Carpenter, Chef, Chauffeur and a Cop

The Cop

"I am... I was…" he replied.

"Well either you are or you aren't a cop, Rick, so which is it?"

"I was... back in Atlanta, but not anymore."

"So what are you now?"

"Just a guy living on a beautiful island learning to appreciate life," he replied as though his answer should have been obvious to me.

God, his non-answers can be so damn infuriating. This was the man who thoroughly enjoyed the gossip my mother spilled about me, but prefers to keep his personal life off limits. Hell, he learned more about me in less than ten minutes than I knew about him after living with him for three weeks.

"Rick, can you stop with the bullshit already?

He seemed surprised by my language, but I didn't care.

"Michonne, it's not bullshit... In the three weeks since you've lived with me, have I ever once gotten up and gone off to work?"

He was right, but I had no idea what he did with his days beyond helping folks or riding the waves when I was off doing my own thing. There were also some nights when he stayed out fairly late or all night because he wasn't home by the time I went to bed, on said occasions, I figured he was out taking care of his needs. It happened when I first moved in and we were just trying to get acclimated to another person in our space. It also happened again after the backyard incident, when he wouldn't look me in the eye.

For all I know, his late nights were probably due to the fact that he was seeing a married woman on the side. It wasn't exactly a wise thing for him to do being that he wasn't a local and it could only end badly for him. Then again, what did it matter what he did anyway? Poor woman, she had to be a Saint or the next best thing to it because it was frustrating as hell living with him. Maybe she already knew this and decided it was better to settle for dessert instead of the full meal. Smart woman, indeed.

I didn't feel uncomfortable in his presence, actually, it was quite the opposite and I was beginning to resent it because he had the upper hand, he knew my secrets or some of them thanks to my mother's big mouth.

My rational mind knew he would never hurt me because the man who not only charms my mother and invites her to visit wasn't about to hurt her daughter. But how much did I really know about Rick? There was this chasm between us and he seems unwilling to bridge the divide.

In the past twenty-four hours, however, I became his main focus, his pet project if you will, but how long before the storm had he been tracking me?

Now that I know Rick was… is or whatever the hell his status was as a cop, it was blatantly obvious; he listens a lot but volunteers little to nothing at all about himself.

Rick Grimes was a collector of information and wherever he went he constantly surveyed his environment. At first, I thought it was a peculiar tick of his, but now it makes perfect sense to me. You see, like him, I'm a watcher of things, people, nature and such... always waiting for that perfect shot. It's the reason why I know there's more to him than meets the eye. There was something behind the pain, which he tries so valiantly to hide.

My little obsession with his face meant I've taken countless photos of him, some of which he allowed and a whole lot he didn't. Those candid moments were especially favourites of mine.

There was one particular shot I took when he was telling me about his day on the courts playing basketball with the children; he began so animated then there was a fleeting moment in time when he froze. There was a flicker... a recognition of something, perhaps déjà vu … he stopped speaking altogether. His clear blue eyes had that far away look, his features changed ever so slightly, and for an instant, there was pain there and his eyes became sad. It was fleeting, but somehow I managed to capture that moment… that's the Rick Grimes I would like to know, but he slammed the door shut almost as quickly as it opened, he shuddered as if a chill went through him from someone stepping over his grave.

I was never meant to witness something so personal to him. I longed to ask him about that day, but instead, I asked, "How long?"

"What?" he responded seemingly confused by my line of questioning.

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Since you arrived." He said, seemingly relieved after revealing his little secret. I waited for him to expand on it, but nothing… nada.

"Why?"

"I told you why. Plus, Jerry asked me to keep an eye on the place whenever you take off. According to the plan, you were scheduled to go island hopping again for a few weeks, were you not?"

My surprise must have shown, he raised his as though challenging me to dispute it. When I was negotiating my rent, I vaguely mentioned my intent to keep my base on Sugar Hill Road while visiting the other islands from time to time. My family were the only people to know my exact itinerary for obvious reasons. However, as it stands now, it would not surprise me if he also knew my social security number at this point.

"What makes you think that I'm in danger? Like you said, I've been island hopping for four months without incident."

"Michonne, everyone's luck runs out sooner or later. That said, however, I'm happy you made it here without incident, but you are still in the target demographic."

"How many women have gone missing from there?"

"Only one to date, back when it all began. Montserrat is fairly small, so for that reason, it's believed that he lives there, but hunts elsewhere. The woman he took from there is believed to be a one-off of sorts… a compulsion he just couldn't resist."

"How long have you been down here, Rick?"

"Just shy of a year."

"So, what makes you think he'll take another girl from there?"

"All depends whether or not he can control his compulsion to not shit where he eats."

"And just how do I fit into this demographic you mentioned?"

