Chapter 56
The Tale of Beetle and the Beast

The rain beat like a drum into battle, yet I found peace while listening to it. The weather today was wet and chilly, putting any work outside on hold until it cleared. It was a rare opportunity when I could enjoy the empty grounds of the Sanctuary. My thoughts kept me company while I walked and I occupied myself with daydreams about some novels I'd become rather attached to in the past few weeks.

Out of nowhere, I was suddenly drawn by a commotion coming from the entrance where a group of Saviors were yelling and had their weapons drawn on an approaching stranger. Over his back, he seemed to be hauling something or another person it looked like. One of the Saviors shouted for them to drop it and get on the ground, or they would fire.

I watched from a safe distance as the person obeyed, gingerly laying the man he was carrying on the ground while he himself got to his knees and put his hands behind his head. It looked like he knew the drill well. Three men kept guns on him while one man circled around and bound his arms quickly. When satisfied, another helped him get the stranger to his feet and march him through the gates. The two others kept their guns on him while the remaining three looked after the man on the ground. From the way they carried him, it looked as though he may have been one of their own.

As the man was marched forward, his outline started to become clearer. It was hard to tell through the downpour but something about this man felt ominously familiar. He wore a black trench coat, made from heavy leather and hanging around him like enormous bat wings. His hood was up, casting his face in shadow and making it even more difficult to identify. The man himself was impressively tall, and even at this distance I could tell he was intimidating. The Saviors didn't so much as lower their guns a fraction as they marched him towards the building.

I was too far away to see his face, so I braved a few steps closer while the Saviors escorted him to the far end. My eyes narrowed even more and my heart sped as he came closer.

I knew this person. I was sure I did.

When he was just feet from me there was a sudden gust of wind, which rustled our coats and clothes and blew our hoods right off our heads at the exact same moment. That's when he finally lifted his face and our gazes locked at last. My eyes widened at the sight of the white marble skin, ebony hair, and a winding scar that filled half of his face.

My heart stopped.

I would know that face anywhere.

For a moment, I wasn't even really sure I was seeing him. Obviously, I was hallucinating or this was a dream and I was going to wake up in a few moments.

Because how could such a thing be real? He had left me so long ago…

Then his yellow eyes brought me back to reality and I knew immediately that this was no dream.

It was my old mysterious friend and teacher—the other Elf of Alexandria.

It was John.

Flashback
There was a day in fall when the air blew crisp through the trees and the garden vegetables were ready to be harvested, when a stranger came to the island from out of nowhere. I was concentrating on tending to Babatila's shrine plants when my eyes caught on something dark. I looked up and found a tall pale man clad in a black leather trench coat and sauntering up the path. He had raven black hair pulled back in a ponytail and the right side of his face was scared with deep stitches. That side of his head had little to no hair at all and his skin was so white I thought he was a walker at first. Yet his movements were too calculated and thoughtful to be a mindless dead one.

And yet I was still afraid, for the living were even more dangerous.

The sight of him was terrifying, not because of how he looked but because a complete stranger was on this supposedly secret island. Without thinking, I rushed up to the hovering spirit of my tutor and cried out in shock, pointing towards the newcomer.

"Miss Ives, Miss Ives! There's a strange man here!"

When she turned to follow where my finger pointed, her face grew shocked for the briefest of moments. Then it melted into something adoring and fond. With that she leaned down to me and said, "Judith, you mustn't be afraid of him. He will not harm you. He's a very dear friend of mine."

He looked my way, approaching cautiously so he wouldn't spook me more.

"I—I'm sorry. I'm not here to cause trouble." For added measure he got down on a knee attempting to look less threatening. "Forgive my appearance, I know I look like a beast, but I swear I will not harm you. I'm looking for Miss Ives. Is she here?"

"Judith," Miss Ives announced. "Would you mind being my interpreter?"

I looked at her then back at the man and nodded. The man assumed I was nodding to him, though.

"Would you take me to her?"

I turned back and spoke as the lady asked me to. "Miss Ives says your name is John Clare."

"Yes. She told you about me? Can I speak to her?"

"You're speaking to her right now."

He was stunned and looked around as if trying to find the woman standing somewhere hidden, but all he saw was me and the garden.

