Part-Time Sheriff, Full-Time Paranormal Fanboy

"Sorry—think I'm strokin' out or somethin'." Rick huffed out an incredulous chuckle. "Coulda swore you just said it's Merle."

Daryl nodded. "Y'heard me right. It's Merle. Not some random poltergeist."

Rick turned his gaze on Beth and she froze. She had no idea what to tell the sheriff that could possibly segue into the truth about Merle.

"Here's the real kicker," Daryl went on, as though he were describing a weird TV show he'd recently watched. He jabbed a thumb in Beth's direction and said, "She's the only one who can see 'im. She's a psychic."

Rick's jaw dropped and he gaped at Beth in shock, glancing to Daryl for confirmation and finding it within the Dixon's plain-faced expression.

The sheriff made a squeak of disbelief and repeated, "A psychic?"

"Well," Beth chimed in. "In a way. I have this, uh… Gift. I can see people who've died, an' sometimes they come to me for help. Like Merle."

"Oh," Rick said, furrowing his brow and gazing at her with a look she couldn't quite decipher. He cocked his head to the side. "That sounds more like a medium than a psychic. You can contact The Other Side an' whatnot?"

Beth and Daryl both reeled, sharing a look of surprise at the fact that Rick was being so understanding.

Beth nodded and responded tentatively, "Yeah… an' whatnot. It's kind of a long story."

"Medium, psychic. Whatever," Daryl said. "Merle's been botherin' her fer damn near a week now. He followed us here when we came ta talk earlier. He was the one that pantsed Shane. Prob'ly pulled all them other stunts, too. Just ta fuck with y'all."

"He did," Beth confirmed. "I mean, I didn't know he was doin' it. But he disappeared while we were in here, an' then when we left, he said he scared Walsh and the guy in the holding cell. I wasn't sure if he actually had till we saw those videos; it was definitely him. He said he never liked Shane."

Rick took a moment to process this new information. He looked Beth and Daryl up and down, though all traces of skepticism were gone. He seemed to be trying to comprehend it all and convince himself at this point.

Then he sighed. "Well, never thought I'd say this but… that makes sense." He shrugged. "'Least I ain't gotta call a priest in here, or email those ghost huntin' guys from TV. 'Cause that's what I was about to do." He paused and quirked a brow. "You think Zak Bagans would come out here if I sent him those videos?"

"Who?" Daryl asked, clueless.

"Nevermind," Rick waved it off. "He's prob'ly too high-profile ta come out here—anyway, back to this seein' dead people thing." He focused his intrigued gaze on Beth. "Beth, you've been a medium this whole time? Does yer daddy know you can do that?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "No, he doesn't. And he never will." She gave him a firm look and he nodded in understanding. Then she shrugged and said, "I haven't been seein' ghosts like, the whole time. It's complicated—but Merle showed up a few days ago askin' me for help. He says he can't remember his death, but he knows he didn't kill himself. He wouldn't leave me alone till I tracked Daryl down an' started looking into it."

"Huh," Rick grunted, tongue in cheek as he processed her words. Then he smirked and spoke directly to Daryl, "That makes even more sense. So there was never any anonymous note, huh?"

Beth and Daryl shook their heads.

The sheriff clucked his tongue knowingly and added, "I knew it wasn't just some 'gut feeling.' Yer a pretty bad liar, ya know that?"

"Isn't he, though?" Beth agreed.

Daryl appeared slightly unsettled and redirected the conversation, "So you believe us? Y'don't think we're high or losin' our minds?"

Rick raised his eyebrows and asked very simply, "Are you high?"

"No," Beth and Daryl replied in unison. They exchanged a brief look.

Rick uncrossed his arms and slapped his hands down on his thighs decisively. "Well, that's enough fer me. Doesn't sound like any kinda psychosis I've ever heard of—an' I've dealt with a lotta folks from all parts of the mental spectrum, believe you me."

Daryl had obviously expected a much different reaction from the sheriff. He huffed out a breath of discontent, but Beth found herself smiling and gazing at Rick with a newfound respect.

