A Song of Self-Doubting Ghosts and Single Older Men

Beth stopped at the house just long enough to grab her phone and shove it into her pocket before joining Glenn and Maggie out at the stables. She offered to help them finish up with putting out fresh hay, mucking out the stalls, and brushing down the horses. They helped her forget about her little argument with Shawn by talking about life in the city and their wedding plans. And once they'd finished, they invited Beth to join them on their ride. But she declined and told them to have fun, because she had some work to finish before Rick and Daryl were due to pick her up.

She spent the next few hours making her usual rounds, the feeling of guilt growing heavier with each new task she started once she realized that the work had been falling on her brother and the other farmhands for the last week. Otis might've had enough time to cover Beth's chores and then some, which he never seemed to mind, but without him, it was like being short almost two whole workers. She really needed to figure out how to balance both aspects of her life. At least for the time being—while she was trying to hunt down a murderer and keep an innocent soul out of Hell.

She didn't realize her phone had vibrated inside her pocket until she was taking a quick bathroom break, half an hour after the text message from Daryl arrived. It read:

Think Merle was haunting my place this morning.

Beth quickly texted back, "Uh oh. Why do you think that?"

He replied almost immediately: Woke up pretty early and found the TV on, credits rolling. My roommate never leaves it on and I know it wasn't the kid cuz she doesn't watch Game of Thrones.

Beth couldn't help but laugh out loud. She typed out a response while smiling to herself, "And Merle does? Lol"

Yup. He never got around to watching the last season tho.

She rolled her eyes, still smirking, and texted back, "Well let's hope it made him happy. Maybe he won't be so grumpy when he shows up again. I still haven't seen him since late last night."

Thirty seconds later: You didn't watch that show, did you

She wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but it certainly didn't sound good. She replied, "Well no. But there's boobs and dragons and incest, so what's not to like for him? Lol"

She headed back out to resume her chores, phone in hand. Daryl was texting back quickly.

Hope you're right. He say anything of value last night?

She hesitated with her thumbs over the keyboard. But she'd already decided to lock away the information about the stashed money and keep it to herself. For now, anyway. It just didn't feel like the right time to bring it up. She had a feeling it would just be another weight added to the impossibly heavy load on Daryl's back.

So she replied, "Kind of. I guess he heard about Brian and Philip Blake while he was in the military. Nothing really useful, though. No surprise there."

Beth could practically hear the agitation in Daryl's voice when she read his next message: Figures. Wonder if he'll be any damn help at all today. We could really use it. This might be the last good lead we can find.

She hurriedly typed out a response and sent it. "Don't go getting all hopeless just yet, Dixon. I made a little breakthrough of my own last night. Might not need Merle's help nearly as much now."

He texted back even faster than before: A breakthrough? What's going on?

She typed, "Too much to text. I'll explain when I see you. It's good news, though. So keep your chin up :) and don't forget, we still have that judge to talk to if we don't find anything at the insurance company."

He simply replied: Guess you're right. Ok. See you in a couple hours, Greene.


Beth finished her last chore of the day—hanging up the clean laundry out back—before joining her family for lunch in the kitchen. She rinsed off and changed into clean jeans and a clean shirt while Maggie and Glenn cooked, then sat down at the table with her father and brother.

Shawn seemed to have cooled off since their conversation earlier, but she chose to remain quiet anyway. She listened to him discussing the Otis and Patricia situation with their dad, and only spoke up when the conversation turned to Maggie and Glenn. She didn't expect any kind of apology from Shawn. That wasn't his style. She figured she'd let her work speak for itself. He would notice that she was stepping up and resuming her responsibilities. No point in making a big deal out of it.

After lunch, they all chipped in to help clean up the kitchen, then quickly went their separate ways. Hershel and Shawn headed out to feed the rest of the cattle, Maggie and Glenn decided to take an afternoon walk, and Beth retreated upstairs to prepare for Rick and Daryl's inevitable arrival. Maggie offered to take the laundry off the line after Beth left, so she didn't have to worry about another lecture from Shawn.

But now it was time to start worrying about the other half of her life.

