A Little Patricide Never Killed Anybody
Beth and Daryl sat in the corner of the bar, at a small table situated next to the big glass window near the front door. They uneasily stared across the table at each other. Merle posted up behind her, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't seem at all pleased with the circumstances, though he remained silent for the most part (thankfully), and clearly he understood that there weren't many options available so it was best to just stand back and help where he could. She also knew that he was eager to answer whatever questions it might take in order to bring his little brother over to their cause, so he would be more cooperative than usual. For now.
It was yet another time where Beth was glad he was dead and lacked the power to intervene. Otherwise he would've messed this whole thing up already. Though admittedly, his snide remarks and obscene comments were rarely resourceful in any way. She was learning to wade through his bullshit and pick out the important parts of what he said in order to get to the point. Sometimes he actually had something useful to say, but he always found a way to word it that made her want to ignore him entirely.
The more she learned about tolerating Merle, the more she empathized with Daryl; this guy had been dealing with an ignorant asshole of a big brother all his life, it was no wonder he was rough around the edges and full of distrust. She just needed to figure out how to work around those little flaws while taking his point-of-view into consideration.
They sat in awkward silence for several minutes. He ordered a beer and she ordered a water. She handed over her ID and debit card while he hunched in his seat and stroked the graying hairs of his goatee. Merle was chuckling softly behind her and mumbling something that she didn't want to hear. She tuned him out for the moment and forced a stiff smile, locking eyes with the last living Dixon. She was waiting for him to speak but he just kept chewing on the inside of his cheek and eyeing her suspiciously. To the point that her nerves were on end and every muscle in her body was tense. She glanced away every few seconds and worried her lower lip, picking at her fingernails under the table.
Was he going to start asking questions or what?
"Jesus, this is hard t'watch," Merle muttered, clicking his tongue and chuckling coldly. "Fuckin' say something already. Break the goddamn ice, blondie. Ain't that difficult."
She bit back a retort and kept her eyes on Daryl. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then the waitress reappeared to deliver their drinks. Once he had a full mug of cold beer before him, he seemed to relax a bit. His hand finally left his chin to wrap around the damp glass and grasp tightly.
Nervously, she reached out and wrapped both hands around her water glass before lifting it and bringing it up to her lips to sip tentatively. She ended up gulping down half the glass in one go, setting it down and letting out a breath of relief. She hadn't realized her mouth was so goddamn dry.
Daryl smirked and leaned back in his chair. He took a long swig of beer and licked his lips afterward. Every second of silence made Beth feel more self conscious. She tried to still her racing heart while maintaining eye contact across the table. His fingers wrapped tighter around the glass as he set it back down. His azure eyes were narrowed and focused completely on her.
She wanted to believe that he could see right through her, yet he was totally ignorant of Merle's presence. So maybe he couldn't see so much after all. Maybe he was just looking for a reason to call her a liar.
"Um, so d'you wanna start with your… questions?" She asked uncertainly. Her voice came out weaker and higher-pitched than she intended.
Daryl leaned forward and rested his elbows atop the table, his eyes still unflinchingly locked on her. "Yeah, here's my firs' one: what're you tryin'a get outta this?"
Beth frowned, stricken silent for a moment. Then she shook her head and replied, "Nothing. I don't want anything from you. I wouldn't have even bothered you if Merle weren't so insistent."
Merle scoffed from behind her and grumbled under his breath.
"Uh-huh," Daryl grunted. "So he jus' made you come an' talk ta me and you had no say in the matter. Even though he's dead."
She sighed. "Yeah. I know it sounds like total bullshit, but I couldn't make this up if I tried. Trust me. He might be dead, but he can still… do things. My dad isn't in the best health and his heart isn't the strongest anymore. If Merle really wanted to, he could like… haunt us."
"What, like a poltergeist or summin'?"
"Yeah, exactly like a poltergeist. He got really upset and broke a mirror in my bedroom last night. I tried to ignore him but if he gets mad enough, he can… lash out. And my daddy's an old-fashioned God-fearing man. He might be able ta brush the weird stuff off for a while but eventually, he wouldn't be able to handle it."
"Right, right. Makes sense," Daryl mumbled, though his tone was laced with sarcasm. "I mean, it's only logical."
Beth shook her head and took another swig of water, a tireless effort to dampen the cotton inside her mouth. She gazed across the table with a stern and foreboding expression, trying her hardest to express just how serious the situation was. But how could she turn a skeptic into a believer with one conversation?
