the most socially adept. I reckon it went in one ear an' right out the other." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "That boy can hold grudges like no other, I tell ya what." He raised his head and met her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "But you already know all about that, don'tcha?"

She finally turned around in her seat and looked at him directly. "I tried to tell him what I saw, but he wouldn't listen. He didn't believe me. He thought I was tryin' to… piece him together or something. He thinks I'm treating him like another puzzle, like I need to figure him out the same way I'm tryin' to figure The Governor out."

Merle raised his eyebrows.

Beth frowned. "But I'm not. I would never do that."

"Right," he muttered, unconvinced. "Then what were you doin' that made yer Gift take over like that?"

"I was—"

"Tryin' to figure him out. An' that's fine, blondie. No shame in yer game, I respect that. I mean, I think it's a waste of fuckin' time, but I know I ain't gonna be able to stop ya. You're a little girl with a crush. 'Course yer gonna be tryin' to figure him out. But ya can't be doin' it the way you do Horvath an' Harrison an' every other chucklefuck that ya think might have valuable information. He's not an open book, y'ain't gonna know 'im inside an' out within a week. Yer just gonna have ta be a little patient an' give him his space. Let him tell ya what he wants you ta know. Build up some trust—and not this weird trust y'all've built up from bein' able ta talk to me. Actual trust. Like normal people."

She reeled. When the hell did Merle become so wise? And was he advising her to do what she thought he was advising?

"So yer sayin' I should just talk to him. Be honest and sincere. And… what, hope he actually listens? And go from there?"

Merle gave her a very condescending look and said, "No fuckin' shit. What the hell else would ya do? He's not a suspect in my murder. You claim he's yer friend—so treat him like one. He ain't no enigma, sweetheart. He's just another dumbass Dixon. Christ, it's not rocket surgery."

Beth wondered, was Maggie's advice the best to take after all? Would she just have to corner him and make him talk to her?

"He thinks I invaded his privacy," she argued. "It's not that simple. He wouldn't even stand to hear an apology."

"So try again," Merle said, growing annoyed. "Were you not payin' any attention when you was watchin' them fights me an' him had? He's a hothead! He pushes away when he's pissed off, but he always comes back. Ya jus' gotta promise ta do better." He paused and contemplated his words, then added, "'Cept ya actually have to follow through with those promises. Don't do what I did."

"This is completely different from that," she said. "Not even comparable. He's only known me a week. And I did—I invaded his privacy, but it was an accident."

"Was it?" Merle narrowed his eyes. "'Cause I think ya stayed a little longer on purpose. I'm sure he had some shit in there 'bout you that ya just couldn't resist peekin' at."

Beth's face grew warm, but she refused to waver. "Yeah," she admitted, trying her hardest not to look as ashamed as she felt. "Only a couple glimpses. I wasn't sure how to get out, and I went the wrong way, and the next thing I knew—"

"Save it," Merle cut her off, uninterested. "I don't give a shit. It's Daryl you should be explainin' yerself to."

"I tried," she argued.

"Well, try harder!" He argued back. His voice rose with frustration as he went on, "You claim ta be so much fuckin' smarter than me, but ya still ain't proven it, princess. I know you think it's important ta be some kinda tough-girl-feminist-icon or what-the-fuck-ever, but this ain't the time fer that. You gotta apologize an' actually mean it. Be remorseful, own up to yer mistakes, an' ask for forgiveness. Stop makin' excuses, tryin' to explain it away with some bullshit 'I can't control my Gift' fuckin' nonsense, an' just admit that you wanted ta know how Daryl feels about you; that you wanted to find out exactly what kinda shit he's been through so you could decide whether you really see a future with him. 'Cause Daryl might be a dipshit, but he's not stupid. He knows when people are bein' honest, and he knows when they're full of fucking horseshit. And the other night, you made yerself sound like you're full of fucking horseshit."

Beth blinked, taken aback and stunned silent.

Merle smirked when he saw her reaction and quickly added, "Yeah, betcha didn't see that one comin'. I know how ta do the right thing. I just don't much feel like fuckin' doin' it. Ol' Merle ain't as emotionally stunted as ya thought, huh blondie?"

She simply shook her head, heaving a deep sigh and standing up from the vanity seat. Merle chuckled like he'd just won the argument, quite proud of himself, and resumed reading the magazine in his lap.

A moment later, while Beth was gathering up her phone and a warm hoodie and preparing to go downstairs to start breakfast, he added, "And don't think I condone this dumbass crush you got, 'cause I don't. 'S bad enough y'all think you can be friends—"

"Stop saying I have a crush," Beth snapped. "I don't. Yes, I like him as a person, and I respect him, but he's my friend. I'm not tryin' to take it any farther than that."

Merle laughed. "Yeah, whatever. All I'm sayin' is, y'all can't be havin' fights like this. Gotta work together. Otherwise Legba's gonna win, and I won't ever fuckin' cross over. So get yer shit together already."

She couldn't argue with that even if she wanted to.

to be continued…