She did a quick touch-up on her hair and makeup, then double-checked her purse to make sure she had everything she might need. Her phone was sitting on the edge of her desk and she kept glancing at it, waiting for the text from Daryl that would tell her they were on their way. And sitting beside her phone was the Djab Idol, right where she'd left it.

She pulled the folded-up paper from her purse and set it beneath the doghead statue, then pushed both of them aside to rest behind a framed photo at the back corner of the desk's surface. She sighed, hesitating.

Maybe she should just shove the damn thing to the very back of her closet? Just in case she was tempted…

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and a chill ran down her spine no more than a split-second before a very familiar, scratchy voice filled her ears.

"Still thinkin' about it, huh? Even though I didn't bother ya all fuckin' night."

Beth spun around to find Merle standing near the end of her bed, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. In the same moment, her phone vibrated and she quickly snatched it up.

A new text from Daryl: On our way. In the sheriff's car.

She responded with a thumbs up emoji before stuffing the phone into her pocket and returning her attention to Merle. He was glaring at her with an icy blue gaze.

So, clearly, his mood had not improved since the night before.

"Actually, I was thinkin' about shovin' the damn thing into a box at the back of my closet," Beth said. "Just in case I feel myself bein' tempted again—gave you my word, didn't I?"

Merle's face relaxed the slightest bit and he shrugged, glancing her up and down like he wasn't sure whether he should believe her or not. "Dunno how much weight yer word holds, princess. Can't say we've exactly built a repertoire of trust between us over the last five days."

She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin defensively. "Oh, because I've been the one leadin' you astray. Right?" She narrowed her eyes and returned his resentful glare with one of her own.

He sighed, annoyed. "Guess you don't want my help that bad. Wasn't you just beggin' me to be yer messenger boy about twelve hours ago? Musta changed yer mind pretty quick."

"Well, for your information," she quipped, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk. "I don't really need you at all. I taught myself how to get where I need to be last night—while you were watchin' TV at Daryl's house."

Merle's smug expression faltered and he frowned in confusion. "The hell ya mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," she snapped. "I looked up all that information and I used it. Now I know how to control where my Gift sends me, and I might even be able to stop passin' out every time I get a vision." She beamed proudly, satisfied with the disgruntled look on his face.

He hadn't expected her to actually take his advice and run with it. She could tell. For some reason, proving her capability felt way better than telling him he'd been right.

But he just scoffed and shrugged. "Well congratu-fuckin'-lations. Whatcha want, a gold star fer not stayin' a clueless damsel?"

Well. Should've known that feeling of success would be short-lived. Merle was an expert at taking people down a notch or five.

"Not from you," she replied sarcastically, her smirk fading. "Shouldn't you be happy right now? You got to finish your little show, and we're about to follow another lead to find the guy who killed you. Can't you ever just be like, not pissed off?"

Merle rolled his eyes, shoulders stiffening. "You never watched Game of Thrones, did'ja?"

Beth shrugged and gave him a quizzical look. "What does that matter?"

He heaved a sigh. "'Cause I never got a chance to watch the last season, but I found it on Daryl's DVR last night an' I caught up—and now I wish I fuckin' wouldn't have! Shoulda just stayed here and bothered you. Watchin' that dumpster fire ruined my whole goddamn week."

She couldn't help but laugh out loud and tease him a bit. "Seriously? No way it could've been that bad. Yer such a child."

"You wouldn't understand," he grumbled. "Made everythin' feel fuckin' pointless. All that build up for a big ol' disappointment. Like a big 'fuck you' to everybody who ever gave a shit. I stopped gettin' invested in TV shows after Dexter let me down, but I really thought this'd be different. Shoulda never trusted those Hollywood pricks." He shook his head and glanced away, working his jaw angrily. "I shoulda just stayed dead an' gone. Shoulda told Legba to send me down to Hell an' get it over with. This whole fuckin' world's nothin' more'an a middle finger to anybody who wants some kinda goddamn purpose."

"Woah now," Beth said, reeling from his sudden onslaught of afterlife existentialism. "I know it was a pretty popular show, but good lord, Merle. There's bigger things at stake here. We don't need you goin' all emo right now."