After all the obstacles they'd hit, as well as the obstacles they were inevitably facing, Rick Grimes believing them was a huge relief. Like a breath of fresh air. She'd been half-expecting him to be just as doubtful as Daryl had been at the start. It was a weight off her shoulders to know she wouldn't have to try and prove herself to another skeptic.

Rick registered the look on Daryl's face and said, "What—you want me ta not believe you? C'mon, Daryl. I know you. We're friends. I trust you just as much as I trust Beth. What reason have you ever given me ta doubt ya?"

Daryl seemed a bit taken aback by this and he glanced away uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "None, I guess." He met Rick's eyes again and shrugged. "Jus' thought it'd be harder ta convince you than this—y'know, with the whole supernatural aspect an' all."

"Well," Rick said, leaning forward in his chair and lowering his voice as though he were revealing a secret. "Not many people know this, 'cause I don't think anybody would really respect a sheriff that believes in ghosts—that could be taken advantage of real quick by some people 'round here, if ya catch my drift."

Beth and Daryl nodded in understanding. You keep my secret and I'll keep yours.

"But hell, I've been a believer ever since I discovered X-Files when I was eight years old," he explained. "I was obsessed with Ghostbusters in middle school. All that paranormal, unexplained stuff has always interested me. I'ono why, just does… And jus' between us? I think there's a helluva lotta shit that most of us normal folk will never understand. Know what I mean?"

Daryl grunted but Beth agreed, "I know exactly what you mean." She couldn't help but smile a little wider at the thought of Sheriff Rick Grimes being a hardcore fan of all things paranormal on the down-low.

"I don't know a whole lot," he admitted. "But me an' Lori watched every single episode of The Ghost Whisperer and Medium when we were still together. An' I still watch all those ghost hunter shows—not the obviously fake ones, though. I never believed that John Edwards guy or any a those other crocks. But there's a couple people out there that're just too damn convincing. I mean, how d'we know that souls don't get stuck on Earth from time to time? Or that they can't speak to us from The Other Side?"

Daryl grunted. "So ya got all yer knowledge from… the Ghostbusters an' a bunch'a TV shows?"

"Hey now," Rick defended himself. "There's always a little truth ta be found in fiction. 'M sure you never thought you'd be dealin' with the ghost of yer dead brother… yet here you are."

Beth smirked and glanced over at Daryl, who still appeared to be in a state of disbelief. She could tell that he'd expected this conversation to be going a lot differently, too. And maybe it was making him suspicious to find it so easy.

But easy was a welcomed relief, in her opinion. They needed to take easy anywhere they could get it.

"It's not exactly like all those shows make it out ta be, though," Beth chimed in, her smile fading as she settled her gaze firmly on Rick.

His blue eyes flickered with renewed interest. "Didn't think it would be. But it sounds awfully familiar—a soul that can't cross over 'cause their murder is unsolved? Reachin' out for help to the first person who can hear 'em? Think I've seen at least a few episodes with a pretty similar premise. Can't tell if this is life imitating art or vise versa."

Beth chuckled, astounded at the sheriff's level of awareness. "You want the whole story?"

Rick's eyebrows were raised and he was staring at Beth and Daryl very expectantly. "If we're gonna solve this, then yeah—I s'pose I might need the whole story."

Beth felt Daryl's eyes on her and she quickly looked over to meet a look of trepidation. She read his expression: The whole story…?

She returned it with a look of her own that very blatantly interpreted to: Maybe not the whole whole story. But the important parts for sure.

He nodded briskly and faced Rick once again. She did the same.

Rick eagerly gestured to the pair of chairs on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat, y'all. Let's start from the beginning."


Beth and Daryl sat side-by-side in front of Rick's desk while the sheriff remained in his seat on the other side, elbows rested on the surface of the desk as he listened intently. Beth did all the talking, of course. Though Daryl nodded and grunted in agreement here and there, adding in his own major details whenever necessary. She didn't get nearly as in depth as she had when she'd been telling Maggie—there were plenty of aspects that didn't need to be elaborated on in order for Rick to get the gist.