In the past eight weeks, only six females between the ages of twenty and thirty-five came through customs alone; that is, without a partner or without a group. The five others have since left the island."

"Isn't somewhat illegal? You know…. to be sharing that kind of information on visitors who pose no threat whatsoever, especially when there's no proof of some discernible pattern or criminal behaviour? There's potentially one disappearance, but no proof of the body or request for ransom."

"Things don't work as they do back home, Michonne. A blind eye is turned to protect the women, the last thing anyone wants is for it to get out the island isn't safe, then that affects its economy. The Hunter, that's what they've dubbed him, believes he's flying under the radar there, so he will strike again. He's bound to because his hunting grounds are too hot right now and he's accelerating. The last abduction occurred eight weeks ago and before that, it was ten."

He spoke with such conviction, he was fooling himself into thinking he was no longer a cop. He was very much still an active member of law enforcement even if he was semi-retired, or whatever the case may be. How could he not see that? It coursed through his veins it was his raison d'être.

"Sounds to me like you're still very much a cop, Rick." His body shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't like the conversation's new direction.

"I hang out with the local guys, so I hear thangs and sometimes we talk shop, but no… I can assure you that I'm no longer an active member of a police force." He added as he got up from the table where we sat on the balcony and brought the dishes inside to the kitchen. It was his way of escaping an argument, but we weren't nearly done talking. He had answers and I was going to get them.

I got up from the table and followed him, "Why are you here Rick, I meaning hiding out on a little island in the middle of the Caribbean? If anonymity is what you seek, then you're certainly going about it the wrong way, aren't you?"

"Seems to me, I can ask you the very same question, Michonne. What was so bad back home to make you check out of your life there and hop from one island to another for you to find yourself smack in the middle of this mess?"

"No… you don't get to ask questions anymore, Rick. It's my turn, one phone call with my mother and you have intimate details about my life. I've lived with you for three weeks and I still don't know anything meaningful about you other than the fact you were a cop." I said to his back as he continues to scrape the remnants from the dishes into the garbage.

His silence was maddening,

After placing the dishes into the sink, he washed his hands and dried them with the towel he took from over his shoulder.

He slowly turns to face me with his back against the sink. His eyes danced with mischief. He wore a smirk. He taunts me, "I would beg to differ, Michonne Alexandria. You know a whole lot more about me than most people do," he added, "for instance, you know that I like my coffee hot and black. You know I was born in King County but grew up in Atlanta. You know I like using my hands…" he said as he took a step towards me his blue eyes a darker shade than normal, "for instance you also know I love to cook too. I love to cook for you because you appreciate food, you don't pick at it like most women do."

He was so close now I could smell his musk mingled with the fresh scent of his soap. God, I hate him. He was toying with me and my body's betraying me because it has been a while.

"You also know that I spend a great deal of time helping out neighbours however I can," he added grabbing a chair from the nearby table for me to sit down, something I refused to do, so we remained where we were and had a staring match as he continues to prattle on.

"You most definitely know that I hate being photographed, but I humour you, all I ask is that you don't post my picture online. You know that I love the beach because I spend a great deal of time there with you when you're not off on some guided tour with a bunch of strangers. I'm a simple man, Michonne. I don't ask for much… no heavy maintenance here."

So, Rick Grimes had words? Fuck, he was hot even when frustrated. Why did we have this effect on one another?

His eyes bore into me as he lists all the many little things I already knew about him, meanwhile adding nothing of substance whatsoever.

Something struck his funny bone, however, because he laughs, "Are you seriously mad at me for trying to keep you safe, or is it because you think Marianne may have let the cat out of the bag?"

Shots were fired on both fronts.

He struck the nail on the head, combed his fingers through his soft silky curls and exhaled sharply. The pulse at his temple was throbbing. He was waiting for a reaction from me.

Naturally, I fired back, "That may be so, but who's Rick Grimes and what made him come here? They say it takes a certain kind to recognize their flaw in another. Well, I know what made me run, Rick, but, do you even know why you're running and going nowhere fast?"

I struck a nerve. His complexion begins to change a slight flush starts to surface, but he masked his irritation beautifully with his deflection.

"We came here for a consultation, or did you forget that?"

"No… I didn't but thanks for reminding me. I did tell you that you didn't have to come, but you insisted." I spat back at him turned and slowly made my way to the first bedroom down the hall. We were staying in a suite, which was his idea because he didn't believe we should be separated. This two steps forward four steps back was beginning to wear my nerves raw.

Personally, I think the more distance we create between us would make for the ideal solution. His mood swings ran hot and cold around me. He was confusing the hell out of me and I was done playing Rachel Marron to his Frank Farmer. I didn't need a bodyguard.

Entering the room I slammed the door shut and locked it and stood there, frustrated.