"Yeah, whatever." Merle waved a dismissive hand and dropped his arms to his side listlessly. "Like I said, you wouldn't understand. Every fuckin' day I'm here feels like another misstep. I shoulda turned that deal down. Shoulda taken my ass on to accept my punishment. Now I done went an' dragged Daryl into it, and I can't even help him."

"Yes, you can," Beth assured. "Now's not the time to start wishing you'd made better choices. You did what you did and we're gonna fix it. I don't think you understand what it means when I say I can control my Gift. We're gonna find Philip, and we're gonna stop him. And you're going to help any way you can."

Merle frowned, refusing to look directly at her. He grunted.

"I'm serious," she reiterated. "This ain't all for nothin'. I can promise you that much. But you'll have to put in real effort, Merle."

"You just said you don't need me," he argued, finally lifting his hard gaze to meet hers. "And yer fuckin' right. You don't need me. Neither does Daryl. Y'all are better off with Ricky Boy than my dead ass. I can't do a damn thing to help y'all."

"You can, though," Beth insisted, raising her eyebrows and staring back at him intently. "You just have to want to. You gotta mean it. No more of this 'I didn't care enough to do anything about it' attitude. No more getting bored right in the middle of the action."

He opened his mouth to argue some more but she quickly cut him off. "Look, if you can pants Shane Walsh and make him question his own sanity, then everythin' else should be a cakewalk. Besides, it's just a case of followin' my lead—now that I actually know what the hell I'm doing." She offered a weak smile, unsure of exactly how to handle a self-deprecating Merle Dixon.

She'd spent all this time hoping to deflate his obscenely large ego, but now that it was deflating on its own, the realization made her uncomfortable. It gave her a bad feeling, like when he'd suddenly turned remorseful and pleaded with her not to give up on him outside of Morgan's cabin. She knew there couldn't logically be any more secrets he hadn't let her in on, but she still didn't know how to deal with a less-than-smug Merle. And she didn't really want to. It just didn't feel right. In a way, his blind confidence gave her a little confidence of her own. Because surely, if a guy this ignorant and messed-up could still think so highly of himself—even after death—then she had no reason to doubt herself.

Then again, he and Daryl were a lot alike. Daryl didn't come off as smug or even confident, but he was easily discouraged. He and Merle had that same fragile sense of purpose deep down at their cores—they were both perpetually scared little boys hiding beneath the cover of cocky grown men. Merle was just better at keeping his buried.

Maybe she'd been a little too hard on him, after all…

Merle sighed and chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, glancing at her and frowning when he saw her mouth quirked into a half-smile. He looked back down to his boots and shook his head.

"Whatever," he mumbled. "Y'seem awful fuckin' sure of yerself, an' that ain't ever been a good sign before—not with anybody I ever met."

"I'm not like anybody you've ever met," Beth quipped.

"Sure." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "'S not like I got much damn choice in the matter. Till ya decide to banish me, anyhow."

"I'm not gonna banish you," she said. "I promised you last night, didn't I?"

"If that's what you call a promise. Had an awful lotta conditions comin' with that term."

She narrowed her eyes at him and her smirk completely disappeared. "You made me swear on my mama's grave. And I did. I don't take stuff like that lightly, just so you know."

He didn't seem very enthused, but he didn't appear to be any more discouraged either. He pushed away from the wall and uncrossed his arms, reaching into the pocket of his vest for his pack of smokes. "Fine. You've convinced me. Not like I got anythin' better to do…"

Then, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his lighter in hand, he gestured towards the Djab Idol sitting on the desk behind her and added, "But'cha best put that damn statue somewhere I ain't gotta look at it."


Merle chain-smoked out on the back porch while Beth finished preparing for Rick and Daryl's arrival. On her way out the bedroom door, she turned back and snatched up Florence's handkerchief from the bedside table and stuffed it into the bottom of her purse. Because why not? Who knew what could happen? The thing seemed important somehow. Might as well keep it on her person.

Maggie caught her in the kitchen on her way out and wished her good luck, insisting she text or call if she needed anything. Beth assured that she would and also asked Maggie to keep an eye on Shawn, briefly mentioning the conversation they'd had that morning. Maggie agreed, though she had to remind Beth that she and Glenn would be heading back to Atlanta the next evening. Beth decided that was a problem to worry about later, secretly hoping things might go back to being a little more normal around the farm now that Mama's memorial was over with and Maggie would no longer be disrupting the usual flow of things.