Merle remained silent behind her, though she could hear the snickers and quiet mumblings of amusement. She was the one in charge for the time being and she intended to take full advantage of that fact. He could go ahead and keep his mouth shut until she needed him to talk. Step one meant convincing Daryl that she wasn't a junkie or a schizo or a liar, which meant telling him everything she knew and letting him decide if some random woman would really make it all up for no discernible reason other than to get his attention.
"He literally told me he'd haunt my dad to death if I didn't help him," Beth said. "Why would I make that up?"
A crease formed in Daryl's brow but he quickly replied, "I'ono. Some kinda long con. Couldn't tell ya why anybody does the shit they do. Never made any sense to me, still doesn't."
She sighed. "Seems like kind of a weird thing ta lie about, don'tcha think?"
He shrugged and took a swig of beer. "Yeah. People are weird."
"Right, well," she said with exasperation, raising her eyebrows and looking down at the glass of water. She spoke with resignation, letting all the words that she wished she could've said to nearly every person she'd come into contact with throughout the day pour from her mouth: "I have better things ta do, ya know. But here I am. I spent all day driving around Atlanta an' talking to every religious person I could find. None of them could hear him, most of 'em told me that he's just a demon in disguise. I talked to a psychic and all she did was take forty bucks an' give me some stupid spiel about God and Satan being brothers - she couldn't hear Merle either, not even when he was screaming in her ear. And then some kid stopped me in front of the psychic's shop an' gave me a weird map and… told me ta find you."
At that, she glanced up and met Daryl's curious gaze.
"Told ya to find me?" He repeated skeptically. "What - by name?"
She shook her head, frowning. "No. But I think he could see Merle. He said somethin' about a Swamp Witch 'foreseeing' my visit. But he said it has to be a pair of living visitors. So I can't go alone."
"Ah, there it is," Daryl smirked and leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at her knowingly. "So yer tryin'a get me to a second location. Want me ta go somewhere unfamiliar with ya. Fer what? So you can rob me? 'S there somebody waitin' ta jump me or somethin'?"
Beth gave him an incredulous look. "What? No, I - "
"Yer really fuckin' this one up, sweetcheeks," Merle mumbled from behind her. She could feel her face turning bright red.
"Yeah, whatever this is, I ain't fallin' for it," Daryl said.
She huffed out a breath and shook her head. "This isn't about any of that. I don't know you, I didn't know your brother, I don't have any ill intentions. I'm just as confused as you are, I promise. Maybe more so."
He furrowed his brow and grunted, taking a leisurely sip of beer before speaking again. "Well I ain't fuckin' goin' nowhere with you. How 'bout that? You can sit here an' buy me beer after beer and I still ain't goin' nowhere 'cept back home. So ya might as well save yer breath."
"That's fine," she insisted. "I already knew I couldn't make you do anything you didn't wanna do and I had a pretty good idea of how hard it would be to convince you. From the way Merle talked, all you Dixons are the same: stubborn and bullheaded an' too damn scared of change to do anything with yourselves, too pissed off at the world ta trust anybody that isn't your blood."
Daryl blinked and pursed his lips. His face had gone pale.
"An' I'm startin' to think he was right," she went on. "But that doesn't mean you can't still hear me out and decide for yerself if there's any questions you want answers to… while you still have the chance."
"The hell kinda questions you think I could have?" He growled, sneering across the table at her with his hand wrapped tightly around his beer. "My whole family's dead - dead an' gone. There is no chance I still got. That's it. End of story. Ain't nothin' after death 'cept a cold box in the ground. Or a pretty ceramic urn. I don't wanna know shit else past what I already knew my whole goddamn life."
Beth reflexively wanted to argue but Merle's voice stopped her before she could even start.
"How 'bout that life insurance plan that Pa took out 'fore the fire? You was askin' me 'bout that shit damn near every time we got blackout drunk."
She whipped her head around in surprise and looked up at Merle. She didn't care that Daryl was watching her. She said, "He probably doesn't even remember asking you about it."
"Oh, he does," Merle sucked his teeth knowingly. "A drunk mouth speaks a sober mind, blondie. Ain't yer lush of a daddy ever told ya that?"
She looked back over at Daryl to find him staring at her quizzically. She cleared her throat awkwardly.
He asked, disgruntled, "Yer really seein' an' talkin' ta somebody that ain't there, huh? Maybe you need some psychiatric help, girl."
Beth almost laughed. "If only it were that simple." Then she paused and picked at her fingernails, struggling to meet his eyes as she said, "He said that every time you guys got blackout drunk, you would ask him about the life insurance plan that your dad took out right before the fire…"
Daryl's brow furrowed and something passed over his face that she didn't recognize. She could see his fingers tightening around the mug in his hand while his jaw clenched at the same time. He narrowed his eyes.