How the hell did this happen? When did a stupid crush turn into something else?

I was angry at myself for allowing him to get under my skin the way he did. It went without saying living in such close quarters with him was definitely not a good idea.

"Shit!" I heard him say as slams something himself. Minutes later, he was knocking on my door.

"Michonne, look... I'm sorry, okay? Can we please talk about it?"

I ignored him and walked over to the bed. There was no point in changing because I planned on making the first ferry back Montserrat, so I called and cancelled my flight and booked a place on the ferry instead.

...

Early the next morning, I went to the front desk paid the bill and asked the Clerk, Noah, to call me a taxi. Twenty minutes later, when I went back inside there was a sign, it said ring for service, which I did except no one came.

I swore the moment I got my hands on a phone, I would definitely be leaving a review.

I returned outside to see none other than Mr. Grimes waiting in the rental car with a big grin on his face, which explains poor Noah's absence. He had no doubt ratted me out.

"Can I offer you a lift somewhere?"

God, I hate his smugness. He no doubt figured out I would cancel my flight. Naturally, being a southern gentleman he was outside of the vehicle before I could even process my next move, but I still wasn't about to talk to him. I managed to get myself in the vehicle and we drove to the ferry in complete silence except for the background noise offered by the radio.

"Da fuck?" he said. Something was wrong, there was smoke coming from the backyard.

Eleven o'clock that morning we pulled up on the road just outside the house instead of into the driveway. He kills the engine, looks at me while unbuckling his seatbelt. My eyes followed his towards the smoke.

"Michonne, I know you're still pissed at me, but for the love of god, will you please stay in the truck while I check this out?"

I simply looked at him but said nothing.

"You're hurt and someone's possibly inside. I can't protect you this way. Don't follow me," he said taking his flip phone from his pocket and passing it to me.

Before leaving the truck, however, he reaches over opens the glove compartment. He retrieves his gun. His eyes locked onto mine which revealed the pure shock from his actions. I'm not even sure why I'm surprised at this given that I know he's a cop. One who seems to believe that he's given up that life.

He got out of the vehicle and stuck the gun in the back of his jeans adjusting his polo shirt to conceal it. He slammed the car door shut, pissed though I'm not sure who vexed him more, me or the intruder. He walked into the yard then disappears behind the house.

Nothing made sense. We had only been gone for a day, but it seems some brazen stranger not only broke into the house but was acting as though he or she lived there. The person was also in the process of preparing to cook on the grill.

...

It had been ten minutes since Rick left me with instructions not to follow him. There were no gunshots so both he and the intruder were obviously alive as no one tried fleeing from the house. This fact makes me believe the intruder had to be known to him. Why else would Rick fail to come back to signal the property was clear or perhaps he was taken out by surprise, the latter I found hard to believe.

Naturally, I had to see what the hell was going on for myself. I walked up the driveway and using my key, I went through the front door and heard two voices. It was exactly as I thought, they're buddies or were.

...

"Now, you wouldn't shoot a man in the back would you, brother?"

"All depends, a man has the right to protect his property. You're trespassing."

"I'm makin' myself at home. Ain't doin' nothin' I wouldn't do back in Atlanta, except there… there was always a key under the flowerpot."

"Exactly. You're breaking and entering, Shane."

"How do you figure that, bruh? The mat said welcome."

"Well, that's only if you were invited which you were not. How the hell did you find me, anyway?"

"Ouch, bruh. If I was a lesser man I might have been hurt by that remark. How else, Eugene worked his magic on some photo he found on Instagram… you know the metadata shit if I know... long story short I came here yesterday afternoon, but you and the missus were gone."

Seriously Shane, put somethin' on… ain't no tellin' how soon before Michonne walks through the damn front door."

"You're afraid she might change her mind about you?"

"It's one thing to have a dick but being a dick is a completely different thing altogether."

"You got it bad for her don't you? I got to admit, personally, I thought she'd be more my speed because she's way outta your league, bruh."

"She's off limits to you, Shane… I'm serious."

"Well, if it's like that of course. I take it she knows about Lori, right? Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Get some clothes on while I tend the grill, will yah?"

"I see it's like that, huh? Just how long do you think she'll hang around if you don't work on that shit brother? You wanna blame someone, huh? Blame me for fuck sake. I'm the reason why you weren't there. It wasn't your fault, Rick and carrying that cross won't bring 'em back neither."

"Fuck off, Shane get some clothes on before Michonne walks in here to find you like this."

"This Michonne chick has really gotten under your skin, hasn't she? That honey must be really sweet."

"SHANE, I'm warning you…"

I had heard enough, so I slammed the front door shut. This Shane sounds like a real arse, but thanks to him I knew a little more than I did before about the famous Rick Grimes, the one everyone on the island held in such high esteem.