Beth Greene and The Elevator of Unsettling Memories

The darkness rapidly consumed her.

As Beth grasped Dale's hand and allowed her Gift to take over, the tiny office within the insurance business disappeared completely. All the furniture and shapes and colors around her dribbled away like wet paint.

This time was different from the others. Beth could tell. Though she couldn't pinpoint the exact difference, it just felt different.

Like she actually had control.

She didn't feel like she was falling this time. Nor did she feel like she was being swallowed up into something that might drown her. Quite the opposite, actually. For the first time, her numb feet still felt grounded. Or maybe that was her soul—her "Astral Self," her "Visitor" form, whatever it was supposed to be. It wasn't floating away right along with her bones. So that was a nice change.

Nor did she feel confused. In fact, even as her vision went black and she felt herself travelling somewhere else, she kept thinking to herself how this had been Rick's idea. How it was not what she wanted to resort to, but that she had no choice besides to resort to it regardless. How it felt like some kind of invasion of privacy against her former teacher.

But Dale wouldn't tell her what she needed to know. So she was out of options. He didn't understand exactly what was at stake here.

He would never understand.

A quiet voice echoed from somewhere in the unseen distance behind her, "Here's not here."

She had to remember that; she had a Gift. She was using it. She was doing what's right. She had to go wherever she needed to go, had to see whatever she needed to see. And she had to get back.

Yes. She remembered. She'd learned. She knew it well.

Remember yourself, Beth Greene, and you will never be lost.

Here's not here.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, cracking apart the thin layer of ice that had formed over her lungs. She listened to her own heartbeat. Felt it. Took note of how slow it was, how otherworldly it sounded inside her ears.

Thu-ump. Thu-ump. Thu-ump.

She remembered who she was. What she was doing. How much was hanging on her efficacy.

A thousand different memories began shuffling through her head like a deck of cards, as they had multiple times before. But this time, she forced them to slow.

For the briefest second, she thought of Daryl—his cloudy blue eyes, his shaggy dark hair, the warmth of his hand in hers, and the gruff sound of his voice when it was carried to her ears by the chilly mid-October breeze. She thought of the bare honesty that was mapped throughout the lines of his face, and the pain in his tone when he spoke of Merle or their father. She thought of his strong arms cradling her and stopping her from hitting the floor. She thought of the look in his eyes when he'd realized just how powerful she actually was; when he'd realized just how much weight her Gift held, and how she was carrying it so gracefully. She thought of how much he was currently depending on her abilities, and how she was the only one who could save his soul.

Then she thought of how Florence had spoken of him. How she'd spoken of Beth's purpose.

And lastly, she remembered that Dale Horvath was a good man, and that he was hiding a lot of pain and guilt and shame… but he was also hiding a lot of valuable information.

Then she allowed herself to be taken where she needed to go.


Beth slowly lifted her feather-light eyelids and looked around. Her vision was covered in a hazy filter, like she was watching an old film reel being projected upon a screen.

She was standing in the middle of an elevator, big metal doors shut tightly before her. Four metallic walls encased her, illuminated by a fluorescent light from above.

Music was filling her ears and she realized it was coming from the speaker overhead. Elevator music. Some sort of generic, relaxing piece by a composer who was long dead. It was kind of annoying.

She didn't feel like she was ascending or descending, so she wasn't sure why she was inside the elevator. Unless it had malfunctioned and stopped. She was pretty sure that wasn't the case, though. Because it seemed to be waiting for her.

To the right of the closed metal doors was a panel of seventeen buttons, three per row to make five rows of round, plastic buttons. The final row only consisted of two buttons. She looked a bit closer and realized that there were no numbers or letters to indicate where these buttons might take her, only symbols. Each button was labeled with something that looked like the Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics she'd learned about in school. And she couldn't translate any of them.

Except one.

A bright red button at the very top was labeled '333' with bold, black letters.

Beth rolled her eyes and scoffed aloud. Did Papa Legba really think she was that dumb?

She wasn't sure where to start, so she started from the beginning. She pressed her fingertip against the first button in the first row, and watched as it lit up.