She gave a run-down on her Gift, on the weird incidents throughout her life and how the circumstances of her birth had sparked it all; how she'd inherited something that was passed down through generations of Greene's; how her mysterious Gift seemed to take root in the women of her family. She briefly mentioned that Maggie had the same Gift, but it had faded away, even though she'd spoken to a seemingly immortal Witch from Ireland who had foretold Beth's future involving the Dixon brothers. She laid out the bare facts concerning The Veil and The Afterlife and The Other Side, the vague mentions of the Creator and His brother. And how Fate (or Destiny or whatever the hell you wanted to call it) was a fragile and completely unpredictable gamble with morality itself.

Rick nodded along, as though it all made sense. Even though Beth knew it had to sound like some kind of dramatic plot to one of his TV shows. He was enthralled all the same, and seemed downright eager to learn the truth.

She explained how Merle had appeared, how he'd threatened to haunt her father to literal death, how she eventually found out that the fate of Daryl's soul was completely reliant on the fate of Merle's. She summarized their visit to the Swamp Witch and all the things they'd learned, the vision of The Crossroads and Papa Legba that they'd both seen, all the strange advice that Morgan had given them and the scattered puzzle pieces he'd predicted.

She chose to leave out the patricide once again—she felt it would be best if she let Daryl reveal that information at his own discretion. It didn't feel like her place to inform Rick of such a thing. And based on Daryl's expression, he agreed.

By the time she was done and Rick was mostly caught up on their harrowing journey, nearly half an hour had passed. Her throat was sore from talking for so long and her mouth was dry. But she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the expression in Rick's eyes, the crease in his forehead, the thin line that his mouth had formed. He was struggling to take it all in. Nonetheless, he was certainly taking it all in.

He blinked slowly and lifted his elbows from the desk, leaning back in his chair. He glanced back and forth between Beth and Daryl for a moment, then he let out a deep breath.

"Jesus," he muttered. "This shit should be a movie."

Beth and Daryl shared a tense laugh at that. Though they couldn't say they fully disagreed.

"See what we meant?" Beth asked. "We couldn't make this up if we tried. But we still didn't expect you to believe it."

"I sure didn't," Daryl muttered in solidarity. "I watched a whole fuckin' mug a beer fly outta my hand an' smash through a window, an' I still didn't wanna believe it coulda been a ghost. Let alone Merle's ghost."

"Well, I ain't never been the gullible type," Rick said. "But I ain't never been the type ta deny the truth when it was starin' me in the face neither—even if it's somethin' that's a li'l out there."

Thank God for that, Beth thought.

"Not ta mention, it's you two," he said matter-of-factly. "I might have a hard time believin' a story like this from anybody else—but when it's comin' from one of my best friends an' the girl who babysits my kid?" Rick huffed out a sound of indignation. "I'd have ta be stupid not to at least hear y'all out."

Daryl visibly reeled at that, though Beth smiled.

"You have no idea how much that means," she admitted, unable to withhold her deep gratitude for another second.

Daryl was attempting to appear indifferent but appreciative all the same. "Yeah. 'S nice ta know y'don't think we should be locked up in a psych ward after all this."

Rick shrugged nonchalantly and went on, "Y'know, I took a couple religion classes in college." He perked up in his seat just slightly, blue eyes lighting up. "It was fascinating. I studied all kinds'a crazy beliefs, read all sorts'a mythology from dozens of different cultures around the world." He shot Daryl a pointed look. "I don't get all my knowledge from Ghostbusters and TV shows."

Daryl frowned, offering a weak shrug of apology.

Rick turned his focus on Beth and continued, "One'a the things I learned about was Papa Legba."

Beth leaned forward a bit. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He's pretty well-known in a lotta cultures. What you saw at The Crossroads, with Merle… well, it sounded just like all the things I read about him. An' that Swamp Witch you talked to was right—Papa Legba ain't one ta be messed with. Or underestimated."

Beth pursed her lips, a shiver running down her spine.

Daryl grunted and said, "Y'got anythin' we don't know about him?"

"Yeah," Rick laughed lightly. "I do, actually. Did a whole research project on Haitian Voodoo at one point. Doubt it'd be any help in this case, though. I mean, y'already talked to a real expert."

"Shoot," Beth encouraged him. "More information is never a bad thing."

