Crash Courses in Being a Grown-Up

Dale settled into the seat behind his desk and scooted up close to the edge, resting his elbows atop the surface and folding his hands before him. Beth gingerly sat down in one of the chairs opposite, perched on the edge of the seat with both hands wrapped around the small purse that was strapped across her torso and hanging against her hip.

For a moment, she felt like she was back in high school, sitting in front of Mr. Horvath and asking for help with the homework assignment, or just asking him to elaborate on the lesson he'd taught during class. And then she realized that she'd spent more time talking to men that sat behind desks over the past week than she had in the past six years. From Pastor Tee to Rick to Gareth, and now Dale. She always felt like she was begging a favor, or somehow trying to swindle them. And she admittedly was.

She didn't like to think of this as swindling Dale out of information, though. She was simply trying to… persuade him to be honest.

Which was difficult, because she couldn't quite rid herself of the natural balance in their relationship; he'd always been the adult, the teacher, the father-like figure, and she'd always been the child, the student, the naive daughter-he-wished-he-had.

But she was grown up now. And she had a very grown-up task to complete.

He was staring across the desk at her with those big brown eyes, wide and expectant, as he asked, "So, what exactly are you doin' with those two men outside?"

Beth put all her energy into maintaining the stoic and self-assured look on her face, hoping it would leak through to her voice. Hoping to sound confident and grown-up. "Well, I've known Sheriff Grimes for years. I babysit his kids sometimes."

"And Daryl Dixon?" Dale urged.

She responded as rigidly and to-the-point as she could, "His brother was killed. It was staged as a suicide. He wants closure."

Dale quirked one eyebrow. "He wants closure? Or you do?"

She opened her mouth, prepared to tell a half-assed lie, but he cut her off before she could.

"What do you even have to do with that guy, Beth? With anything involving his family?" His face fell and his eyes darkened. "Don't tell me you're seeing him."

Her spine stiffened and she had to bite back a sharp retort. She reminded herself to act mature. To remain confident.

"Yes, I am," she lied. Then she continued with the truth: "And I care about him. And I know Merle was murdered, just as well as Daryl does. Rick believes us, and he's tryin' to help us—"

"That man is twenty years your senior, Miss Greene," Dale interrupted, taking on a very stern and father-like tone.

Without hesitation, she leaned forward and argued, "And I'm twenty-four years old, Mr. Horvath. Over half of my classmates, all of which you taught right alongside me, are already married and on their second or third kid. I'm an adult. I think I can make my own decisions when it comes to who I choose to associate with—or date."

She couldn't even fathom being in a romantic relationship with Daryl. No, not really. But the harsh judgment coming from her old teacher was sending up her defenses, and she almost felt offended for Daryl's sake. Also for her own sake, because why did everyone insist on treating her like she was still sixteen? At the same time, she couldn't help but feel a bit hurt as well. She wouldn't have thought Dale would be so quick to pass judgment. She'd always respected him for being level-headed and understanding.

Then again, how on earth could she ever expect him to understand this? She simply couldn't. So she had no choice but to lie a little bit and make it sound… believable.

There was a man's soul at stake here, after all.

Dale quickly retaliated, "That's all well and good, but it still doesn't explain why you're posing as some kind of phony witness to a very clearly illegal investigation." His tone softened just the slightest as he added, "We can both be adults here, Beth. If you can just be honest with me. I know how intelligent you are. I know you wouldn't be getting involved in something that could land you in trouble." A shadow of doubt flickered across his face. "Would you?"

Beth swallowed hard and retained her composure, refusing to break their intense eye contact, putting even more confidence into her voice. "Of course not. I don't know how to explain it to you without soundin' like a lunatic, but it's not technically illegal." Not yet, she thought. "We're not doin' anything wrong. We didn't come here to incriminate you or invade your privacy—"

"Then what did you come here for?" He cut her off sharply, raising his eyebrows. "Adult to adult."

She frowned but didn't waver. "Adult to adult, Dale?" She'd never called him by his first name before, but she felt she had to right now in order to add the necessary weight to her words.

He nodded.