"Everybody knows my piece a shit pa got lucky with the insurance payout," he growled. "That ain't a question I've ever had."
"Yeah," Merle said, his voice flat and cold and full of resentment. "An' everybody also knows ol' Will Dixon wasn't ever the type ta put money into insurance. Fucker never even insured his truck. Why the hell would he pay fer such a fat plan on somebody that wasn't no more'an a punching bag?"
Beth lifted her eyebrows and prodded gently, "Merle says your dad never even had insurance on his truck, so why would he pay for such a big insurance plan on his wife?"
"An' only six months 'fore the fire that killed 'er? Sure, Darylina, tell yerself whatever you gotta to sleep at night. But you an' I both know that was the biggest load a horseshit Pa ever fed us."
"And he said it was only six months before the fire that… killed her. And that you know just as well as he does that your dad was full of crap," she repeated. She kept her gaze locked on Daryl's, watching the range of emotions cross his face and brighten his blue eyes.
It was almost painful to watch: the mixture of realization and confusion that brewed in his expression, the complete discontent and the way he was obviously questioning everything he'd ever known inside his head. Yet she couldn't help but feel hopeful. He was listening. She was getting through to him - thanks to Merle.
(That was something she definitely never thought she'd say.)
Then the rage appeared and Daryl growled through clenched teeth, "You think you fuckin' know my family? You better watch yer goddamn mouth, princess. I'ono where yer gettin' this shit, but - "
"From Merle," she cut him off, insistent. "I'm not telling you anything except what Merle is saying. Obviously he knows something you don't, so maybe you should listen."
He scowled. "I ain't listenin' ta these fuckin' lies yer spoutin' off. You ain't gonna convince me a shit by usin' the easiest thing there is ta get my attention. I'm not a fuckin' idiot." He took an angry swig of beer.
"I don't think you're an idiot, Daryl," Beth said.
"Nah, he's an idiot," Merle quipped. "'S alright. Dropped him on 'is head a few times when 'e was a baby. Prob'ly explains part of it. My bad." He chuckled coldly.
"You wanna come in here, start talkin' ta me 'bout my dead brother an' tellin' me that my mama's death was somethin' more'an it was," Daryl said. "Sounds like a pathetic fuckin' persuasion tactic to me. An' it ain't workin'."
"Jesus Christ," Merle sighed. "Alrigh', I guess you was right, blondie. Maybe this won't be as easy as I thought. Didn't realize my baby brother was such a stubborn li'l peckerhead."
Beth might've relished in the fact that Merle had admitted she was right but she had no desire for that at the moment. She felt like she was losing her last chance and she simply couldn't allow that to happen.
She glanced back at Merle and asked expectantly, "Well - any more suggestions?"
"Yeah, here's one," Daryl quipped. "You fuck off back home an' don't ever bother me again."
Beth shot him a glare and snapped, "I wasn't talking to you."
He scoffed and took a long swig of beer with a look of indignation on his face. And Merle sighed deeply, all the arrogance disappearing from his tone.
"Shit," he muttered, beginning to sound defeated. "Just… alrigh', blondie. No questions. You just repeat what I tell ya. Got it?"
She rolled her eyes but nodded. "Sure, whatever."
"Sure what?" Daryl asked.
"Merle has something he wants me to tell you - I'm not supposed to ask questions. Just repeat it," she explained.
Daryl quirked a brow and frowned but remained silent.
"I, uh…" Merle hesitated and he sounded more unsure than she'd ever heard him. His voice lowered and he said, "Pa killed 'er. He put somethin' in her drinks that night to make her sleep hard an' once she passed out, he set the fire. Made it look like it was her own fault... You wasn't supposed ta make it outta there neither. Pa had the whole goddamn thing planned out."
Beth opened her mouth to speak but the words froze and caught in her throat. The realization of what Merle was saying hit her like a ton of bricks. She stared across the table at Daryl, speechless.
"What?" Daryl finally asked after a long and tense silence, Beth's lips still parted but unable to speak. "What's he tellin' you?" He could see the distraught look on her face.
Tears began to pool in her eyes and her stomach was in painful knots. She kept picturing an 8-year-old Daryl, small and innocent and defenseless and attached to his mama's hip, and the absolute monster of a father that had created him and tried to destroy him all the same. A child, for God's sake.
She swallowed hard and a tear escaped to roll down her cheek. Her voice came out weak and pitiful. "I… I don't wanna say it."