She felt the elevator moving beneath her feet. She was being taken to the next floor above. She looked up and saw the digital sign posted over the metal doors, watched as its display switched from 'AD2019B' to 'AD1984D1.'

The elevator halted. A soft ding! echoed around her. The button she'd pressed remained lit up to her right. She didn't move.

The doors slowly opened. The elevator music went silent.

Beth saw only darkness, so she took a hesitant step forward. Whatever lay outside of the elevator doors became illuminated just the slightest bit, though it was still too dark for her to discern anything more than silhouettes and shadowy shapes. So she took another step forward.

It got lighter. A room appeared before her, dimly lit by table lamps and low-watt ceiling lights: a living room, with a couch and a chair and a TV that was currently turned off—one of those old TVs that had the fat back on it, which Beth hadn't seen in at least a decade. There was a coffee table cluttered with crisp white paperwork and pens and remotes. And to the right, quiet voices coming from a pair of shapeless shadows.

Then she took another step and crossed the threshold, one foot outside of the doors and one foot planted inside. The light grew brighter and revealed the shadows to be people. Beth froze in place when she realized who they were.

She watched a much younger Dale—near Maggie's current age—standing close to a brunette woman. It took Beth a moment to realize what she was seeing exactly, before she recognized the young Irma Horvath's high forehead, dimpled chin, and bright blue eyes. She'd never seen either of the Horvaths at this age, and she wasn't sure why she was seeing them now.

But something told her it was important. The layer of surrealism remained coated over everything; like a reminder that she was witnessing the past as if it were an old film reel on a projector.

Beth stood firm and still as she watched Dale, with a smooth, nearly wrinkle-free complexion and a dark hairline that was already beginning to recede, argue with his wife inside their living room. They were both dressed in all black, like they'd just returned from a funeral. And based off the somber expressions on their faces, they had.

She couldn't look away. She was enthralled, listening closely and waiting for any mention of what could possibly be important about this particular memory.

"Sweetheart, this is just another obstacle," Dale said, his voice soft and pleading. "Look at how much we've already achieved: the perfect house in the quiet little town, the steady job with benefits and retirement, the stability you always wanted an' never had—losin' people is just part of life."

Irma sighed and gazed back at her husband with exasperation. "None'a that means anything, Dale. It still leaves us incomplete. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that this is just another warning sign…"

She turned to the side and Beth realized her belly was round and extended. Irma was pregnant, but she didn't look to be more than five or six months along at the most.

"A warning for what?" Dale countered. "Your aunt's condition has nothin' to do with you, nothin' to do with our family."

Irma frowned, but he smiled and reached out a hand to lovingly cup her lower abdomen. She gently pushed his hand away, shaking her head.

"It has everything to do with me, babe," she said. "With our family. If my mom can't afford her treatments—"

"I told you," Dale went rigid and looked down at his wife sternly, "I took care of it. At the expense of my own conscience… but I took care of it nonetheless. Your mother's gonna be fine. I wouldn't let her struggle." He took a step closer, raising a hand and wrapping it around her upper arm in an attempt at comfort. "But all this talk from you—it's worrying. Our streak of bad luck has to end sometime… you know that, right?"

Irma's eyes flicked away from his, drifting downwards. Her hands came up and gently cradled her lower abdomen, almost protectively. "Maybe it's not just bad luck. Maybe it's just… not meant to be. For us. Ya know, sometimes people just… don't ever get to be parents. And that's God's will."

Dale scoffed, his tone growing agitated. "Oh, please. You don't really believe that, do you? God's will? That's bullshit. There's nothin' wrong with you—or us. There's no reason to think that this could…" He paused and hesitated before finishing, "End… like the other times. This one's different. We know it. We both know it. We can feel it. This is gonna be the one, honey."

She turned away from him, sighing sadly. "And then what? I won't even get to see them grow up before—"

"You stop that talk right now," he interrupted sharply. "I won't hear it."