She explained with the most self-assured voice she could muster, "Merle Dixon was killed, and we have reason to believe it was Philip Blake. He calls himself The Governor now, and he made a deal with Merle and Daryl's dad years ago. That deal resulted in the death of their mother, the near-death of Daryl, and a big insurance payout for Will Dixon. Will used the money to go off the grid and avoid payin' up for his little deal. So Philip Blake was screwed outta half the money that he thinks he's entitled to. Then he caught wind of Will Dixon's death, which led him to finding Merle. He wants the money he's owed. Merle didn't have it, so Philip killed him. He staged it to look like a suicide and nobody questioned it because of Merle's reputation. And if we don't find Philip and stop him, Daryl is next on his list." She paused to take a breath before quickly adding, "And we told Rick about it and showed him all the evidence we got to prove it, and he knows it's not enough to make a real case that anybody will give a crap about, but he also knows we're right. He wants to stop this guy from killing anybody else just as badly as we do."

Her words registered in his mind slowly, if the small range of emotions crossing his face in a very short amount of time were anything to go by. He seemed to be a bit befuddled at first, but he eventually landed on something that looked like astonishment. With a hint of dread.

Then he asked, "And what part of any of that led you here? To me? What makes you think I have any information that could possibly help?"

Beth paused and back-tracked in her memory, searching for the best explanation, before responding, "We found out a lot about Philip Blake, but not enough. He's gotten away with a lotta bad stuff just because they didn't have the technology to trace it back to him. He served time in prison and recently got released, and he's tryin' to stay under the radar by using his dead brother's name. He's been gone fer so long that nobody suspects him—"

"Will Dixon's death," Dale interrupted, an intrigued spark in his eyes. "Is that what kicked this off? His eldest son died less than a year after him… I found that to be a little odd."

"Because it is," Beth confirmed. "You're right. Philip didn't know where to start looking until Will's obituary was published."

She could practically see the gears of Dale's mind working behind his thoughtful round eyes, putting together the pieces of what she was telling him. She couldn't help but feel a boost of encouragement. Maybe he would realize that she wasn't lying, that she couldn't make this stuff up even if she tried.

Dale frowned. "That murder," he said uncertainly. "The one that happened just outside of town recently—what was it, a boy in his twenties? They're saying he was a drug dealer, chalking his death up to some pissed-off client or rival dealer… Did that have anything to do with... ?"

He trailed off, but he didn't have to finish the question for Beth to understand what he was implying.

She nodded in affirmation. "Yes. Jesse Pinkman. He was Merle's dealer. Philip got his information from Merle's house and tracked him down. He's killing anybody an' everybody that he thinks could be lying about this thirty-year-old stash of money that probably doesn't even exist anymore. And he's gettin' away with it because nobody cares about these people—they don't expect anythin' less than this from guys like Merle or Jesse. Just because of their reputations."

Dale's brows were furrowed together and he gazed back at Beth with deep contemplation. She could tell she was hitting his soft spot. He was a man of reason. He was a compassionate human being. He would understand this. And it wasn't even a lie.

He was taking a moment to respond, so she took advantage and spoke from her heart, hoping she could crumble the last of his walls with honest empathy.

"You're the one who taught me about the industrial prison complex in this country, about the corrupted justice system," she reminded him. "You always talked about how the government and the police were a joke, and how addicts and minorities and other marginalized groups get overlooked time and time again. I can understand why you don't trust Sheriff Grimes, and maybe I can understand why yer a little uncertain about Daryl. But I'm telling you, with full confidence, that we're trying to do the right thing. Because goin' through the system won't get us anywhere. This guy has already been to prison and back, and he's dangerous. He's crazy enough to do it an' smart enough to get away with it. Daryl's a good man, no matter what you might've heard about him. He doesn't deserve to be murdered."

Nor does he deserve to be sentenced to Hell for eternity. But she didn't say that part.

Dale still seemed wary. He was worrying his lower lip as he listened, letting the tense silence hang between them once she finished.

"Sheriff Grimes," he said. "What's he gettin' outta this?"

Beth nearly scoffed reflexively, but stopped herself at the last second. She cleared her throat and asked, "What's he getting out of this? What is there to get?"

Dale became a bit defensive again. "I'm not sure. That's why I'm asking you."

She shook her head, giving him a look that bordered on incredulity. "He's not gettin' anything out of it. He doesn't want anything out of it."

That sparked a light in the old man's eyes, though whether it was suspicion or renewed interest, Beth couldn't tell. He leaned forward and asked, "Then what are you getting out of it? Are you doin' some kinda internship or something? Just because you're his babysitter doesn't mean he has any right to go draggin' you into something this serious—somethin' this blatantly illegal."

She frowned, glaring back at him. "No one dragged me into this." Except Merle, she couldn't say. "If anything, I convinced him. I'm tryin' to do what's right. I don't want a murderer runnin' around my town."