Not that Maggie necessarily disrupted anything—but having her and Glenn around felt like somewhat of a constant reminder of the giant hole that still remained in the family and on the farm. At least, that's what it seemed to be for Shawn. And Beth could see why. Maggie could pop in for a few days and take on some work, and then she could leave and return to a much less stressful life in the city. Beth and Shawn and Hershel couldn't do that.

Regardless, now it was time to focus on the psychopath who wanted to kill Daryl, and the dead guy who was suddenly heavily doubting himself. And Beth had some new things she was eager to try.

A new text arrived from Daryl just as she was grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge:

Almost there. Meet at the end of the driveway?

She quickly responded, "Sounds good." Then she stepped out onto the porch to find Merle sitting on the steps, smoking and gazing out at the scattered farmhands visible in the distance.

She passed him wordlessly, water bottle in one hand while the other hand rested on the purse at her side, and began walking down the driveway towards the road. Within seconds, she could feel him following silently behind her.

Halfway down the long gravel drive, he spoke up. "Y'gonna tell 'im about the money?"

Without glancing back at him, she replied, "I already told you I'm not. This is enough of a rollercoaster as it is. He'll just be mad that you lied about somethin' else, and I don't think that's what we need right now."

Merle grunted but, surprisingly, didn't argue. "Guess that's fair."

Beth didn't like lying by omission to Daryl. Not one bit. Because what if it ended up backfiring on her? What if he eventually found out about the money and assumed she'd kept the truth hidden out of selfish greed or something? She hoped he would know her well enough to trust that she'd never do something like that; to believe and understand that she only kept it to herself for the time being out of concern for him. Because, if she kept dropping one bomb after another on him, he'd eventually break and stop trusting his dead brother altogether. Sure, he already had very little trust, but was it worth risking those last scraps just to tell him something that he probably already knew? Something that had literally no effect on the overall outcome of this situation? She didn't think so.

Because this was a rollercoaster. And right now, they were climbing up, up, up. She couldn't risk diminishing their momentum. Not yet. They were getting close to the top. She could tell—she could feel it.

Florence had told her to do what she knew in her heart to be right. So that's what she was gonna do. She had to start trusting herself and believing in her own judgment if she was going to grab the reins of this Gift with both hands.

"Gonna have to tell him eventually, though," Merle muttered, like a persistent voice at the back of her head that happened to be personified.

"I know," Beth said. "We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

Merle barked out a laugh. "Now yer startin' to sound like me, blondie."

She rolled her eyes and suppressed a small smile. "Let's just hope it can be like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow."

Merle clucked his tongue. "Pretty fucked-up rainbow we're followin'. 'Specially if it ends where I think it's gonna end…"

Beth didn't voice her agreement, but she certainly agreed. And she didn't have to ask what he meant by that statement. She was starting to get an idea of where this path may be leading them, too. And it was nowhere good. But it was necessary.

They had to do what was right. No matter how difficult that might be.

She and Merle were only standing at the end of the driveway for a minute or two before the sheriff's car came into view down the road, cresting over a hill and leaving clouds of dust in its wake. Rick stuck a hand out the window and waved in greeting as he slowed and pulled over, and she waved back, smiling. He stopped the vehicle right in front of her and offered an almost excited grin.

"Howdy!" He greeted. "Ready fer round two, Miss Greene?"

Beth chuckled and reached out to open the rear driver's side door as she replied, "This is more like round five or six fer me an' Daryl."

Daryl grunted in agreement and Rick laughed at her remark as she climbed in and shut the door beside her.

Just as she finished buckling her seatbelt, Merle appeared in the seat next to her with an indifferent expression on his face. She expected a comment or a complaint of some kind about being inside Rick's car and in the cop's presence again, but it never came. The dead Dixon just turned his head and gazed out the window thoughtfully, one hand picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

As they pulled off and began driving away, Rick glanced in the rearview mirror to meet Beth's eyes and asked, "Is Merle with us today?"

"Yeah," she said. "And he's not in a very good mood."