Daryl gave a half-hearted shrug of agreement. "Couldn't hurt ta know more."

Rick paused briefly, mulling over the knowledge he was able to recall. Then he said, "Well, besides what y'already know—how he's a Crossroads demon, a deal-maker, a real stickler with a sick sense of humor…"

Is this Merle or Papa Legba we're talking about? Beth wondered, suppressing a smile at the thought.

"He's also pretty damn reasonable compared to a lotta other deities," Rick drawled. "Uh… let's see, I know some random crap. Probably pointless, but… Well, his day is Monday. His number is three. His colors are red an' black, obviously. Y'all probably noticed that, an' I know I don't gotta tell you 'bout his Hellhounds or his infamous dog symbolism."

Beth nodded along, recalling the unforgettable Hellhounds, as well as the prominent red and black colors that inhabited Papa Legba's appearance.

"Um—oh, the cigarettes he gave Merle don't surprise me, 'cause Papa Legba loves tobacco, so I reckon Merle hit a soft spot there." Rick listed off his numerous retained facts light-heartedly. "He loves rum an' coconut, too. And candy. And keys, fer some reason. An' there's an old tradition of leaving three pennies out for 'im as payment for opening the door to The Other Side." He smirked and added, "Guess he likes small change… Though I s'pose that's a lot cheaper than bargaining a soul."

Beth and Daryl took all of this in, eyes wide in realization. Before they could properly react, Rick was attempting to explain himself.

"See, I know that's all pretty useless information," he insisted. "Who knows if it's even true—I think the tobacco part kinda fits, but I might be graspin' at straws here." Rick put out his hands, openly admitting his ignorance. "Maybe they ain't more'an fun facts."

Beth was struck silent, slowly piecing it all together in her head. Daryl wasn't responding either, but she wasn't sure if it was because he was experiencing a similar thought process or not.

"Hell," Rick went on, his tone heavy with uncertainty as he glanced between the pair. "Fer all we know, everythin' that's recorded in history about demons and The Afterlife an' whatnot is totally misconstrued. All that crap I learned in college could mean nothin' at all… 'Cause from what I've seen, the people who really knew what was goin' on weren't the ones writin' about it."

Beth was immediately reminded of what the Witch of Youghal had told her sister: "Those books were not written by the Gifted; their authors were unable to see past The Veil. Too small-minded to comprehend the complexities of what comes next."

"You said his day is Monday?" Daryl asked.

Beth and Rick both looked at him quizzically.

Rick nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Daryl turned his head and raised his eyebrows, his attention focused on Beth. "Didn't you first come lookin' fer me on Tuesday? An' you said Merle showed up the day before?"

His inference clicked in her head almost immediately and she let out an audible gasp. "He showed up on Monday morning."

Rick's eyes went wide. Daryl appeared satisfied.

Another realization popped into Beth's head and she didn't hesitate to point out, "Papa Legba's number is three… me, Daryl, and Merle make three."

She saw Daryl whipping his head to stare over at her in surprise, but her attention was focused on Rick. The sheriff appeared just as perplexed and stunned. Though they were all exchanging a look of fearful understanding over the next few seconds.

Beth was struck with a memory that she couldn't possibly withhold, breaking the tense silence, "And I saw those damned Hellhounds at the cabin today. Papa Legba's dogs."

"Well that can't be good," Rick muttered.

"Looked like wild dogs ta me. Thought you was seein' things," Daryl added, his gaze set on Beth. She had no choice but to turn and face him as he went on, "But after you blacked out an' saw… whatcha saw… Well, I shoulda known better'an to doubt ya."

She felt her cheeks turning pink and quickly looked away, suppressing a smile. She had to fight the urge to say, "yeah, you should've." He was stubborn, but at least he was coming around. Not even Daryl Dixon could deny what was really going on, no matter how unbelievable it might sound.

"Wait," Rick cut in, squinting across the desk at Beth with his head tilted curiously to the side. "So when y'all went to the cabin—you had a vision while you were there? Or did ya find somethin'?"

"I was right about that bullet hole in the wall," Daryl remarked. "Didn't come from any gun Merle ever owned. I can tell ya that much fer sure."