"Well it's time to open your ears, Dale," Irma argued, turning on him with teary eyes. "Cancer took my grandma ten years ago, now it's taken my aunt and it's tryin' to take my mom. It's only a matter of time before it takes me, too."

"We have plans, sweetheart. I won't let that happen," he promised. "We have a lot of life to live together. And I'm not gonna do it alone."

"And what if you have to?" She looked back at him sadly. "You know what they say: when men make plans, God laughs."

He frowned, dark eyebrows furrowed together. "I have the benefits that your mother and aunt could never afford, Irma. That's the difference between our plans and theirs. Anything that happens, we'll make it through. I'll pay for treatments, or-or if you want a mastectomy, we can nip it in the bud, so to say. Maybe a hysterectomy after the baby is born, just to be safe. We can make sure—"

"Just stop," she cut him off, putting up a hand, and his mouth snapped shut. "It's not… it's never that easy."

Beth finally managed to snap out of her enthralled trance and look away.

'No, this is a private memory,' she told herself. 'This has nothin' to do with The Governor, it's none of my business. I stepped off onto the wrong floor.'

Dale and Irma had never had a child. And though Irma had beaten cervical cancer once, she eventually succumbed to a hereditary type of breast cancer that no surgery could've prevented.

Beth already knew how this part of the sad story ended. She had no desire to learn all the gruesome details.

So she stepped back and returned to the elevator. The scene outside the doors darkened and flickered, but then the doors slid shut in front of her. The calming classical music resumed around her. But there was a dull aching in her chest now that had nothing to do with the writhing tentacle-vines within her core. She already felt guilty for seeing something so private.

'I need information about Philip Blake,' she thought, silently willing it into existence. 'I need to know anything I can learn about him. We never know what could help. Maybe if we could get an idea of how his mind works…'

She reached out and pressed the second button in the first row—another symbol she couldn't interpret. It lit up and the elevator began to move around her, gliding up to the next floor. The display above the doors switched from 'AD1984D1' to 'AD1985D1.'

Ding!

Then it stopped. The doors slid open once more and Beth took a cautious step forward, waiting for whatever was waiting outside to begin forming.

And it did. The music paused.

The shadowy shapes resembled a room that looked somehow familiar. So she took another step forward, eagerly this time. As soon as she crossed the threshold, it lit up with fluorescent lighting and morning sunlight shining in through big, plate-glass windows. And she immediately realized it was the insurance office.

But it wasn't SafeZone National Insurance. Not as she'd ever seen it, anyway.

The film-like haze remained over everything in sight. She was viewing the scene from the side of the room opposite to the front doors, near the back row of desks. She glanced to her left and saw Dale, nearly identical to how he'd appeared in the previous memory. Though this time, he was dressed in casual business attire rather than all-black funeral clothing. He was sitting at his desk and staring forward with a smile, his coworkers seated at their respective desks throughout the room.

Beth noticed that everyone's clothing and hairstyles were very mid-80s chic, and there were Easter decorations tastefully arranged around the room.

She looked forward to see what Dale was watching: a middle-aged blonde man she didn't recognize was standing at the front of the room, beaming proudly. Next to him was a man with dark brown hair, no older than early-to-mid twenties, and for some reason, he looked… familiar. He was smiling nervously, shoulders slightly hunched as he cradled a small box full of office supplies against his chest.

"Good morning, team!" The blonde man announced with a booming and cheerful voice before gesturing to the man beside him. "I'd like to introduce y'all to the newest employee of Senoia Sanctuary Insurance: Philip Blake!"

Holy shit.

Beth gaped, staring at the young man in a new light. Of course it was him. How had she not seen it? He had no lines of aging on his face, and his hair was lighter and cut short rather than slicked-back. But it was him. No doubt about it. He had that same odd glint in his blue-green eyes. That same stiff jaw.

Everyone in the room clapped politely in greeting, Dale included.

The blonde man gestured towards the empty desk that sat across the aisle from Dale, walking Philip over to it, and said, "You'll be right here at this vacant desk beside Dale—y'all will be neighbors!"