"Please, where is she? I need to speak with her. I don't have time for games."

"She's right here." I told him. "Or… her spirit is at least. She says don't be alarmed, she's no longer here in body but I will interpret for her."

He looked stunned and sad. "Miss Ives is… dead then."

"It was an accident." I told him. "She wants you to know it wasn't violent."

"Where is her grave?"

I showed him the mound of dirt, speckled with warm-colored fall flowers.

"So, she truly is..." He said sadly, looking down at it. "No bursting from this one?"

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I remained silent. Finally, the silence grew too much for me and I looked back at him. Then Miss Ives spoke to me.

"Would you say something? Try to comfort him for me."

I thought for a moment, trying to think of any words that might've helped him. "I-I'm sorry about the way I acted when you were coming up the hill. It wasn't because of how you look, if that's what you think. It was because of… well, you were a stranger, and strangers… aren't safe. And no one's supposed to know about this place, either."

He smiled softly, instinctively pulling up his collar in an attempt to hide the scarred side of him. "Thank you for your honesty. It's not offensive if you were in the least, though. It would not have been the first time I startled a child by my face."

I looked back up with a soft smile of my own. He seemed so forlorn and reserved. It was a bit early to form a real opinion but I think I was growing fond of him. "I'm Judith, by the way. Judith Grimes."

"John Clare, but you knew that already."

"Talk to him about poetry." Miss Ives prompted.

"John Clare was a poet, wasn't he?" I announced, thinking of her words.

He seemed to perk at that. "He was indeed. Do you like poetry?"

"Some." I told him. "I like the Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt, but besides that not much else. It's too sad."

"Sad people like poetry, happy people like songs." He said with a fond sort of smile.

"Well… it might take happiness to appreciate the song but it takes sadness to understand the lyrics." I countered, speaking from a quote I had read once.

He looked down and his interest was completely on me. "How very true."

"Will you stay here?" I asked.

"If there is no intrusion."

"She says there isn't."

"But what about you? I wouldn't wish to impose if it would become an inconvenience."

"What's an inconvenience?"

"It's a problem that gets in the way."

"Oh. Of course, not then! It's no inconvenience. You can stay here if you knew Miss Ives. But how did you know about this place?"

He turned to the brick home and breathed deep. "We built this island together."

"You built this house?"

"I did, with her help, of course."

"Miss Ives said that she lived in England for a while, but she came here."

"That's true. She chose to go far away and start over on a land that would forever hold sacred value and protection so she might live on in peace. We were led to this place, this ruined temple of the old gods."

"Were you two… in love?"

He looked off in thought. "T'is a strange thing. In all our time together, we never felt anything more for each other than friendship, almost as if we grew to be siblings of some kind."

"Did you mind it?"

"No. Really, I did not. I hope she was not offended by that."

"She's not." I told him, speaking in place of Miss Ives own words. "And she's happy you were able to remain as close friends without expectations."

"I've come to appreciate friendships in all its forms. Romance in all its sweetness has a strange way of leaving someone deeply hurt should it turn sour."

"Miss Ives sees it the same."

He looked at me with consideration. "We speak much about me and Miss Ives, but I've no knowledge of you. Would it be intrusive to ask about your life?"

"I'm not sure what you mean when you talk funny like that."

"Forgive me. What I meant is would you care if I asked some things about you?"

"I guess not."

"Do you live here now?"

"No, I just visit. Miss Ives teaches me when I come. I live with a group of people not far away."

"Well how did you get here on your own?"

"I'm not as helpless as I look." I stated resolutely, pouting at the idea.

"My apologies. It's merely second nature for me to concern over youths. I was once a father long ago."

"Oh…" I said blankly noting the past tense of that statement. "Well it's alright. I get it. I'm a kid and kids don't usually know how to defend themselves against monsters and all that. But I've got a few tricks of my own."

"That's helpful."

"It is! Dead people don't bother me much, anyways. It's living people that are the real danger."

"For some they certainly are. It's fortunate you can defend yourself."

I nodded, far more curious about his relationship with my teacher. "How did you know Miss Ives?"

"We were long-time friends back when she was… when we were both different people." He said somberly. "How do you know Miss Ives?"