Merle piped up behind her, "You have to! Tell 'im! Tell 'im the truth, Beth. 'Cause I got a whole lot fuckin' more where that came from."
There was a long pause, like a beat full of tension that seemed to go on forever. Then Daryl's scowl deepened and Beth tried to prepare herself - tried to work out in her head how she could possibly drop such a bomb on a man she literally just met.
"Just fuckin' say it," Daryl said impatiently. "Not like I'm gonna believe ya anyway."
"He says that, but once 'e hears it, 'sgonna be a whole different story," Merle muttered.
Beth swallowed past a knot in her throat and wiped away the teardrop that had rolled down her cheek. She hesitated, Daryl glaring at her the whole time.
"He said…" She paused, taking a deep calming breath and clearing her throat in order to speak clearly. "He said your dad gave your mom something to make her sleep really hard that night. And then he set the fire and... made it look like her own fault."
Daryl's face fell and the disbelief in his eyes was no longer doubtful of her words - it was more like he was beginning to question everything he'd been told throughout his life. Or maybe like the things she was saying were filling his empty spots a little too well. He leaned forward a bit, lips parted and brow furrowed.
"Merle - he said," she went on, hesitating once more but forcing herself to push the words out. "Um… you were supposed to be there. Your dad… wanted you to die in that fire, too. He had it all planned out." By the time she finished, her voice was no more than a shaky whisper. Her chest ached with a loss that was not her own.
All the color had drained from Daryl's face and he stared across the table at her, dumbfounded. But something was darkening in his azure eyes and his shoulders were tensing, nostrils flaring. He glanced over toward the spot where Beth had been looking when she'd talked to Merle, as if he might catch a glimpse of the dead Dixon brother. Then he pursed his lips and huffed out an angry sigh through his nose.
Before Beth could comprehend what was happening, Daryl shoved his chair back and stood up, nearly knocking the table over in his haste. His anger was so palpable that it radiated off of him in waves - much like Merle's had the night before.
"I gotta take a piss," he grumbled before stomping off toward the bathroom.
She didn't turn her head to watch him go. Her hands were trembling and she was fighting back more tears. She wasn't sure what she'd just done by relaying this information to him but she could sense that it wasn't good. She could only hope it hadn't screwed everything up.
"See? Told ya that'd get through to 'im," Merle commented, suddenly appearing in Daryl's empty chair across the table.
Beth frowned and gave him a look of doubt. "I think we just pissed him off. He's probably gonna leave and never talk to me again."
Merle waved a hand dismissively, though he didn't appear nearly as confident as usual and she definitely noticed. "Yeah, yeah. He'll throw 'is little bitchfit an' then he'll cool down an' come beggin' fer more answers. He's been like that fer as long as he's been able ta talk. Always throwin' tantrums. I told ya he's sensitive."
"I just told him that his dad murdered his mom and tried to murder him, too," Beth said indignantly. "I'd be throwin' a tantrum too if some random stranger told me something like that. You couldn't have at least given me a heads up?"
Merle shrugged, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "No. 'S between me an' him. Ain't yer problem, princess."
"Except you've kinda made it my problem," she snapped. "None of this is between you two anymore - I'm stuck in the middle here."
He rolled his eyes. "Ever heard a 'don't shoot the messenger?'"
"Yeah well, you might wanna tell your brother that. 'Cause right now, I'm pretty sure he wants ta wring my neck. He probably thinks I'm making it all up."
"How could you make this shit up?"
"That's what I said. But he's just as frickin' stubborn as you are."
Merle chuckled and grinned proudly. "'Course 'e is. He's a Dixon, sweetheart."
She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She hunched over the table and tried to piece everything together in her head. Without looking up, she asked, "What else are you gonna tell 'im? This would go a lot smoother if I could be prepared for the next traumatizing bomb yer gonna have me drop on him."
"Don't worry about it. You jus' repeat what I tell ya an' try not to let those female emotions fuck it up too much."
She was about to argue but then Merle disappeared and reappeared behind her. "Here 'e comes. An' he still looks pissy so ya best prepare yerself, blondie."
It'd be a lot easier if you'd help prepare me, asshole, she thought, biting her tongue and sitting up straight.
Sure enough, Daryl whisked past her and reclaimed his seat across the table. He was still tense and scowling, and he immediately grabbed his beer and chugged the remaining liquid before slamming it down on the table and belching loudly. Beth scrunched her nose in disgust but didn't say anything. She watched him, trying to interpret his body language and gauge his level of rage. The fury seemed to have subsided for the time being, but she could tell that he was teetering on the brink of lashing out.