"Then why can't the Sheriff himself open a case and do this without the aid of two very underqualified civilians?" Dale retorted coldly.

Beth squared her shoulders and answered with the most certainty she'd had since sitting down, "Because he knows the system is all red tape an' bullshit—just like you've always said it was. And he knows it because he's experienced it for years. He's watched guys like Philip walk free an' repeat their crimes over and over and over. While he stood by an' did what was legal. If we don't go the extra mile to put this kinda evil in its place, then no one will."

Dale didn't seem to have a response to that.

"You can have whatever opinion you wanna have about Rick," she continued. "But trust me, Mr. Horvath… I know him. He's a good man, and if he could do more, he would. If he could open an actual, official investigation and put The Governor in prison for life, he'd do it in a heartbeat. But you an' I both know he doesn't have that kinda power. He's goin' out on a limb to help me and Daryl. He's basically risking his whole career. He didn't come here to scare you or interrogate you. He just really, really wants to stop Philip Blake from murdering Daryl, or anybody else." She paused and quickly added, "And so do I."

Dale sighed and looked across the desk at Beth, an almost sympathetic lilt in his frown. "While I can respect what yer saying and empathize with your point of view, Beth, I just… I still don't understand how this has led ya to me. I don't see how I could be of any help in this vigilante justice."

Beth argued gently, "It's not vigilante justice." At least I really hope it's not. "It's just doin' what nobody else will do. It's standing up for what's right—isn't that what you've always supported?"

A deep crease formed in his forehead and his wrinkles shone a bit more prominently as he furrowed his dark eyebrows. "Of course it is. But—"

"You worked with Philip Blake," she cut in.

His lips snapped shut and his eyes grew wider.

Beth continued, "That's what led us here. We came here on the chance that you might know somethin'. Anything. You shared this office building with him when he lived here. You were his coworker when he made the fraudulent insurance deal with Will Dixon—the one that killed Daryl's mama and nearly killed him. You knew Philip Blake, even if it was just in passing. You're one of the only people who might have some kinda answers. All we need is a clue or a tiny lead. Maybe you know somethin' that could help usopen a real investigation. We're not gonna figure this out in a day, but every new detail gets us a little closer to understanding him, to findin' him… to stopping him."

Dale's eyes seemed to grow darker and he leaned forward, intertwined fingers tightening before him atop the desk's surface. Beth was shrinking beneath his gaze, unprepared for this level of intensity.

He lowered his voice and asked, in the most serious and somber tone she'd ever heard from him, "And how exactly d'you plan on stopping him? You and Rick and Daryl? If the system won't work—even for a sheriff—and you know this won't result in a lengthy prison sentence, no matter how much evidence you might illegally obtain… then what're ya workin' towards, Beth?"

Shit. She didn't have an answer for that. Not even a lie.

Would Merle have a retort for this? She almost wished he'd stayed behind. That dead asshole was probably standing outside on the sidewalk, chain-smoking and eavesdropping on Rick and Daryl's conversations. And she was stuck here, sitting in front of a man she highly respected, trying to think of a plausible lie that could make him open up about everything he knew pertaining to Philip Blake. Trying to gather just one single, useful thing that might lead them somewhere else.

What the hell was she supposed to say?

Dale must not've expected much of an answer, if he'd expected one at all, because his expression didn't change and neither did his tone. He merely lifted his eyebrows in the way that he did when he was emphasizing his point.

And then he asked, even quieter than before—so low that Beth had to strain her ears in order to hear him correctly—

"When you finally catch this man… when you are inevitably presented with the opportunity to stop him once and for all… what kind of justice d'you have planned? How will you stop him without puttin' him in prison?"

Beth blinked. A knot had formed in her throat and she swallowed past it, though her throat felt dry as a desert afterwards. She parted her lips like she was about to reply, but she had nothing to say.

Dale's eyebrows rose higher, but his voice remained low. "Good lord…" He muttered. "Y'all are planning to kill him, aren't you?"

Even though Merle wasn't present, Beth could practically hear his voice: "Death is the least that murderin' asshole deserves."

And honestly?

She couldn't agree more.

God help her.

But then again, it was partially God who'd gotten her into this whole predicament in the first place. Wasn't it? At least according to Lady Jadis and the Swamp Witch and the Witch of Youghal.

Her mouth was still dry and so was her throat, thus her response came out half-croaked. Nonetheless, it held the same weight.