"She teaches me."

He looked down at me with a queer expression. "And you can see her now?"

"Yes." I answered. "I know it's hard to believe. I know it's seven kinds of crazy. But it's the truth."

He sighed looking away tiredly as his hand buried in his pockets. "I've been alive a long time. My very existence should be an utter impossibility, and after all that I've seen so far, meeting a medium of your caliber is not the strangest thing I have encountered."

I breathed easily by that. "I can see lots of people who have passed away, but not like her. People are so different when they go. They come to me when they feel like it; they're never just… around. But Miss Ives stays here like she did when she was alive."

"Could you tell her something for me?"

"You can tell her yourself." I told him looking to the place Miss Ives stood. "You might not see or hear her, but she can see and hear you."

"Oh, well… I don't know where to start." Then he looked down at me. "I'm sorry, but now that I think on it, I'm not sure I can speak it all with you standing there. Not to be rude it's just… it's private."

"Oh…" I shuffled my feet, disappointed immediately. Grownups were always having conversations they preferred to not discuss in front of me. I didn't understand why though. Did they think I was too dense to understand, or that it was too violent to discuss around my ears? I couldn't imagine anything that needed to be so screened.

Oh, how naïve I was.

I left when Miss Ives asked me to, lingering around the garden rather than crouched around the next corner to eavesdrop on what John would say to her. She would know if I did that and would scold me for my snooping.

In the following weeks John stayed at the cottage and in no time, became a very good friend and another teacher for me. We wandered the forest together as he taught beside Vanessa though their opinions on certain methods seemed to clash at times with John telling me one thing and Vanessa telling me something different. I felt like the monkey in the middle, translating for an invisible person while they had their argument. But it always ended in good humor. Their bickering was almost endearing.

He'd tell me stories as we walked and recount the "glory of the written word" as he put it. His voice had a way of shushing all sound and was mesmerizing to listen to. Even the birds seemed to hush their songs in favor of joining the worlds he fathomed for a few moments. Vanessa wasn't joking about his interest in poetry. He was a skilled poet through and through.

He was just as accomplished in teaching, too. In fact, there were times when he seemed to know more than Vanessa and suggested several materials of reading to me. Sometimes he asked what I had read so far, or how I liked it, or what my opinions on it were. Some of the stuff felt a little advanced for me, but he nurtured whatever poet lingered in my soul.

Once he asked me to describe the sun to him.

"It's just the sun." I said glancing towards the blinding orb. "It's big and it's bright and it's in the sky."

"Describe it creatively." He urged.

"Like a big light bulb on a wall of blue?"

He looked a bit more insistent. "That's good but try again. Think of what else the sky could look like. Think of a way to describe it like no one has before."

I looked at it, feeling silly but I thought of it anyways. My mind went to the stone and crystal collection back at the cottage and I closed my eyes to better envision it.

"Like… like a… fleck of gold on a sheet of… turquoise?"

John closed his eyes and smiled as he envisioned the picture. "Ah there it is. And the clouds. What do the clouds look like? Try and use the same elements with the minerals as you described."

I glanced at them wondering how to describe them in that context. "Like… like marble—no that's not right. They're like… like bloated giant pearls?"

He opened his eyes and smiled proudly. "They are indeed."

He fed my growing interest in rhymes and words and I found that it helped in the spells I concocted with Vanessa. Sometimes during our down time John would study or write in an old weathered down journal as I read through the numerous books Vanessa had kept, sometimes adding or inventing my own spells and rhymes to it.

I would sit on the floor in the living room and lean against the coffee table, flipping through the Book of Shadows as John lounged in the chair, enwrapped in his own manuscript. Sometimes he'd glance at me and smile and I'd look up to smile back. Those times felt like such dreamlike moments, almost too peaceful to be real for the world we lived in.

In the time when fall began to fade into winter, I finally grew to see him as a kindred spirit.

Sometimes I told him things, secret things that I would never tell anyone else. Around the town, I kept up a clever façade of strength and willpower, like what my dad lived off of, but around John I opened up a bit more, discussing whatever inner turmoil raged through me. Probably because he opened up so much to me already.