Philip nodded and lowered his head, shuffling over to the empty desk while Dale watched with a smile.

The blond man turned on Dale and said with a chuckle, "Looks like you're not the new guy anymore, Horvath."

Dale laughed and responded, "I haven't been for over a year, Frank."

The blond man—Frank—grinned and pointed to Philip, who was busily unpacking his box of supplies and setting up his new workspace. "I trust you'll make Mr. Blake feel right at home."

Dale nodded. "Of course." And as Frank turned and walked away, he looked over at his new coworker. Dale stood and crossed the aisle with one long step, reaching out his hand with a warm and welcoming smile. "HI there, Philip. I'm Dale. I reckon we'll be neighbors from here on out."

Philip offered him no more than a wary sidelong glance before resuming his unpacking. He was no longer smiling when he muttered, "I don't usually make friends with my neighbors."

Dale shrugged, brushing off the odd tone to the other man's statement and lowering his hand awkwardly. "No problem—I'm not one to push anythin'. But if ya'd like to change that policy, I can always use a new friend. Or even a convivial coworker." He grinned.

Philip gave him another sidelong look, pausing for no more than a second. Then he let out a soft hmph and said, somewhat forcibly, "That sounds just fine, Dale Horvath. I appreciate yer courtesy."

That was enough for Dale. He nodded and went back to his own desk.

Like a quiet voice echoing inside her own mind, Beth could hear Dale's thoughts as if they were her own: he wasn't one to judge a book by its cover. Never had been. He was looking forward to getting to know his new coworker. This place was like a second family, after all, and Philip Blake was the newest addition. Dale would crack through that off-putting outer shell. Eventually.

Very suddenly, Beth felt a strong, unseen force shoving her backwards. She stumbled and nearly tripped over her own feet, regaining her balance inside the elevator. Then she watched with wide eyes as the past interior of the insurance company began to fade away, and the shiny metal doors closed before her.

Elevator music filled her ears once more and she looked over to the panel of buttons. The third button in the first row was blinking—like it was telling her to push it next—and she quickly reached over to press it with two fingers. The floor shifted beneath her feet. The elevator ascended to the next floor while the glowing sign above the doors switched from 'AD1985D1' to 'AD1985D2.'

Beth's heart pounded in her chest, slower than usual yet insistent all the same. She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. The elevator was coming to a halt. A ding! rang out around her. The music paused.

The doors slid open and she didn't hesitate this time. She took a step forward and watched shadowy shapes and silhouettes form. She heard Dale's distant inner voice at the edge of her skull, though she couldn't discern his words, and took another step forward until she'd crossed the threshold. She only stopped once the scene began to take form before her eyes.

It was the insurance company again, but the Easter decorations were gone—replaced with paper snowflakes and Christmas trees. Late evening sunlight was leaking in through the plate-glass windows at the front of the room, and all the desks were empty. Except for one: Dale's.

He was sitting behind it, hunched over the desk's surface and speaking in hushed tones to a woman who sat in the chair across from him. He looked the same as the previous memory, but Beth didn't recognize the woman. She had dark red hair and looked to be in her thirties or forties, wearing a long blue dress, her ankles crossed tensely, clutching a red leather purse in her lap and gazing at Dale with pitiful, wide eyes. A thick black coat hung on the back of her chair. An array of paperwork was sprawled out between them on the desk.

"Now listen, I understand yer plight, okay?" Dale said, his voice low and coaxing. "And I can help, but this will have to… stay between us. And there's a few small things you'll have to do in order for it to work. Ya understand?"

The red-haired woman nodded, blinking away pooling tears. She smiled weakly and leaned forward in her seat. "Of course, Mr. Horvath. You have no idea what this means—we'll do whatever it takes. I just can't lose that house. And the medical bills are pilin' up so damn high. I'm afraid we won't even be able to eat once this is all said an' done, let alone have a proper funeral for Chuck."

"I know," Dale said. "That's why I'm doin' this. It could mean my job, but I… well, I just can't sit by an' watch y'all struggle knowin' I coulda done something. That's not right. Your daddy's known my daddy since they were kids, that house belongs to you an' yours. Not the bank."

