Like, Dead Dead? Or Just Dead?

"You sure you don't wanna go to the ER?" Rick asked for the third or fourth time, glancing over at Daryl warily.

"Told you, I'm fine," Daryl snapped, agitated.

They were back in the sheriff's car, driving through Atlanta towards the way they came. Merle was silent and thoughtful in his seat, Daryl was brooding in his, and Rick and Beth were sitting up straight and stiff, still nervous about what they'd just witnessed.

"Daryl, you should really go to the hospital," Beth insisted. "At least stop by Urgent Care, get checked out—"

He whipped his head around and shot her a glare. "You gonna pay for it? 'Cause I ain't got no fuckin' insurance. 'Mnot goin' in there an' waitin' around fer three hours just so they can charge me a couple grand an' lecture me about smokin'."

She snapped her lips shut and sat back, choosing to drop it for now. She tried to tell herself she was being paranoid. It was obviously a warning from Papa Legba, nothing more. But she couldn't shake the intrusive thoughts that had begun filling her head. She couldn't stop thinking, What if it is cancer?

She couldn't go through that again. Not with Daryl. She couldn't sit by and watch it happen to him.

"Relax," Rick said, his voice stern as he spoke to the living Dixon. "She's just worried. And rightfully so. That was pretty damn scary, ya know."

"No shit," Daryl argued. "The demon that my brother sold my soul to sendin' me a warning in the form of nearly fuckin' chokin' me to death? Yeah, scary's an understatement."

Rick frowned. "Well I was 'bout ta radio for an ambulance, so we were both worried. That's all I'm sayin'."

Daryl scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head to gaze out the passenger side window with a scowl. "Y'all are jus' tryin' ta send me into bankruptcy today, ain't ya…"

Rick sighed and Beth rolled her eyes, but they exchanged a look in the rearview mirror and silently agreed that it was probably better to just drop it for now. No point in pissing Daryl off any more than he already was. He would just clam up and shut them out if they kept fussing over him.

Besides, Beth had a feeling that he was more scared than pissed. The more she got to know him, the more she recognized his defense mechanisms. And the one he used most was his rage. Instead of showing his fear, he got angry. It probably made him feel less vulnerable, she guessed. She had to remember that he associated fear with weakness. That was how he'd been raised. It wasn't his fault. Merle was the same way, even in death. It seemed to be something that was ingrained within their personalities.

She couldn't blame Daryl; she was pretty damn terrified right now, too. And she wasn't even the one who'd just hacked up a demon's calling card on a public sidewalk.

There were a few long and loaded moments of silence. The tension inside the car was palpable, everyone lost in their own dreadful thoughts. Even Merle was keeping to himself, and Beth wasn't sure she wanted to know what was going through his head right now. At least he wasn't up and disappearing, though. They might still need his help.

"So that was a… warning?" Rick asked, breaking the silence once they'd exited Atlanta City Limits and entered the freeway.

Daryl merely grunted, refusing to turn and give the sheriff his attention. He was smoking a cigarette out the open window, wind whipping through his shaggy hair.

"Yeah," Beth responded from the backseat. "Papa Legba's gettin' pissed because we're gettin' close."

"And how d'you know that for sure?" Rick asked, occasionally meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. "I mean, not to doubt you or anything, just outta curiosity."

She sighed, the exhaustion evident in her tone. "Well, whenever I had that vision in the evidence room, I saw one of his Hellhounds. I, um—I felt its anger. Then, last night, he talked to me in my dream. Basically warned me not to get too close. I can just… tell he's mad. It's hard to explain, but I can sense it. And there's really only one reason he'd be mad."

Rick hmmed with intrigue. "Because y'all might actually solve this thing an' come out on the winning side of the deal Merle made…?"

"Exactly," she confirmed. "Legba's been lookin' forward to getting Daryl's soul outta this deal, but I think he's realizing that we might actually turn it around on him. And from what we've learned so far, he's kind of a sore loser."

Rick chuckled, shaking his head and gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "Shit. What a rollercoaster we're on."

Daryl grunted unhappily and mumbled, "And we're only just gettin' started."

Merle hmphed and said, "Buncha fuckin' cynical assholes, ain'tcha? We just swindled those dumbasses outta their information like some kinda goddamn heist movie! And y'all wanna be buzzkills after that? Daryl's fine and we got what we needed!" He looked at Beth as though he expected her to repeat his statement for the living to hear. "Can't we look on the bright side for once?"

She sneered at him, giving him a look that said, Now is really not the time.

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, y'all are bummin' me the fuck out."


The drive back to Senoia felt longer than the drive to Atlanta. Though that was most likely due to the heightened tensions and uncomfortable silence within the car.