"How come?" Rick smirked. "Not gettin' enough attention again?"

Daryl snorted and chimed in, "Nah. He found the last season of Game of Thrones on my DVR last night an' watched it while me an' Carol were asleep."

Rick let out a low whistle, though his smirk remained. "Aw, hell. He didn't get to experience that disappointment 'fore he died?"

Merle laughed and nudged Beth's arm. "See? 'Least this prick understands something. He fuckin' gets it."

Beth rolled her eyes, unable to suppress her smile of amusement. "Jeez, y'all were really invested in that dumb show, huh?"

Daryl scoffed. "You got no idea."

"Hey," Rick remarked. "Y'all didn't even start watchin' it till season five, after I told you about it."

"Yeah," Daryl countered. "And we shouldn'ta listened to ya. Got us all invested in a show that ended up bein' a pile of anticlimactic shit."

Merle whooped, wholeheartedly agreeing even though neither of the other men could hear him. "Damn straight!"

"Look, none of us saw that comin', alright?" Rick defended himself, though his tone was light and he had a half-smile on his face the whole time. "If I'd had any idea how far downhill that shit was gonna go, I never would've even mentioned it to you."

Beth sat back and watched them playfully bicker, laughing along. Even Merle seemed to be pleased with the topic of conversation for once, despite the fact he couldn't actually join in.

Then she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a new text message from Shawn. Confused and a little worried, she immediately tapped on the message and read:

Was that Rick picking you up in his work car?

She had no idea where this was going, but she knew it wouldn't help anything to ignore her brother. So she texted back, "Yeah, he's hanging out with me and Daryl. Is that okay?"

Barely thirty seconds later, Shawn's next text arrived: Hanging out ? What does that even mean? Why are you driving around with a Dixon and a divorced sheriff?

She frowned to herself and responded, "You mean the divorced sheriff whose kids I've been babysitting for years? And the Dixon who I already told you is my friend? I did all my chores, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not blowing anything off. I'll most likely be back by supper time."

Spitefully, she sent another text immediately after that said, "Is that okay with you, DAD?"

About a minute later, while Rick and Daryl were still discussing their deep hatred for a show that ended several months ago, Shawn texted back with a simple, Whatever.

She rolled her eyes and locked her phone screen, but just as she was shoving it back into her pocket, it vibrated again. A follow-up text from Shawn.

You're being so weird lately. Don't go getting yourself into something that the sheriff can't get you out of. Dad doesn't need any more stress than he's already got.

Beth silently fumed. She couldn't resist the urge to respond. "I'm not stupid. And I'm not 12. So you can stop treating me like I am."

A few seconds passed and she saw that her message was Read, but Shawn didn't reply to it. So she tucked her phone away inside her purse and tried to focus instead on what to expect once they arrived at the place where The Governor used to work.

But shit… she was gonna have to tell Shawn the truth sooner or later. Probably sooner rather than later. Even though she was almost certain that he would never understand. And who was to say he wouldn't immediately go to their dad with it? Then she'd really be screwed.

One problem at a time, she told herself. Intent. Purpose. Control.

Christ, what if Shawn and their dad conspired to get her put into a mental hospital? Would Rick even be capable of convincing them she wasn't crazy at that point? She would never want to ask him to vouch for her against her father and brother. But how else could she possibly convince them of the truth on her own? There was just no way they'd believe her. She already knew.

Relax, she thought, focusing on the passing blurs outside the window. It hasn't come to that yet. Hopefully it won't ever come to that. I have to remember what's important here. I can't let myself get distracted by other stuff… I'm gonna go into that insurance place. I'm gonna search for anything that could help us. And I'm going to find something. I'm gonna control this stupid Gift. Even if it's just another puzzle piece that we end up finding. I'm not gonna faint or black out when I get a vision. I'm not gonna be vulnerable. No more getting carried away with every ebb and flow of the tide. I know where I'm going, and I'll set my sails accordingly. Florence knew what she was talking about… The Witch of Youghal believes in me. The Swamp Witch believes in me. Maggie believes in me. Daryl believes in me. I can believe in me, too.

Maybe if she kept repeating it to herself, she'd start to believe it.

to be continued…