"It's not the plan. But if that's the only way to stop him… we'll do whatever we have to do."

This was not a lie. Not a single part of it was fabricated or decided on the spot. Beth genuinely believed the statement that had poured from her mouth. And she most definitely questioned it—what it meant, the weight it held, the harsh truth she was very suddenly and blatantly facing.

That didn't make it any easier to say, though.

Perhaps this was what Florence had been referring to in her dream. Beth could barely recall piecing the logic together on the other side of that mysterious navy blue door, and she hadn't taken the time to really ruminate on what had defined itself as basic logic within her dreaming state. But now that it was being laid out right before her, so clearly stated and plainly defined during the height of consciousness…?

How else did she think this would end? How else could it end?

Stopping The Governor meant stopping Philip Blake. And that meant… ending him. Somehow preventing him from ever hurting another innocent person again.

And she knew, deep down, nestled within the nearly inaccessible core of herself and her Gift, lying in wait beneath what she'd learned thus far:

Papa Legba demanded two souls. Merle was irredeemable. But Daryl wasn't. So who better to send down to the Immortal Master of Dealmaking than The Governor himself?

"Yes, it really is that simple, love."

Now Beth could recall it. She could remember, very clearly, what it was that she'd figured out while sitting before Florence Newton and sipping tea. And she could also recall why she'd blocked it out in the first place; why she'd almost refused to acknowledge the conclusion.

Capital punishment? Was that really who she was? Was that what she supported and believed in?

Far from it. But she also couldn't support the idea of standing by and letting a demon have his way with an innocent soul at the cost of a very guilty one. She couldn't bear to sit by and do nothing when she knew she had the power to do something.

She was Gifted with the purpose of doing what was right. What was necessary.

As Florence Newton had taught her: she was quite literally born for this. If she could step back and forth between The Other Side and this mortal plane, then she could sure as hell make a tough decision that no one else was capable of making.

Beth wanted to remain optimistic for as long as possible. Because, who knew? Maybe Dale had some piece of information that could lead to another clue, and maybe they could somehow find a way to start a real case against Philip Blake. Maybe if they worked hard enough, they could locate the loopholes necessary to pin The Governor for his crimes and send him back to prison for good.

Or, her pessimistic side reminded, maybe he'd slip through their fingers and slither out of the shadows to attack Daryl at the first chance he got, regardless of the threat of prison time.

They'd never know until they tried all their options.

"That's not reassuring in the slightest," Dale said. "You and I both know I could never take part in such a thing."

"You don't have to," Beth argued, becoming more certain of herself as she spoke. "From the way yer refusin' to say anything directly about Philip Blake, it sounds like you already knew what he's capable of—like you've known for a while. I reckon I didn't need to tell you that he was behind the Dixon fire and Will's big payout." His eyes flicked away from hers for a split-second and he cleared his throat, but she went on, "Mr. Horvath, I know you. I trust you. I've always respected you. And I would never do somethin' if I thought it might put you in danger. But you have ta believe me when I tell you… if we don't find Philip first, he'll find Daryl. And he'll probably wanna shut me up, too."

The color slowly drained from Dale's face and she could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

She raised her eyebrows and finished, "So at the end of the day… whose blood would you rather have on yer hands?"

The first color to return to his face was a bright red that blossomed in his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes with disappointment and muttered quietly, "I have more blood on my hands than you'll ever know about, Beth. But that doesn't mean I would ever condone somethin' like this—murder." He spat the word out like a bitter taste in his mouth. "This would be murder." He shook his head, looking at her with a mixture of disgust and sadness. "None of you are any better than him if you go down that path. Might I remind you, an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind."

"Things are rarely so black and white as that," Beth quipped back, unsure of where this sudden confidence was stemming from. Then again, she had learned a lot of very valuable lessons in the last week. "It might be easy to preach that old adage to a hundred high schoolers, but you know it's irrelevant in the real world."

Dale worked his jaw nervously, fingers clenching and unclenching before him. He sighed. "You can't let yourself cross that line, Beth. You can't let yourself become that person."

"I don't want to kill him, or have any part in his death," she said. "And I definitely don't plan to. None of us do. We just know that, no matter what, he's gonna corner Daryl and kill him, and then he's gonna disappear. He won't stop until he finds the money, and the money doesn't exist. If it ever did, we have no idea where to find it because that information died with Merle… Philip Blake will kill everyone he thinks is keepin' the secret from him. And he'll probably get away with it, again."