The woman blinked away fresh tears and sniffled, her smile widening. "I'm so relieved to have you on our side. My daddy always said you were a good man."

"If I could do more, Barbara, you know I would…"

"Nobody can fix my husband, not even the specialists," Barbara assured, her spine stiffening. "And if it's God's will that this cancer takes his life, then so be it. But I can't bear the idea of Otis sufferin' because of his daddy's disease…"

Dale nodded. "Of course. I completely understand. And you know I agree. Otis is a good boy. He's got a bright future ahead of him."

Barbara relaxed a bit and sighed softly. "I wouldn't wanna put your career at risk though, Dale. Not fer us. You an' Irma have worked so hard to get where you are—"

He put up a hand to stop her and interrupted, "Don't think twice about it. I know the risks I'm takin'. And I have backup plans. But like I said, it's gonna rely on y'all just as much as it'll rely on me. I need ya to work with me here, Barb." He raised his bushy black eyebrows at her.

She nodded. "Anything. You name it. How d'we make this work?"

"Well, I fudged the numbers a bit, and as long as you can make the payments over the next six months—"

"Six months?" Barbara huffed. "He don't even got six weeks, Dale. You know what the doctors said…"

Dale sighed sadly and glanced away from her eyes for a brief moment. "Yes, I'm aware. But that's part of it, too. No agent in their right mind would allow a new plan with a pre-existing condition like this. With such a bleak diagnosis. Shred your copies of the medical documents, if you have to. I'm certainly gonna be 'misplacing' the copies you sent to me." He gave her a pointed look and lowered his voice. "Ya understand?"

Barbara worried her lower lip, but then she nodded. "Right. I understand."

"And," Dale went on. "You'll have to compensate for the income we listed. Destroy the last three months' worth of paystubs, lose yer tax return documents, and have Otis pick up a part-time job. Full-time, if he can manage it. If not, you may need to pick up a second job. At least long enough to get a couple paystubs."

"A job where?" She asked. "I've been lookin' fer ages, nobody in town is hiring. And I can't afford to drive back and forth to Fayetteville or Peachtree or Atlanta."

"You know Hershel Greene?"

"Didn't he just move back after his daddy died?"

Beth gasped silently. No freaking way…

"Yeah, he did," Dale confirmed. "And his daddy left him the Greene Farm. Every last acre. He needs farmhands—strong, reliable young men. Otis would be perfect, and it wouldn't interfere with his schoolwork. That farm's been thrivin' fer years, so I know Hershel will be payin' decent wages. He won't be risking any under-the-table nonsense either. Should be more than enough to cover the required income. And the paperwork we need."

"Okay," Barbara agreed somewhat hesitantly. "We can do that. I'll drive down there in the mornin' an' talk to him. I'll bring Otis along so they can meet."

Beth couldn't help but feel baffled. She'd known Otis had worked for her dad for a good portion of his life, but she hadn't realized this was how it had come together. Otis had never mentioned a word about how exactly his dad passed away, but now that she thought about it, he had seemed particularly torn up over Annette's death. Beth had always attributed it to the fact that he was a long-time family friend.

She'd never imagined this scenario, let alone the fact that Dale was the one to make it happen in the first place.

Fucking small towns.

Dale smiled across the desk at Barbara. "That's a good idea." Then he cleared his throat and leaned back, shuffling through the papers before him and pulling out a single crisp sheet. "Here—sign this and I won't file it until next week, but I'll make sure it goes into effect within the month. That should be plenty of time fer Otis to start bringin' in income. I'll work around the rest of the technicalities."

A crease formed in Barbara's forehead and she frowned. "What if…"

Her voice trailed off, but Dale already knew what she was asking. He gave her a reassuring look and said, "Chuck will hold on as long as possible. We don't—"

But he stopped at the sudden sound of the front door opening. He and Barbara both looked up and slightly craned their necks to see past the partitions around the desk. Beth looked over, as well.

And for some reason, she wasn't shocked to see Philip Blake entering the office.