We'd walk through the forest, checking the traps and snares while we talked together.

"I say I want to be strong and never get married so I can fight monsters and hunt bears for the rest of my life. I say it so that people won't think I'm… won't think I want anything." I told him one day. "I just don't feel like I can tell them the truth and if I do… I just don't want people to know I want those things. I feel… weak. 'What am I supposed to do with a boyfriend?' I say. I feel strong with myself when I say things like that but really… I can't imagine wanting anything more than to have someone love me in that way."

John sighed, untying the dead rabbit from the snare and resetting it once again. "There was a time when I believed all I wanted was affection like that, sometimes I still do, but in time I've learned to take affection in all its forms, not just in romance. There's nothing wrong with appreciating friendship as just friendship."

There was sadness in his tone and a sharp pang of sympathy struck me with those words. I wasn't clueless; I knew it must have been hard for him to find any sort of willing companion to love him when he'd been conditioned to believe he looked so off-putting and his skin was as cold as chilled marble. "Did you ever… have someone like that?"

He looked up to the sky whimsically. "Well… a few, but most were passing flings. I've shared true intimacy only in another life."

"You deserve a warrior princess," I announced from out of nowhere. "If I ever find one, I'll talk you up to her and tell her she could face battle you!"

"Face battle?"

"It's my way of saying she could kiss you. I think it sounds more impressive."

He smiled weirdly. "That's among one of the strangest and sweetest things anyone has ever said to me. I hope you find someone who will be willing to face battle you as well someday."

I grew sad again by those words. "I don't really know how well that'll work out for me. My choices are so… not many. And everyone is a lot older than me, 'sides the kids in school, and I'm not very impressed with any of them. They're all kind of dumb. I was sort of hoping that if there was ever going to be someone, then they'd be close to my age."

John stopped and I could feel his gaze on me. "Hey," he said gently, trying to catch my attention with his earnest gaze. "The world is still alive. There are other groups and other children out there. You will find someone that's worthy of you."

But his words didn't ease my gloom. I backed up, pressing against a tree as I looked to the ground. "Everyone's always saying that. 'Everything is fine, you'll find someone someday.' Let's face it; I want something that I'm just never going to have."

John's shoulders slackened. "Alright, maybe the world is very bleak at the moment, but that's what they thought back in the dark ages when the black plague swept through most of Europe and killed millions in its wake. People died in the hundreds every day, same as now, but humans figured out a way to beat that and they'll figure out a way to beat this, too. There's still hope. You haven't given up, have you? Otherwise why would you toil so much to provide for your people? Why would you work so hard every day if there was no hope?"

I wasn't sure what to say to that. His words formed a thick lump in my throat and I swallowed as I listened further.

"I've traveled around exponentially." John went on. "I've found dozens of groups and other children near your age. People adapt to their world and life goes on, whether anyone wants it to or not. Whether you, me, or even they want it to."

By those words he pointed behind me and I saw a walker ambling towards us. It was quite a way's off so it hadn't reached the turning zone that seemed to surround me, but it was slowly getting nearer. I stiffened, fearing my secret would be compromised, but then I looked back at John.

This was before Enid knew my secret, before anyone but the dead knew my secret. I looked at him and the weight of such an enormous thing dragged on me.

I had never told anyone such a private dangerous thing about me. Not once. I never breathed such a thing to anyone in town. I was so terrified of Negan finding out and taking me away if such a thing was discovered. This power I had meant that I was special, but that wasn't better. I was alive maybe, but that put me in danger of other terrible things.

But this was John. He wasn't with Negan, he wasn't with anyone. He was by himself. Vanessa even said I could trust him, and I trusted Vanessa. He hadn't raised a hand to me or hurt me or so much as shouted at me in all the time that I knew him.

Even so… could I… tell him?

"John," I began hesitantly, feeling the burn of the tears behind my lids. "Can I… if I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"What kind of secret?"

"A big secret!" I said, tears sparkling in my eyes. "A big, huge, enormous, scary secret that'll mean seven worlds of horrible for me if someone I can't trust finds out."

He looked at me sympathetically, seeing the terror in my reaction. "Is it that frightening for you?"

"Yes! But can I tell you it? Vanessa says I can trust you, but I want you to tell me I can trust you, too!"

