Chapter One: Confusion
The sunlight peeked through the curtains, beaming down on Rick's face causing him to turn onto his side. Rick snuggled his head in the pillow wanting to go back to sleep, he scooted closer to the middle of the bed and put his arms around the figure next to him. Rick was pleasantly surprised that Michonne was still in bed, usually she was up before dawn, getting herself ready and fixing breakfast. It was an extremely domesticated routine that Michonne insisted on making a regular occurrence, "I use to pride myself on being able to make breakfast for Andre and Mike before going to my office," she said. Rick was glad she still in bed though, he snuggled up against her chest and match his breathing to her steady heartbeat. Minutes passed, but sleep never came again, Rick groaned knowing that he had no choice but to force himself up. He had a whole day of preparing a coordinated attack between his group, Paul's group of fighters and the new guy's group—Ezekiel and his "kingdom" had agreed to fight alongside them two nights ago—against Negan. The thought of Negan was the motivation Rick needed, yawning he closed his eyes and moved Michonne so that she was closer to him, if he had to get up, she did too. Rick kissed her neck and noticed Michonne smelled different, yet the scent itself was familiar.
"Michonne, wake up," he said mumbling in her ear.
"Who's Michonne?" Rick's eyes flew open, he sat up in the bed and looked at the woman that was obviously not Michonne. Rick's heart began to beat faster, his anxiety raised, immediately his surroundings became clear to him.
The bed he was in was much softer, the room bigger, on the opposite side facing him was once a closet wardrobe, now there was a wide dark brown dresser with a TV on top. Rick's hands were shaking as he tried to control his breathing, he's woken up before in strange places, but this was unlike before—the room was familiar to Rick, a room he forgotten a long time ago. The voice that spoken made him feel like he was losing his mind again, the voice that belonged to his dead wife; Lori.
"Who's Michonne?" She asked again, this time Lori sat up with Rick. Placing her hand on Rick's shoulder, Rick jerked from the touch, he couldn't look at her because she wasn't real, she couldn't be real. He quickly left the bed and faced what he believed to be an illusion.
"You're not real," he whispered under his breath, nervously he looked to his left and quirked his head to the side. On the nightstand were pictures he hadn't seen in two years; his father and grandfather with a 12-year-old version of him in the middle holding up what he had thought was the world's largest catfish. He remembered wanting to take it home so that his mother could make fried catfish that night, his grandfather refuted his efforts telling a young Rick, "a fish that big is old, son. No matter how well your ma cooks that thang, it'll be too salty and full of some real nasty stuff. You understand?" There were other pictures as well—Carl, Lori and their Golden Shepard Lucy; another one of grandpa Grimes and Grandma Eileen—two faces that he lost before the ZA. Except for the face that was leaving the bed and walking his direction, clad in blue pajama bottoms and a white tank top; her tall slim form came closer to him, part of her brown hair was falling out of her top knot and her brown eyes looked worried.
"Rick, look at me." Her arms reached out to him, Rick recoiled and stepped back, bumping into the loveseat. Losing his balance he fell on the table beside it causing it to fall as well. Rick forced himself to look at her, the woman he lost a year ago, the woman that haunted him for weeks after her death.
"STAY BACK!" Rick was shouting, he didn't mean to be loud, but frustration creeped up on him. He thought he was better, he thought he had healed, there was no need for her to be here, and he had Michonne. "You're dead, please stay back." He was pleading now as Lori kneeled down, she grabbed his arm, Rick held his breath, her touch was warm, her touch felt real. Lori scooted closer and then touch his face, cupped his chin and ran her hands through his hair.
"Baby, I'm right here. I am very real," she took his hand into hers and guided it to her face. She felt so real, her skin was soft under his fingers. He studied her features, waiting for them to decay, waiting for her to disappear and him be back in the room he shares with Michonne. But as the seconds passed, none of those things happen.
"I…" Rick swallowed, "I had a nightmare," he lied. He brought both hands to his head, there was tension in the middle of his forehead, and he rubbed it a bit trying to stop his headache.
"You want to tell me about it?"
Rick looked at Lori, where would he even start, the walkers—dead people coming back to life to feed on the living—her being devour by one of those things, or the fact Carl shot her to prevent her from turning.
"No, not really." He got up, sat the table upright. Lori got up with him, her arms were crossed and she still had a worrisome expression on her face.