Rick frowned and his face dropped. "So yer tellin' me… Merle really was murdered?"

"It's gonna sound a little cliché," Beth explained, her voice low. "But y'know in all those shows, how sometimes the psychic will touch something an' get a vision from it?"

Rick nodded, perking up a bit.

"That's what happened," she said. "I touched that bullet hole in the wall an' the next thing I knew, I was standing in that room on the day Merle died. I watched the whole thing play out… I watched Merle get hanged by some guy I've never seen before."

Sheriff Grimes' face had fallen even farther at this point, completely draining of color. There was a deep remorse in his eyes and he glanced away, down at his hands, as he sighed heavily. He shook his head, shoulders slumped with defeat.

"Christ," he mumbled. "I can't believe I let this slip through the cracks… I shoulda known better. I shoulda listened to my instincts the first time."

"Ain't yer fault," Daryl said reassuringly, gazing across the desk at Rick with concern. "I told you not ta look into it. Ya couldn'ta done nothin' even if you'd tried, I wouldn'ta let ya."

Rick slowly raised his head. "Yeah, s' just—"

But his words suddenly registered in Beth's head and she cut him off, "What d'you mean 'the first time?' What'd yer instincts tell you that you ignored?"

Rick swallowed hard and glanced from Beth to Daryl and back again before his gaze settled on the Dixon brother. He appeared wary as he responded, "I didn't wanna say nothin', Daryl. I wasn't tryin' ta make things any harder for ya than they already were. I figured if you didn't see no reason ta look into it, then there was no point pushin' the issue. It'd jus' make it all that much more painful. An' that's the last thing I'd ever wanna do."

"What're you talkin' about?" Daryl asked, eyes narrowed as he grew frustrated. "You tryin' ta say that you knew Merle didn't kill himself?"

"I didn't know," Rick replied. "Not for certain. It was nothin'—nothin' more'an a gut feeling. Cop's intuition, if that's what ya wanna call it. Just felt like there was somethin' more to the whole thing—I was a li'l suspicious about all the circumstances. But there wasn't no evidence… I couldn't open a whole damn investigation based on my intuition, 'specially not when it'd be against the next of kin's wishes."

Daryl was clenching his jaw and glaring at Rick, though he didn't seem to be angry. In fact, he almost looked like he was fighting back tears.

Beth quickly interjected with a question of her own: "What was it? What gave you the feeling that it wasn't a suicide?"

Rick sighed and rolled a hand in the air. "It wasn't nothin' concrete. I just… knew Merle. I knew 'im fer years. We spent a lotta time talkin', between car rides an' overnights in the drunk tank. Well—it was mostly him talking." The sheriff shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "But I'll be damned if he wasn't a man of conviction. He was one'a them folks that don't know when to quit. Stubborn as a goddamn mule an' damn near as smart." He chuckled fondly, as though he were reminiscing about an old friend rather than a man he'd arrested nearly a hundred times.

Daryl grunted out a sound of amusement at that, but his gaze was diverted to his lap, where he was picking at his fingernails nervously. Beth felt a pang of sympathy in her gut and focused on Rick.

"Sounds like you really did know him," she said softly. "'Cause you were right."

Rick smiled. "He tell ya 'bout the first time I arrested him?"

She shook her head.

"I'on't think he was too proud'a that one," Daryl mumbled, still listening while he stared down at his fidgeting hands.

Rick laughed. "Yeah, well I bet he ain't. But it was one helluva first impression."

"What happened?" Beth asked, too curious to resist.

The sheriff leaned back in his desk chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He smiled fondly as he told the story, and Beth could tell by the way he spoke that this was far from the first time this particular tale had been recounted: "It was prob'ly about ten or twelve years ago—Carl was barely outta kindergarten, I was still a deputy. I'd heard about Merle here an' there from the other cops, but I hadn't actually been called out ta deal with him yet. So when I got the call about a possible break-in, it was real late at night. I was one of two deputies workin' graveyard—Shane was clear on the other side of town dealin' with a domestic disturbance. Whoever called said the break-in was still in progress, so I hauled ass out to the edge of town an' found Merle crawlin' out a window. He was high off his ass, half-drunk, tryin' ta run off with a bag full'a God-knows-what—"

Daryl interrupted to say, "Tell 'er what was in the bag."