I felt him put a hand on my back, trying to ease my dread. Even through my clothes I could feel it heavy and cold, but still gentle somehow. "I want to be worthy of your trust, no doubt." He said to me. "And I would never betray your faith if you were to tell me something in confidence; I swear it. But I want you to feel you can trust me, Judith. That's what matters more than anything."

I looked at him through the drops of water, calmed a little by his words. "I… it's just that, I hear so many stories about my friends and family putting their trust in people that didn't deserve it. People that… people that hurt or killed them and things are so messed up. I don't' know what to do really. But… I think I can trust you. I'm sure I can."

"I'm humbled that you believe I could be someone you would confide in. Not many people think that of me."

I looked down, kicking my boot in the dirt. "Well we've been hanging out this whole time and you haven't done anything to hurt me or anyone else I care about, and you're nice and I think you're a good teacher and give good advice and instructions even if you and Vanessa argue. And I like listening to you, I don't say that about a lot of people but you have a nice voice. It's calming."

John looked totally stunned by those words. Then his face split into a smile, and it might have been my imagination, but I think he even blushed a little.

Then he straightened with a strange determined look on his face, "In the old days of king and country, men and women swore their allegiance to a person, place, or cause. They gave their undying loyalty and when they pledged their vows before god, they risked their everlasting souls were they to break their word." With that announcement, he knelt to my level, "Judith Grimes, I will not rush you to tell me anything you've held as secret, but should you ever confide in me in confidence I vow from this moment till the day I die that I will never reveal what you have told me, not to any man, woman, or creature that lives and breathes and thinks."

I stared at him, disbelief in my whole face. Had he really just pledged his loyalty?

I thought over his words and noticed that, no. He hadn't exactly.

He pledged his secrecy.

Was that enough though? People lied all the time. People stole and cheat and killed. But not John. Not him. Vanessa said I could trust him. And he was so different from other people. His manner was so courteous. His heart was poetic and true. I stared into his yellow eyes like two large ambers on a face of carved salt.

He wasn't like others.

I didn't think I could trust him now.

I knew I could trust him.

As he was kneeling I leaned over to him and whispered in his ear. "They don't come near me."

His eyes drifted towards where I pointed back to the walker. As it fixed its eyes upon me, it stopped, before slowly beginning to turn away. John stared after it and then his eyes swept towards me, a fond smile spread over his face. For some reason, he was unsurprised. Did he already know?

"May I tell you a secret?"

I wasn't sure about that. His response hadn't been anything like what I imagined it would be. That felt suspicious, but curiosity was calling loud to me and I nodded by his question.

He leaned in and whispered, "They don't come near me either."

My eyes went totally wide and my mouth dangled opened, stunned and confused by such words.

"Watch," he said simply.

He got up and followed after the walker, stepping in its path so it could see him clear and alive. It regarded him once, then just pushed around him without so much as gnashing its teeth as his throat. I stared back with my mouth hanging open, completely shocked.

"H-how?" I breathed.

He looked at me, his fond smile still on his face. "Well… that's a very long story."

Present Day

I followed the men to the detention level, where all the prisoners were kept. Somewhere within one of these cells was my uncle Daryl of whom I hadn't seen since the night Negan made him beat me. But I wasn't searching for him at the moment. My only concern at this time was for my old friend as they threw him into a cell and left him there.

I was afraid of guards but I couldn't suppress the force that drew me to him. I wanted to see my friend, I wanted to know if he was okay and what had happened to him since he left. I wanted to know if he remembered me and why he was here now.

Carefully, I tiptoed to his door, making as little noise as possible while I pressed my ear to the metal, wondering what he was doing behind it and imagining his frame as he sat or paced in wait. It was a few minutes as I listened, believing I may have heard his breathing or the quiet mechanical ticking of his clockwork heart. My fist came up and I rapped so softly on the door it was barely audible. But I knew he heard it all the same.

"Are you there then?"

His gentle poetic voice answered my knock and I felt my heart clench at the sound of it. Even in this place, it still carried something like affection; affection for me. It was him without a doubt. If I were blind and couldn't see the marble of his skin or the yellow in his eyes, I'd at least always know his voice.