He waved over a waitress and ordered another beer, still not speaking to Beth. Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his vest and shook one out into his open palm. She couldn't help but notice how his motions so vividly mirrored Merle's. He lit up and took a long drag, holding it in. And when he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he leaned forward and rested his elbows atop the table, narrowed eyes locked on hers while the cigarette burned between his fingers. She tried to still her racing heart but it was useless. His gaze was so intense that she thought she might crumble beneath it.
"So what the hell else did this asshole keep from me?" He asked, his voice low and gruff.
"I - I'm not sure. He says it's between you two and no one else," she answered meekly.
He grunted and took another drag from his cigarette.
"How 'bout this," Merle piped up. "They never caught the guy who opened Pa's throat. Ain't that somethin'? All those suspects they wasted time arresting an' the guy who actually did it wasn't even questioned."
Beth furrowed her brow in confusion and glanced back at Merle. "So you know who did it and Daryl doesn't?"
"Alrigh', this is fuckin' weird," Daryl cut in. She turned her head to look over at him again and he said, "You really expect me to believe yer sittin' there gettin' all this shit from the ghost of my dumbass dead brother?"
"Hey, I ain't no dumbass!" Merle cried defensively.
"No, I don't expect you to believe it," she assured Daryl, ignoring his brother behind her. "But if there's anything I've learned about Merle, it's that he won't shut up until I do what he wants. Or at least till I try."
"Well ya look like a fuckin' psycho talkin' ta somebody that ain't there - an' talkin' about me like 'mnot sittin' right here."
"I know how crazy I look, but I can't help it. Sometimes I have to ask him what the hell he means. He gets a kick out of irritating me - and humiliating me. 'S like some kinda sick game."
Merle chuckled at that and she shook her head, glancing back at him and glaring scornfully.
Daryl hmphed and ashed his cigarette, mumbling something that sounded like, "Yeah, that's Merle for ya..."
Beth gave Merle an expectant look, urging him to go on and explain himself despite the interruption.
He coughed and shrugged nonchalantly, averting his gaze away from hers. "Yeah, 'course I know who killed Pa," he explained. "But Daryl don't. So who's the dumbass now?"
She sighed and turned back to face Daryl. She was hesitant in relaying this new information, completely unsure of where it could be leading. She didn't really want to piss Daryl off any more and end up causing some kind of scene. But she didn't have a choice. Besides, if this was her chance to prove that she wasn't just some lunatic talking to an imaginary friend, she had to take advantage.
His new beer arrived and she waited until the waitress had walked away and he'd taken a hearty drink. Then Beth spoke: "He said they never caught the guy who killed your dad. And he says it's weird because, out of all the people they arrested, they never questioned the guy who actually did it."
Daryl's mouth fell open and he appeared a bit dumbfounded. "So Merle knew who it was, huh?" He scowled. "An' how the hell would he know?"
She glanced back at Merle uneasily and saw that he was staring down at his boots thoughtfully. Then he raised his head and flashed her a cocky smirk, and as she turned her head to meet Daryl's gaze again, Merle told her what to say:
"I killed that fuckin' asshole. I used his favorite hunting knife an' I cut his fuckin' throat wide open - oh boy, did he squeal. Died like the little bitch he was. Useless fucker got blood all over m'good boots, ruined 'em - but I'd've done it a second time, if I could've. Felt fuckin' good ta give 'im what he had comin'. Hell, I'd kill that piece'a shit a thousand times over if I could!"
He let out a long, cold laugh full of satisfaction and arrogance. A chill ran down Beth's spine and she could feel the blood draining from her face. Daryl's expression grew more confused at the sight of her reaction.
"You gotta be shittin' me," she breathed out - directed more towards Merle than anyone else.
"What? Spit it out," Daryl demanded impatiently.
She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, licking her lips and trying to gather the words in her head. Then she locked eyes with Daryl and repeated what Merle had said as plainly as she could manage:
"Merle killed him. He cut your dad's throat and watched him die… And he-he says he'd do it a thousand times over if he could."
She braced herself for another furious outburst. But it never came. Daryl blinked in astonishment as the cigarette between his fingers burned and the smoke curled up and around his face.
Then he smirked.
Merle started laughing menacingly behind her. "Tell 'im I took that ugly ass statue, too. And all the crystal."
She repeated uncertainly, "He - he said he took that 'ugly statue,' too. And all the 'crystal.'"
Something lit up in Daryl's eyes at that statement. It sent a burst of hope through her chest.
Could it really be… was he believing her?
to be continued...