Dale looked like he was about to argue again, so she cut him off.

"And you know what person I really can't let myself become? The person who would stand by and watch this happen, when I could've done something."

Whatever words he'd been preparing seemed to fall away, and Dale's gaze drifted down to the desk. He blinked long and slow, shoulders hanging a little heavier.

Then he let out a deep sigh. Without looking up, he muttered, in a brief moment of vulnerability and bare honesty, "He's an odd man. Lonely. Mysterious. I had my theories about the Dixon fire… it tore me up at night. Along with so many other things—maybe I shoulda said somethin'. But I was never one to cause a fuss. I couldn't risk the stability that Irma and I had worked so hard to achieve… He disappeared and I tried to put it all outta my head. I told myself his existence was no more than a very long, very bad dream."

Dale paused and dragged his eyes up to meet Beth's.

"Crazy enough to do it and smart enough to get away with it… What you said is accurate. That's all I know about him. It's all I've ever really known about him."

Then Dale's face hardened right along with his tone and the vulnerability was gone, just like that. Beth could see his wall of defense going back up, higher and thicker than ever. "I promised myself, a long time ago, that I'd keep my distance and deny any knowledge of whatever he might've done, anything he may have said to me—most of which I've forgotten anyhow. And I won't break that promise today. Not even for you, Beth. I can't be connected to anything that goes on with Philip Blake. I refuse to be."

Beth's heart dropped and she looked back at him pleadingly. "Mr. Horvath, none of this ever has to come back to you—"

He leaned back in his chair and cut her off, "Call me Dale. Part of being an adult is accepting 'no' for an answer, Miss Greene."

She snapped her lips shut and felt her cheeks going red.

So much for assuming her old teacher was a sensible and compassionate man. Apparently she didn't have the first clue about appealing to someone's senses.

He rested his hands in his lap and gave her a stern look from across the desk. "Self-reflection and recognizing your own faults are also a part of being an adult. A very vital part. You're playin' with fire here. You cannot be the judge, jury, and executioner. Not even when you think you're justified. Not even when you have a police officer on your side."

Beth chewed on the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to argue. It would get her nowhere. He'd already told her everything he was going to tell her.

So what choice was she left with?

"I understand," she conceded.

Dale raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his seat. "Do you? I know how determined you can be, Beth."

"Determined," she agreed, giving him a tight-lipped and very obviously forced smile. "Not stupid."

He shook his head and stood from his chair. "I would never insinuate that you're stupid. I'm just worried—I don't think somethin' like this is what a young woman with your capabilities should be doin' in her spare time."

You have no idea what I'm capable of, she thought.

She stood from her seat as well and nodded meekly as he walked around the desk to approach her. She was no longer thinking about a polite response. No point in wasting her energy on a last-minute plea for understanding just to watch it fall on deaf ears.

She was too preoccupied with remembering Florence Newton's curious questions.

"What of the good ones who loved Philip? Those who were connected to his soul by the unseen threads of Fate? Those who suffered for him?"

What of them? What insight could she gain from knowing how he operated amongst others?

Suddenly, Beth knew exactly what she had to do.

Dale's body language told her that he was preparing to reach out for a goodbye handshake, as was appropriate. He was even putting on a smile for politeness's sake. So she did the same, mirroring his appearance, and reached out her hand between them.

And as he was taking that step closer and reaching out his wrinkled old hand, she was focusing on the inner workings of her consciousness. She was channeling the subconscious part of her mind and trying to merge it. She was repeating to herself, inside her head: Mindfulness. Intent. Purpose. Control.

Beth kept her eyes locked on Dale's, but she felt his warm and weathered hand grasping hers. This time, as soon as their skin made contact, the chill that ran down her spine morphed into an electric jolt. It seemed to course through her entire body within a split-second, sending her chest aflame and numbing her feet. Her heartbeat slowed and she could feel her bones evaporating into dust and floating away on a gentle breeze. The tentacle-vines were writhing beneath her skin, awakened and itching for freedom.

Inside her head, she was silently begging, Show me everything you know about Philip Blake. Tell me everything you've ever thought about him. I know you. I know you have a good heart and a pure soul. I know you've gotta have something that could help us. Give me the whole truth. Let me see your secrets, no matter how shameful they might be.

The blackness began at the edges of her vision, rapidly growing and blooming inward.

And then she tried to prepare herself for what was about to happen next.

to be continued…