"I saw you in the yard. You shouldn't be out in the rain. You'll catch a cold."

The way he spoke, it was like no time had passed at all. My eyes burned and a lump formed in my throat as my heart hammered longingly. Could he really be on the other side of this door?

"Hey!" I jumped and turned to see Dwight standing over me. His thumb jabbed to the side, issuing me to leave. "Beat it." He snapped.

Obediently, I rushed away down the hall, not a moment before Simon came around the opposite end, probably there to greet the stranger. Negan couldn't be bothered to do so himself, rare as many travelers were these days, even so. It was probably wise not to, anyways. He was a hated man, many would have loved to get the chance to kill him. So, he'd send his second to deal with any newcomers, in case they happened to be assassins. He was handled to sort them out and see where they fit in best within the fortress.

I remained hidden around a corner, deeply interested to see where this conversation would lead. I couldn't see into the room, but thanks to the hallow empty walls, the echoes at least projected their conversation well enough.

"Alrighty, friend." Simon said, cheerfully.

I hated Simon more than Negan at times.

Not only because he murdered my friend for the stupidest reason and the ghosts of many innocent young men and boys lingered near him quite often, but because he was the biggest kiss-ass in this whole place. He was such a brownnose he had even adopted some kind of bad-tasting impression of Negan—all his arrogance and no charm to be found, just like the man himself. "First off, I'd just like to introduce myself. Name's Simon, I'm the second in command in this place. Can I ask yours?"

"John Clare." I heard him say.

"Looks like we owe a thank you for saving Waylon's ass out there. Now before we get started, I just have a few questions for you. Just the standard get-to-know-you-conversation; you understand I hope? Now where did you come from exactly, John. I can tell by your accent you're a British man, it looks like."

"Yorkshire. Born and raised."

"Not there anymore, I imagine."

"Apparently."

"How'd you get to America. Were you here when the blight hit?"

"No."

"Oh, did some traveling then?"

"I traveled here on a boat about five years ago. I arrived in New York state. Made my way along the coast."

"Did you run into any groups along the way?"

"Yes."

"Mind pointing them out on a map if we got you one?"

"There's not much between here and a hundred miles from the last group I encountered. They weren't particularly friendly. They would not be the kind of people you'd like to cross paths with."

"Oh, I don't believe that." John didn't have any response for that comment so Simon continued. "What made you leave your last group?"

"I never had a group."

"You just said—"

"I met groups. I never stayed with them."

"About how long have you been on your own? You don't look too bad… well in a physique sort of way at least. We found some odd things in the small bag you had. No real supplies on you, or so I heard when they brought you in."

"I had to leave it behind."

"What for?"

"I can't carry an injured man and a backpack. So, I left the backpack behind."

"And I suppose Waylon told you where to go."

"Yes."

"He shouldn't have done that. It was a big no, no. Strangers can't know where our base is. One of our rules, you see. Can't trust anyone out there."

"He was dying. He said there was a doctor here."

"There is. But still, that brings us to a bit of a dilemma. You know where this place is now, and since it looks as though you don't belong to a group at the moment, we'll be generous and let you stay here for a while."

"How kind." But it didn't sound like John thought it was kind at all.

"Now we have a way of doing things around here." Simon explained. "You can be a worker and scrape by a living by earing points to get shit, but if you're strong enough, fast enough and smart enough, you get to be a Savior and live the good life."

There was darkness in John's next words, weighed down with all the baggage he carried through the decades. "I am no one's Savior."

"Then you can work." Simon said simply. "You'll be given a job in the morning. In the meantime, sleep tight. Tomorrow's a busy day."

The conversation looked like it was over and the men filed out of the cell, locking it as they exited. I turned to go before anyone caught me eavesdropping, thinking their conversation over in my head. What did this mean exactly?

John was here now, but why was he here? The last time we saw each other, he told me we would never meet again and I truly believed those words.

So why was he here?

Author's Notes: Well, I finally introduced you to John. I've only been hinting about him for fifty-six chapters. Glad you guys were finally able to meet him.

As always, if you guys have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave a review. I really, really appreciate them.

Hope you all have a great Halloween!

Luv ya lots!