After about twenty minutes of nothing but the occasional police scanner crackle and a dispatcher's voice here and there, Rick reached over and turned on the civilian radio. Classic country music filled the car at a low volume. And still, no one spoke.

Daryl chain-smoked out the open window, and his dead brother did the same in the backseat. Rick focused on the road, an expression of deep contemplation on his face the whole time. And Beth relaxed in her seat, resting her forehead against the glass of her window and watching the fields and farms and other cars flash by in blurs of colors. Her eyelids drooped and her breathing steadied.

She didn't mean to fall asleep. But it was something she was prone to doing on car trips that lasted longer than thirty minutes, ever since she was a kid. Something about the smooth motion of the vehicle and the hum of the road beneath the tires always lulled her into a state of complete relaxation.

Luckily, as soon as she opened her eyes and found herself staring out at a vast, dark lake, she knew she was asleep.

This wasn't Rick's car, nor was it the Sheriff's Department. This wasn't even Georgia. Daryl was nowhere to be found. She couldn't hear Merle's scratchy voice or sense his presence.

This wasn't a memory or a dream. It was another plane of existence entirely.

Shit.

"You're so eager to return to a place where most would flee," A deep voice spoke, tinted with a Creole accent, filling her ears and sending chills up and down her spine. "Try as you might to fight it, young Visitor, but I have a special place saved for you." He laughed, high and cold. "Far away from the Dixon Brothers. You'll hear their screams of agony in the distance, and you will be incapable of ever reaching them."

Beth blinked and turned, facing the tall dark figure that loomed beside her. She saw his gleaming white teeth, his crimson red eyes. The familiar symbol carved into his face. The skullhead cane gripped between his charcoal black hands. He was handsome. Attractive, even—in a terrifying way.

A breeze, hot as fire, drifted up from the water and ruffled his long trenchcoat, the ends billowing around his legs. It blew through Beth's hair, whipping it off her face and making her neck sweat. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stare up at him, to meet his bright red gaze and his smug smirk. Despite how small and intimidated she felt.

"You know that's not how this is gonna end," she said flatly. Her voice came out louder than she'd expected, but she was grateful for that. She willed all her strength into sounding confident. "I'm not that young, Legba. I'm a grown woman, and I know what I'm capable of. You wouldn't be goin' so far outta your way if you weren't scared."

Papa Legba threw his head back and barked out a loud and malicious laugh, his long dreads tumbling over his shoulders. His hands wrapped around the skullhead of his cane, black-lacquered fingernails glinting in an unseen light. Then he said, with less amusement, "Scared? Your soul may be older than your body, but you are still no more than a child in an adult's playground. I am forever, little one. I've been around since the beginning of Time, and I will remain here far past the end of your measly soul's existence."

He paused, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a vicious half-smile. His eyes flashed from crimson to red. "The day that I feel fear from the likes of you will be the same day that the Creator erases everything He's ever created… You are weak. You may experience a bout of luck every now and then, but in the end? Oh, my dear, you will bow at my feet. You will tremble and beg for a taste of Papa Legba's sweet mercy. Just as all your Visiting ancestors before you have."

Beth stiffened, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She refused to look away, refused to let onto the fact that her entire body was covered in goosebumps and shivering with cold chills. She glared up at him, defiant.

"I am strong," she said. "And so is Daryl. We're already close—we're gonna hold up your stupid deal, but yer not gonna win. You can't lie to me, Legba. You're pissed 'cause we're gettin' close to a solution. And you're makin' it awfully obvious."

Papa Legba laughed again, shaking his head. "You think you know it all, don't you? Papa Legba does not get angry. Nor does he make deals that he knows he cannot win. Merle Dixon is the foundation of your plan, and he will crumble. His precious brother will pay my price… And just to teach you a lesson, you'll pay it, too."

She blinked and swallowed hard, a painful twisting sensation filling her stomach. But she refused to let it show. "You don't own Daryl's soul yet. And you'll never own mine. We'll fulfill your stupid little deal, we'll give you a soul—but it won't be Daryl's."

Legba scoffed. "I don't want anyone else's. I want his. You'll see… Papa Legba always gets what he wants."

Beth narrowed her eyes. "You're a demon. You're notorious for lying. And I don't believe you."

He smirked smugly, wrapping his long fingers tighter around the cane in his hands. "And that is your own mistake. Your puppy love for Daryl Dixon won't save his soul, sunshine girl. Try as you might, but Papa Legba always prevails."

He tilted his chin back and glared down his nose at her, red eyes glowing bright and menacing.