She watched Dale tense up and stand from his desk, stepping sideways and discreetly motioning for Barbara to remain where she was. He put on an overly cheery smile and greeted, "Phil! Ya forget somethin'?"

Philip was sneering, but it morphed into a curious smirk as he met Dale's gaze and strode across the room towards his desk. "Yes," he replied stoically. "And I told you, I don't like bein' called that."

"Sorry—Philip," Dale corrected himself, still smiling and hoping to appear as nonchalant as possible. He could already tell it wasn't working, though.

Philip stopped beside his desk and looked over, observing the scene of the paperwork on Dale's desk and the sad woman sitting in the client's chair. His jade eyes filled with suspicion and it was obvious that he was putting two-and-two together inside his head. He'd already seen Barbara visiting and discussing insurance plans with Dale during business hours over the last few months—ever since Chuck's diagnosis. And Dale was almost certain that Philip had overheard more than enough of his apologetic rejections to know what was really going on here.

But maybe he could trust him? Sure, Philip hadn't spoken much to him, and Dale still knew nothing about him, not even where he was from. But surely Philip was a reasonable guy. Surely there was a way to appeal to his more empathetic side and persuade him to keep his suspicions to himself. Out of the goodness of his heart, maybe?

As if he could read the uncertainty on Dale's face, Philip said, "Don't worry. Your little secret's safe with me." His smirk curled into a half-smile and he added quietly, "It's just business, right?"

He winked and a shiver ran down Dale's spine.

Regardless, he returned the younger man's smile and nodded. "Right. Thank you for understanding."

"Mm-hmm," Philip hummed in response. Then he turned away, pulling open a drawer in his desk and proceeding to dig through it.

Dale hesitated awkwardly before adding, "Uh, I appreciate yer discretion."

Philip found whatever he was looking for and pocketed it, slamming the drawer shut and turning to face Dale. He towered over the older man by a few inches and Dale found himself looking up to meet his gaze.

Philip smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course. Anything for a coworker."

At that, he turned and strode towards the front door. Back at Dale's desk, Barbara was standing and slipping on her coat, buttoning it up and preparing to leave. Her face was pale and her lower lip was trembling.

The front door opened and Philip exited the building, and Beth could feel the cold winter breeze that rushed in after him as the door swung shut. She watched Dale approach Barbara, stepping close and reaching out to gently grasp her wrist.

Barbara spoke before he could, the panic rising in her voice, "Dale, if that man is gonna say somethin', maybe we should forget the whole thing. I can figure out somethin' else—we have an uncle in Florida, maybe we could stay with him after the house gets foreclosed. Till I pay off some'a the bills an' get us back on our feet."

Dale argued back, "Barb, no. Don't think twice about it. I'll handle this, alrigh? Philip is my coworker. He's a reasonable man. I'll talk to him. He didn't actually hear anything. You jus' worry about Otis an' that second income. Leave the rest to me."

She nodded, her face full of trepidation.

But before Otis's mother could respond, Beth was being shoved back again.

Luckily, she was more prepared this time, so she didn't stumble over her own feet. But she couldn't stop the unseen force pushing her back into the elevator, nor could she prevent the shiny metal doors from sliding shut again.

Just like last time, the elevator music started up again, and Beth looked over to see the first button in the second row blinking. She eagerly pressed it.

The elevator shifted around her and ascended. The display above the doors switched from 'AD1985D2' to 'AD1985D3.' And she waited patiently for a few long seconds, listening to the comforting sound of her own slowly beating heart, trying to tune out the weirdly out-of-place classical music playing around her.

'Philip Blake, Philip Blake,' she chanted wordlessly. 'Show me more about him. Show me who he really is.'

The aching inside her chest was growing stronger. The more she learned, the more it hurt. Who could've guessed that looking into people's pasts would be so dark and dreary?

Merle, probably. Not that she would've listened to him anyway. This was all necessary information. She didn't quite know how yet, but she knew it was. She could feel it.

Every little puzzle piece fit in somewhere. Even if it hurt like hell to shove them into place.