"I'll give you a moment," she said. Rick nodded his hand in gratitude, Lori turned away from him and walked out the door.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Rick ran over and locked it. Rubbing his face it became clearer to him that he might not be having another mental break. The bedroom he was standing in was the same bedroom he and Lori shared for eight years. The same fake sunflowers sat on top of the window sill with the same ugly brown curtains that hung on the window. In his mind it had been years since he's been in this room.
Rick stepped into the bathroom, turning on the light, he stood at the doorway shaking because of the image in the mirror. Last night his brown tresses were neck length, he was graying at the temples and he was letting his beard grow out despite Michonne's protests. Now as he stumble towards the mirror, his hair was neatly cut, beard gone, but more puzzling was the fullness of his face. Even his eyes lacked the hardness that he so often saw in the mornings. Rick pulled up his shirt and turned his back partially, the gunshot wound that put him in a coma was not there. He frantically scanned over his arms and torso, there were no signs of the abuse he and sometimes others inflicted on his body nor the aches and soreness that use to linger for days.
Rick sat on the edge of the tub and placed his head into his hands. This couldn't have been just a dream? He remembered waking up in a hospital full of dead people and the emotions he felt when he found Carl and Lori. He vividly remembered going mad with grief when he saw Carl and… wait. Rick pinched his forehead trying to remember who was with Carl and where were they the day Lori died. In his mind he saw Carl holding a Beretta with the homemade suppressor he made himself, and next to Carl was a figure with no face, no shape to it, he couldn't tell if it was a man or woman. Rick recalled falling on the ground in shock, but he couldn't tell where they were; a hospital? No. Woods? No, that-that wasn't it.
His memories were fast forwarding and then rewinding through his mind, too many blurred faces, empty rooms, and darkness. Rick pounded on his head, got up and knocked over toiletries that were on the counter sink, and paced in a circle until he sat down on the floor with his back against the door. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he rested his head on top of them and slowly breathe in and then out. He thought of decaying bodies and his machete cutting through them. Carl smiling on a train track, "we always share," he says, reaching out his hand which held one half of a candy bar. Brown hands grabbed the candy from his hand, "you're right. Fork it over," she says smiling. Rick used his finger to wipe tears that were clouding his eyes. He closed them and brought himself back to their room; seated he watched himself remove her top, kiss her dark nipples and pulled her onto him. Rick stood over them as they made love, he watched her cling to him, eyes closed and lips opened.
"I love you Rick," she whispered.
Rick opened his eyes. Still in the bathroom.
It was real; that happened, Rick decided.
. . .
After taking a shower, he saw on the bed his police uniform. He hadn't seen or worn it since..., Rick sighed at his inability to remember the when, where and how. Once the uniform was on, Rick walked down the stairs, stopping by the full length mirror that was at the bottom. Once again he got a real good look at the "old" Rick. Long time, no see, Officer Friendly.
"Rick, you gotta eat something before you go to work," Lori yelled from the kitchen. Rick abruptly took a step back when he saw Carl sitting at the table chomping down on a bowl of cereal and reading what appeared to be a comic.
"Carl?" Rick stared at him wide-eyed, yesterday Carl was a teen going through a growth spurt, today he was Rick's little boy again, eleven, and free from the trauma he had suffered. Rick at one time mourned the loss of Carl's innocence, wishing Carl could have the happiness his younger self was displaying at this moment, nonchalantly kicking his legs under the table as he craned his neck to read a comic, spilling milk at the same time.
"Carl?" Rick repeated.
"Morning dad," Carl smiled at his father and went back to reading. Rick sat down on the opposite side of Carl, Lori was washing dishes. Carl looked back over at his father and pushed over the box of cereal. Rick noticed that Carl also didn't have any of the scars that he accumulated during the apocalypse, and the most noticeable difference was that Carl still had both his eyes.
"You have any strange dreams last night?" Rick could see Lori turn her head towards them from the corner of his eye.
"I don't really remember my dreams."
"Do you feel… different today?" Carl stopped kicking his legs and pondered his dad's question.
"Yeah." Rick perked up in his chair and leaned over the table. Maybe, Carl too remember the world going to Hell.
"Yesterday I was sad because Mrs. Johnson gave us extra homework." Carl's answer confounded Rick. "But, today, I'm happy. Mom said I could go over Patrick's house, afterschool."