Rick chuckled and shook his head, waving Daryl off. "Hold on, I'll get there. I always save that part fer last. Anyhow—so I give chase, obviously. I got my taser out, my flashlight, I'm chasin' this asshole fer at least a few yards. But wouldn't ya believe it, he's fast as fuck!" Rick threw his head back and laughed, then went on, "That asshole ran faster than any tweaker I've ever had ta chase. He outran me! By the time I caught up, he'd already found a car parked down the street an' stole it. Wasn't hard since the keys were inside, but still."

Beth's lips were parted and she was listening intently, enthralled and a bit entertained. The corner of her mouth tweaked up into a smile as Rick narrated his memory.

"So I get back ta my cruiser as quick as I can and take off after 'im," the sheriff continued, grinning and suppressing more laughter. "It's a whole fuckin' high-speed pursuit… fer about five minutes. That dumbass stole a car with no gas in the tank. By the time I catch up, I find him stopped out front somebody else's driveway an'—get this—he's tryin' ta siphon gas out of another car." He let out a hearty laugh at that and quickly went on, "So I roll up on 'im, but he spots me real quick an' just takes off. I ended up havin' ta chase him down on foot. That bastard ran fer over a goddamn mile. I thought I was gonna pass out 'fore I could get him in cuffs. But that ain't even the best part: once we retrieved the stolen car, we found the bag he took from that house he broke into… it was all costume jewelry and women's panties."

He and Daryl burst into laughter at that and Beth couldn't help but join in. She was glad Merle wasn't present for this particular story. She was almost certain he'd have more than a few things to say.

"Now, he swore he didn't remember takin' any of that," Rick added, still chuckling. "He claimed he was so fucked-up that he barely even remembered breakin' in. But Shane started callin' him Drag Queen Dixon and, well… he's hated Shane ever since." An amused grin remained plastered to Rick's face.

"That was jus' one reason. Walsh sure as hell ain't the most likeable guy I ever met," Daryl muttered, his smile quickly turning into a frown at the mention of Rick's partner.

Beth looked over at Daryl thoughtfully, taking note of how he constantly defended Merle, even in the most subtle of ways.

She was briefly reminded of Merle's last-minute lies in the final moments of his life, how desperate he'd been to defend his baby brother even if it meant incriminating himself. Maybe the Dixon brothers weren't quite so different, after all. Their relationship was complicated—always had been—but it was simple at its core: no Dixon gets left behind. That's how her relationship with Maggie felt. And every moment that Beth spent with Daryl, she found more and more in common between them.

So why did he have so much trouble understanding why she'd told Maggie about everything? Why had he resisted so much when she'd first come to him with the truth about his brother's demise? Why did he find it so hard to believe that other people could care about him in the same way that he cared about them? Or that he wasn't the only one with a frustrating sibling relationship? Why did he act like he was some kind of human island, like there was no other soul on Earth who could possibly relate to him? Could he not see how much Rick cared? Could he not sense Beth's unwavering support? Could he not interpret his own brother's mixed messages?

Rick shrugged and his grin slowly faded until he was somber-faced once more. He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze from Beth to Daryl.

"The moral of the story," the sheriff concluded solemnly. "Is that Merle wasn't the quittin' type. He always spouted that line, can't nobody kill a Dixon 'cept a Dixon, an' I'll be damned if I didn't grow inclined to believe it. Even if he was talkin' out of his ass… But the way this went down just don't fit. Plain an' simple. As much as I didn't care for the guy, he still deserves justice."

Daryl nodded curtly, head bowed. "Thanks."

"Did'ja happen ta catch the name of Merle's killer?" Rick asked, turning his attention to Beth. "In yer vision?"

Beth sighed. "No. He called himself The Governor."

Rick tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. He paused, frowning. Then he guessed, "Bein' a medium ain't gonna make this much easier… is it?"

Beth and Daryl both shook their heads.

Daryl grumbled out, "Not in the slightest."

to be continued…