The music paused. The elevator halted and a loud ding! rang out. The doors opened and Beth took a step forward without so much as a second thought. Shapes began to form, and the distant but muffled inner voice from Dale's conscience urged her on. She crossed the threshold.

This wasn't the insurance company again. Instead, it was the inside of a small diner. The interior layout seemed familiar, but the furniture and decor were nothing she'd ever seen before. She was standing next to a booth right by the front door, which was occupied by Dale and Philip, sitting opposite of each other. To her right was a counter with a few barstools and a waitress working behind it. To her left were a half-dozen more booths, but only a couple of them were occupied by other customers.

Wait—she recognized this place. It was the coffee shop next door to the insurance place. It must've been a diner back in the day.

Familiar sights were difficult to point out when there was a crackly, yellowish film plastered over her eyeballs. Especially when they were things that had existed and disappeared and been replaced, all before she was ever born.

But she was focused on Dale, and how he sat stiffly in the booth and gazed across the table at Philip. They each had cups before them—Dale's was a mug of coffee while Philip's was a tall glass of iced tea—and Dale was smiling politely, hands in his lap. Philip wasn't smiling, and his blue-green eyes were flicking back and forth between the cup in his hand and the fake smile on his colleague's face. They seemed to have been sitting down long enough to be served their drinks and have their orders taken, and Beth could tell from Philip's guarded expression that this was the first time they'd ever shared a meal, let alone spent time together one-on-one outside of work.

They both looked about the same as they had in the previous memory, and there were a few Christmas decorations throughout the diner. Beth took note of these details and paid close attention.

"Ya know," Dale said. "Sanctuary is like a second family. A lot of us take pride in knowin' our coworkers, having good relationships. And you an' I have been neighbors fer months now, but I still don't know a thing about ya." He offered a friendly smile. "I'd like to change that."

Philip's expression didn't change, his mouth set in a thin line as he looked back at Dale, rather unimpressed. "I already had a family. Why would I need a second one?"

Dale blinked and his smile wavered. "Had?"

Philip simply nodded.

"Well, I wouldn't wanna push nothin' on ya, Philip," Dale assured. "I was just sayin'."

Philip shrugged. "No one's shown any interest in gettin' to know me." He quirked a brow. "Not even you. Not really." He lifted his glass and took a sip of tea, his eyes never leaving Dale's.

"I apologize for that. Genuinely." Dale shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pulled his coffee mug closer, cupping it between his hands. "I never meant to come across as ambivalent. Just seemed like you preferred to be left alone."

"I usually do," Philip said. "If this is about the Barbara Bumgardner plan, you don't need to sweeten me up." He waved a hand passively towards the table between them. "Buying me lunch and tryin' to be friendly—it's not necessary. I haven't spoken a word to anybody."

Dale chuckled awkwardly. "That's not—"

But Philip cut him off, "Why would I rat you out? There's nothin' in it for me."

Dale furrowed his brow and huffed out a soft sigh. Then he shrugged with tense shoulders. "I didn't assume there was. Nor did I assume you'd throw me under the bus. For any reason."

"That's awfully kind of you," Philip drawled, and Dale couldn't tell if it was genuine or sarcastic, or something in-between.

"Well," Dale said. "I may not know ya, but I can tell yer a trustworthy fella."

Philip smirked and made a grunt of amusement. "Oh, you can, huh?"

Well, that admittedly made Dale second-guess his assumption. But he doubled down anyway. "Of course. I've always been a good judge of character." He smiled and paused to take a sip of coffee. When he lowered his mug, he said, "So let's get to know each other, Philip. No reason ya gotta be all alone in this world. It's a small town, yer bound to make a friend or two. May as well be me." He finished with what he hoped was his most convincingly friendly grin.

Philip shrugged indifferently, though his emerald eyes were set on Dale with intent. "Yeah, small towns. May as well plant some roots. I reckon yer as trustworthy of a fella as they come, huh?"

Dale chuckled nervously. "I reckon." He cleared his throat and asked, "So where ya from? Somewhere around here?"