"Aye," Lori piped into Rick's view, grabbing Carl's now empty bowl and spoon. "We need to get a move on, bud. Go upstairs and get your book bag." Carl left the table and ran up the stairs. "And so do you," she said to Rick. Rick looked up at her, there was anger in her eyes that he didn't understand as to why.
"Yeah," he said getting up from the table.
"What was that with Carl?"
"It was nothing." Lori placed the dishes in the sink and stood in front of Rick. She rubbed her hands through her hair and sighed.
"It wasn't nothing. Why were you asking Carl if he had a dream?"
Rick shook his head, trying to find a way to explain to Lori that he wasn't sure if the room they were standing in was even real.
"SPEAK RICK," Lori put her hand over her mouth, surprised at how loudly she spoke. "Sorry, but I can't take you not communicating with me."
"I had a horrible dream. I'm still freaking out from it, Lori."
"Wow, was that so hard," she said sarcastically. Lori started to walk out the room, but Rick grabbed her arm, stopping her.
"You died. In my dream you are dead. I mourned you, I grieved for you. The world went to shit and you were gone. So waking up and seeing you alive and well is a little jarring. Forgive me." Rick released her arm, he watched her shock expression turn into disbelief.
"Maybe, it's a sign that your focus should be on your family?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Rick was about done with this conversation. There had been too many times to count that he silently negotiated with God that he would give up whatever He wanted to have Lori back. And now, God finally agreed to Rick's terms at a time when he had moved on. Rick didn't know whether to show gratitude or curse at the sky.
"I feel like you don't care about us. Me, Carl. You're just here, but not. Here." Rick got closer to Lori.
"Don't you ever question my love for you after everythang… everythang I've been through to keep you both safe."
"What?" Lori chuckled, "In your dream?" she shook her head, "Rick that never happened, if it wasn't your work keeping you away, now it's this."
"Dad?" Lori turned around and Rick looked behind her to see Carl standing there at the entranceway. "Shane's outside." Lori put her hand on her forehead, Rick could tell she felt guilt that Carl most likely overheard their conversation because Rick was feeling guilty as well. Rick stooped down to Carl's level and held his arms out.
"Come here," Carl wrapped his arms around Rick's torso as Rick lifted Carl into a big bear hug and giving him a kiss on the forehead. "I love you, ok," he said putting Carl back down. Carl nodded and grabbed his comic from the kitchen table. Rick turned to Lori and despite the tension, he gave her a kiss on the cheek as well. Lori gave a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, there was more she wanted to say, he knew, but that would have to wait.
Rick walked towards the front door and grabbed his Sheriff's hat and jacket, opening the door, he looked behind him one last time as Lori hurriedly got herself ready to drive Carl to school, and Carl, now sitting on the couch was engrossed in his comic.
Rick walked out the door to see Shane leaning on his car, talking to whoever on his phone. Shane looked up and waved at Rick; Rick felt a growing sense of hostility towards the man he calls his best friend. How did you die, Shane and why can't I remember? CRASH! A sound of something flying into a window made Rick duck and look behind him. The windows to his house were still intact, Rick turned and saw himself and a bald Shane fighting on the ground. Shane was on top of Rick punching him over and over. When did this happen? The other Rick shoved Shane off of him and struggled to get up. Rick watched as Shane grabbed a wench and threw it at Rick. Both Ricks ducked, the real Rick turned again to see where the wench flew to, but the only thing he saw was his front door. Rick turned around and fell backwards, Shane stood in front of him, bleeding from his nose, eyes vacant and bloodshot. Rick recognized that look all too well, Shane was now a walker.
Rick scrambled backwards and pulled out his Python and aimed it at Shane's head. BANG. The shot didn't come from Rick's gun, Rick looked behind him and saw Carl with his gun still smoking. Rick shook his head, hoping it would force his memories to be coherent. When he open his eyes, there was no walker Shane, instead a very much alive Shane was still talking on his cell and Rick was still standing on his front stoop.
"Look, I'll be there in five minutes. All you need to do is hand me my shit when I step through that door," Rick walked up to Shane, catching the last bits of Shane's conversation before he hung up the phone.
"Trouble?"
"Bad breakup," Shane responded.
"Have you ever had a good breakup?" Rick placed his jacket and hat in the backseat of the patrol car. He hadn't been outside for five minutes and the Georgia summer heat was already causing him to sweat.
"That one time in fifth grade. You remember Stacy Childs?"