"I will rip him away from you just the same as your beloved mother was taken. You will hurt. You will suffer. And for what?" He chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "For some selfish, ignorant, dead redneck that you were never meant to save in the first place?"

Beth's heart skipped and plummeted down to her feet. She wanted to argue, but she was speechless. Paralyzed with fear.

Papa Legba cackled and waved a black-laquered hand lazily in her direction. "Go on then. Try. Allow yourself to intertwine with this doomed soul. Put all your efforts into saving him from his Fate. But don't forget, no matter what you may do… you were never meant to succeed. This is nothing more than a game for those of us that will eventually be your keepers."

"Fuck you," Beth spat. It was the first thing that popped into her head, and the only thing she could force herself to say.

But it only made the demon laugh harder. Louder. The surface of the lake seemed to ripple from the sound. Another strong breeze picked up.

"Don't get cocksure just yet," he growled, glaring down at her. "I've only just begun playing with you, Sunshine Girl."


"Hey, Beth! Wake the fuck up already!"

Beth jerked awake, bumping her forehead against the glass of the window. She hissed and rubbed her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes and glancing around in confusion. Merle was right next to her, yelling in her ear.

She scowled at him and nudged an elbow to move him away, though it went right through him. He sat back all the same, frowning heavily at her.

"The hell was that?" He asked. "Looked like you was goin' into a goddamn coma. Stay alert, blondie. This ain't the time to be driftin' off to Dreamland."

She sighed and waved him off, sitting up and attempting to blink away the memory of her dream as it swam through her head.

Christ, she'd seen Papa Legba. Again. And this time he'd told her things that… well, that she quite honestly didn't want to repeat. To anyone.

He was just trying to scare her. Because he was angry. She knew. She could tell. He thought he could spook her like he spooked every other mortal he'd ever tortured or haunted or made deals with. He thought she was naive and weak. He thought she was a frightened young girl who was getting in way over her head. He was assuming he could throw her off the trail with a few empty threats and terrifying smiles. He thought he could make her give up.

But he was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

What an idiot, she thought. Typical man, putting on a tough facade and trying to convince me that he's winning because he knows he's losing. Maybe Jadis was right… it's all just a game. Like some demented form of long-term Chess. And we're just the Pawns, ready to be sacrificed for another entertaining play.

"You have another vision? Or a dream?" Merle prodded from the other side of the backseat. Though he wasn't smirking like usual. There was a deep crease in his brow and he was eyeballing her with something that resembled concern. "There somethin' else we should be worried 'bout now, li'l Miss Psychic?"

She watched as they passed a big blue sign that read: Welcome To King County. And a few seconds later, a smaller green sign declared: Senoia 5, Peachtree City 16, and Fayetteville 20.

She let out a deep sigh. Then she looked over at Merle and simply shook her head.

He frowned, displeased, but didn't prod any further. He turned and looked out his window instead, pulling out his pack of smokes and lighting another one up.

Less than ten minutes later, Rick was pulling into the parking lot of the King County Sheriff's Department and parking his cruiser in its usual spot. As soon as the engine was silenced, they all opened their doors and climbed out—except for Merle, of course. The dead Dixon simply disappeared and reappeared several feet away, leaning against the wall next to the door of the building and pulling out his cigarettes.

"Alright," Rick declared, pocketing his keys once the vehicle was locked up. "Let's go find out who this asshole really is."

Daryl grunted in agreement and eagerly followed as the sheriff led the way inside. Beth trailed after them, hugging herself tightly as she struggled to push out the images of Papa Legba that were invading her mind.

Puppy love… She wanted to scoff aloud, but she didn't. She couldn't say anything. There was no way to explain that stupid dream to Daryl or Rick or even Merle. Hell, not even Maggie.

It wasn't fucking "puppy love." It wasn't anything. It was just genuine concern for another human being. For an innocent soul that didn't deserve to be tossed into the fiery pits of Hell. For a friend that she didn't want to let suffer alone.

Well, maybe that's what it had begun as…

No. She shook her head, pushing all those ridiculous thoughts away.

She wanted to help. And Daryl Dixon needed help. Her help. He needed her Gift. So did Merle. She wasn't just doing it for Daryl. She was doing it for both of the Dixon boys.

She was doing it because she had a feeling that Leanne Dixon wasn't too terribly different from Annette Greene, and Beth knew that she would've wanted her children to be safe. To be happy. She would've wanted them to rest easy, even after death, even despite all the mistakes they'd made in their lives. Because that's what her mama would've wanted—for Maggie and Shawn and Beth.

A mother's love is unconditional. Annette had said it a thousand times, and so had Hershel. It was an unquestionable truth. Beth wouldn't let herself forget it. Wouldn't let it die with the mothers who'd loved their children.