"No. I don't remember much lately. You mind I drive today?" Rick gestured at the car keys in Shane's hand which Shane proceeded to give to him.
"Man, you remember Stacy. She was the biggest girl in our class." Rick got into the patrol car while Shane walk to the passenger side. "Anyway," he says getting into the car, "our breakup was great. I wrote her a note, it said 'Let's be friends.' I stuck it in her locker and she never talked to me again." Shane grinned and Rick chuckled as he put the car into reverse.
"That's a good breakup? Unbelievable."
"Sure was. Hey, drive over to Jenny's Doughnuts."
"Bit of a cliché, don't you think?"
"Ha! Nah I need to get my house keys from this girl."
"Okay, what's the story behind this one?"
"I never met a woman who knew how to turn off a light. They're born thinking the switch only goes one way—on." Rick looked over at Shane, he half-nodded, he had a sense in his mind that he heard say this before. "I mean every woman I ever let have a key—I swear to God, it's like I come home, house all lit up." Shane made wild gestures with his hands as he continued his spiel, "And my job, you see, apparently—because my chromosomes happen to be different—is I've then gotta walk through that house, turn off every single light this chick left on."
Rick tried to find amusement from Shane's speech, but he was distracted by the scenery as he drove down the streets of his hometown. When he woke from his coma, most of the streets were deserted, houses and cars were abandoned. The people that were now walking about, some waving at Rick as he drove by, most of them were gone or dead when he had woke from his coma.
"Then—the same chick, mind you—she'll bitch about global warming. You see, this is—this is when Reverend Shane wants to quote from the Guy Gospel and say, 'darling, maybe you and every other pair of boobs on this planet just figure out the light switch, you see, goes both ways, maybe we wouldn't have so much global warming.'"
Incredulous, Rick looked at Shane who was still grinning, "You say that?"
"Yeah, well, a polite version." Rick laughed at Shane's mischievous expression, "Still, man, that earns me this look of loathing you would not believe. You sound just like my damn father!" Shane lowers his voice and mimics a person possess. "Always yelling about the power bill, telling me to turn off the damn lights!"
Rick turned into the parking lot of Jenny's. "What did you say to that?"
"I wanted to say, 'bitch you mean to tell me you've been hearing this your entire life and you are still too damn stupid to learn how to turn off a switch." Rick's eyebrows raised, Shane started laughing, "Yeah, I went with the—I went with the polite version there too."
Rick nods and switches the gear to 'park.' He stared at a young black mother, cradling her toddler daughter. He heard them laughing as they walked to their car.
"You okay?"
"Yea," Rick sighed.
"Bad morning?"
"Yea, bad morning."
"So, how's it with Lori, man?" Rick turned to Shane who was looking at him expectantly. Shane and Lori. "You gonna kill me in cold blood? Screw my wife? Have my children—MY CHILDREN—call you daddy? Is that what you want?" Those words echoed in Rick's head, his words, he looked down at his hands, trying to remember more. "I may have failed to amuse with my sermon. But I did try. The least you can do is—is speak," said Shane. Rick glowered at Shane, feeling anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. Why do I want to kick your teeth in? Shane on the other hand looked concerned.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, "You should probably get those keys," Rick suggested. Shane nodded in agreement, just as he was about to step out, the police scanner broke the tension.
Dispatcher: ALL AVAILABLE UNITS, HIGH-SPEED PURSUIT IN PROGRESS. LINDEN COUNTY UNITS REQUEST LOCAL ASSISTANCE. HIGHWAY 18 EASTBOUND. GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-14-3. ADVISE EXTREME CAUTION. SUSPECTS ARE TWO MALE CAUCASIONS. BE ADVISED THEY HAVE FIRED UPON POLICE OFFICERS. ONE LINDEN COUNTY OFFICER IS WOUNDED.
"That's us," said Shane, sitting back down in his seat, closing the door and putting on his hat and gloves.
"That's us." It's like riding a bike, Rick thought, this was no longer the time to dwell on the fact that he was a cop again, doing cop stuff. Rick put the gear back in drive, did a U-turn in the parking lot and headed for the scene.
. . .
Rick and Shane pulled up alongside another patrol car, getting out, they hurried to their trunk and pulled out the spike strips. Quickly they laid out the spikes in the middle of the road and ran back to their positions. Rick kneeled behind the hood of his car and got out his Colt Python. You're the only thing that hasn't changed on me. Rick inspected his gun and checked the chamber to make sure it was full. Shane got into position behind him with his 12 gauge shotgun. To the side, were fellow officers Lambert Kendal and Leon Basset. Lambert was a fifteen year veteran on the force, a friendly yet stern man. His partner, rookie Leon was excitedly chatting alongside him, Leon was fresh out of the academy, and Rick would often wonder how he graduated. Not only was Leon inexperience, but he seemed to have moments of idiocy which is why veteran Lambert had the misfortune of being his partner. Shane lacked the patience and Rick needed a partner he could trust.
"Maybe we can get on one of those police shows," Leon said as they waited.
"You need to stay focus. Make sure your chamber is full of rounds and your safety is off," Rick responded, rolling his eyes. The headache from earlier in the day was back, sweat tricked down his face, stinging his eyes. Rick wiped the sweat from his eyes. This happened before. I got shot here, Rick thought. Rick began to realize that he knew what was going to happen, with bated breath, Rick waited for the suspects to come speeding towards them.
No sooner had he thought that, a beat down blue Oldsmobile came barreling down the road with two other police cars behind it, sirens blaring and signaling to the four officers that it was showtime. Shane cocked his shotgun and Leon double checked his gun. Rick knew there were three men instead of the two that was reported, he knew that as soon as they crashed, one would start shooting. The Oldsmobile finally reach the spikes and as Rick remembered, flipped several times off the road and stopped on its back in the ditch. Breaking protocol, Rick ran towards the car, just as the first suspect, an older guy—blood streaming down his face from the crash-crawled out of the car.
"RICK!" Rick could hear Shane yelling after him, kicking the gun from the man's reach, Rick pointed his python at the man's head.
"TURN ON YOUR STOMACH, NOW!" Rick yelled. Ignoring Rick's instructions, the man tried to reach for the gun Rick kicked away. Rick kicked the man in his face with such force he could feel the man's jaw break on his boot. Shane ran towards Rick and the suspect as Rick put his knee on the man's back. Before Shane could reach Rick, the second suspect, a plumped fellow, popped out of the other side with a sawed-off shot gun in hand. A bit startled, Rick immediately calmed himself, stood up and as the man aimed his weapon at Shane, Rick shot him square in the temple.
"Handcuff him," Rick said to Shane pointing at the first suspect on the ground. Shane, momentarily watched in amazement and confusion at how quickly Rick reacted. Rick slowly walked over to the side of the vehicle, the man he shot laid dead, blood spilling from the bullet wound in his head. Rick knew there was one more person; the third suspect that had shot him. With his gun held out, he walked over to the dead body and kicked the shot gun away then bent over to inspect the front of the car and backseat. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw a long-haired man scrunch in the backseat of the car, aiming his gun at him. Right before the man shot at him, Rick hurled himself out of the way.
"Fuck," Rick muttered, the third man scrambled out of the backseat and began shooting at Rick and the other officers making Rick roll to the front of the car.
"GUN, GUN, GUN!" An officer yelled.
Rick could see from his peripheral vision, Shane shooting at the gunman. Rick could also hear gunshots from the road. Getting in a crouching position, Rick poked his head up and saw the gunman taking shots to the body until he dropped to the ground.
"OFFICER DOWN, OFFICER DOWN," Lambert yelled. Rick instinctually checked his torso, not a single bullet penetrated his vest.
"Come on man, Leon's down," said Shane. Rick began running behind Shane to where the young rookie was laying on the ground. Lambert was applying pressure to Leon's chest; Rick could see Leon's blood staining his white undershirt red.
"Leon, you idiot! He's not wearing his vest. That third guy came out of nowhere," Lambert said, he was frantically trying to contain the blood that was pouring through his fingers. Rick looked in shock, the headache came back, pounding, and causing so much pain that Rick fell to his knees. He tried to shake it off, but his vision started darkening until it felt like he was slipping away.
Meanwhile at Atlanta Municipal Court
"Order in the court!" The judge banged on his desk with his gavel, demanding for those in attendance to sit back down in their seats. There were a small group of lawyers and bailiffs crowded around the fallen woman who was slowly coming back into consciousness.
To be continued.
Author's Note: I would like to give credit to Frank Darabont who wrote 'Days Gone By,' some of his dialogue (Shane's speech) was used for this story purposes.