No matter what Papa Legba thought. He was wrong. And he was deceitful.

Shit, he was a demon.

She just had to remember that: he was a demon, and he would try any and every method to throw her off the trail. To distract her from her core values. To make her lose sight of what really mattered. To make her doubt herself, to cement her doubt in Merle, and cause her to lose faith in Daryl.

But she wouldn't let him win. Not today. Not ever.

If this was a game, then she wasn't going to be the Pawn. She was gonna be the goddamn Queen.


As they stepped into Rick's office and the sheriff hurried over to his desk, Daryl paused in the doorway and turned back to Beth. He gazed down at her, concern etched into his features.

"Ya alrigh'?" He asked quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.

She nodded, pursing her lips. Then she forced a small smile.

He studied her for a second, uncertain. Finally, he grunted and gently nudged her side with his elbow before turning and walking over the threshold. She followed close behind, looking over as Merle appeared in the corner of the room.

The dead Dixon was watching her, smirking knowingly while his blue eyes flicked back and forth between her and his brother.

She ignored it and took a seat. Daryl plopped down in the seat beside her. Rick was already typing away on his computer, staring at the screen. The Post-It note with The Governor's name scribbled on it was sitting beside the keyboard, and the sheriff glanced down at it once or twice while he typed and clicked away.

It felt like several minutes had passed in silence. Daryl was beginning to let his restlessness show, clucking his tongue loudly and leaning back in his chair, eyes set on Rick from across the desk. Beth wriggled in her seat, hands fidgeting in her lap.

"I know, I know," Rick said, eyes still glued to the computer monitor before him. "I'm just… tryin' ta make sense of this."

"Make sense of what?" Daryl asked, his voice edged with impatience. "We got his name, we know he's got a buddy in prison, what else is there ta make sense of? He not showin' up on yer system or sum'n?"

Rick sighed, clicking his mouse a couple more times. "I think we were right… about him usin' a fake name."

Daryl groaned and Beth tensed up.

"You can't be serious," she said, all of her prior confidence deflating.

"Well, the only thing comin' up for Brian F. Blake," Rick explained, frowning. "Really ain't… helpful."

"What's that mean?" Daryl asked. "Y'gotta elaborate here, man."

Rick shook his head and sighed, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He hesitated, slowly opening his eyes and meeting Beth and Daryl's expectant gazes.

"According to all available public records," he said flatly. "Brian F. Blake has been dead for almost forty years."

Merle guffawed loudly, inexplicably amused by this information. Meanwhile, Beth and Daryl were staring back at Rick, jaws slack and faces disbelieving.

"Shut up," Daryl said.

"No, I'm serious," Rick insisted, taking on a slightly apologetic tone. "I searched everywhere, and he's dead. Served in the military, had a driver's license, no criminal record, lived in Senoia. Died a year after he got back from his first Tour."

"He's… dead?" Beth sputtered. "Like… really dead?"

Rick nodded. "Super dead."

"How?" She burst out. "How'd he die?"

Rick shrugged and turned his attention back to the computer monitor, clicking the mouse a few more times and tapping some keys on the keyboard. His eyebrows rose and he let out a low whistle.

"You find it?" Daryl asked impatiently.

"Yeah," Rick confirmed. "Says he… committed suicide. No foul play suspected."

Merle barked out a laugh. "What a fuckin' joke! No way this is real. Am I on Punk'd right now?" He threw out his hands and looked around comically. "Where the hell you hidin', Ashton Kutcher?!"

Beth ignored him and focused on Daryl and Rick, her expression closely matched to theirs. Disbelief. Bewilderment. Disappointment.

An idea popped into her head, spurred by something Rick had said back in Atlanta. And she voiced it: "So did he have family? Somebody close to him that could be using his identity?"

Rick's eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. Merle chuckled like it was a stupid idea. But Daryl made a grunt of agreement, and the sheriff was already rushing to type in another search, clicking the mouse and narrowing his eyes at the screen.

Tap tap tap. Click click click. A grumble of discontent. A few more taps and clicks.

Then he smiled.

"Beth," he said. "I'm startin' to think yer pretty damn cut out for this solvin' mysteries thing."

She exchanged a quizzical look with Daryl and opened her mouth to question what the sheriff meant. But then Rick was turning his computer monitor around so they could see it.

"The late Brian Blake only has one living relative left: his brother."

A photo and a long list of information was displayed on the screen. Beth gasped when she realized it was The Governor; all blue-green eyes and messy brown hair and angry, hardened face. Almost exactly as she remembered him from the visions.

And right beneath his photo, in bold black letters, was his real name:

Philip M. Blake

to be continued…