Philip glanced away briefly, wrapping his hand around his condensated glass. Then he replied, "I transferred here from the insurance company in Peachtree City."

"Oh," Dale perked up. "Is that where ya grew up?"

"No," Philip said. "I was born and raised in Woodbury. Even smaller town than this."

"I've been to Woodbury," Dale grinned. "Nice place. Definitely smaller than Senoia. Seems peaceful, though. Ya got parents there? Siblings? Maybe a grandparent or somethin'?"

Philip exhaled through flared nostrils and looked down at his tea glass. "Not anymore."

Dale's grin disappeared. "Oh." And even though his more logical side was telling him not to ask, he did anyway: "What happened? If ya don't mind me asking…"

The other man didn't seem to so much as flinch at the question. His eyes flicked up and met Dale's, void of emotion, and he answered, "Parents died when I was young. Their parents died before I came along. Older brother joined the military, did a couple tours, blew his brains out after he got home. It's just me now."

"Jesus," Dale whispered, unable to stop himself. He quickly apologized, "Sorry, I just—that's awful. I'm very sorry to hear it, Philip."

Philip merely shrugged, his expression unchanged. "You asked."

Dale thought that was an odd response, but he reminded himself that everyone processes grief in their own way. This wasn't the first person he'd ever encountered who seemed blank-faced and emotionally unavailable when it came to discussing their dead loved ones.

And maybe that explained it, he silently mused. Maybe Philip had been alone for so long now, he simply didn't know any other way to be. Maybe he just needed someone to step in and say, hey I'm here for you and you don't always have to be alone.

Then again, Philip didn't really seem like the type of person you'd want to try and force a friendship on. So Dale figured he'd better tread lightly.

A moment later, the waitress arrived with their lunch and set the meals down between them, returning to refill Dale's coffee and Philip's tea before walking off to tend to other customers. The two men began digging into their food wordlessly.

Dale was nearly finished with his side of coleslaw when Philip spoke up. "So tell me about yourself, Dale."

Dale looked up and met Philip's gaze, a bit surprised. He finished the bite in his mouth and dabbed at his lips with a napkin before responding cheerily, "Well, I live with my wife in a nice little house. My parents passed away when I was a young man, as well. Not until I was in college, but—"

"No, not that," Philip interrupted, stuffing a piece of rare steak into his mouth and speaking while he chewed. "Everyone in the office knows your small town story."

Dale furrowed his brow, confused. "Then what d'you mean, Philip?"

The other man swallowed his bite and took a swig of iced tea. "I mean, tell me about yourself; why you do the things you do. What brought you to workin' for this company, what you plan on gettin' out of it." He paused and lowered his voice to add, "Why you feel the need to risk your own livelihood to help some poor woman with a terminally ill husband."

Dale frowned and stared back at Philip, trying to read his face, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thinking. Maybe he was just the kind of guy who didn't care for small talk and wanted to get straight to the point.

"Well… to be honest with you?" He started, his fork gripped in his hand.

Philip cut another piece of his steak off with his knife and fork. He didn't even glance up when he said, "I'm certainly not askin' you to lie to me. Or sugarcoat anything."

"Alright," Dale shrugged. "I can't say I got into this job to explicitly 'get anything.' I met my wife in college, she wanted to stay close to her family, so I took the first decent-paying job with benefits that I could find. The benefits were the most important part—" he raised his eyebrows, watching as Philip met his gaze with intrigue "—because her aunt was already gettin' sick, and we knew she'd need our help. Not to mention, we wanna start a family of our own, but the fertility treatments are expensive. I needed something with insurance that would cover those costs. And we have a retirement plan, so I gotta make sure I have enough saved for that. I've been takin' some teaching jobs on the side when I can. And Irma…" He paused and sighed. "She never had any kinda stability in her life. Her family always struggled with money. So I wanted to make sure I could give her somethin' more stress-free. It's the least she deserves. If I could give that woman the world…"

Philip was smirking like he was hearing some kind of juicy gossip. He finished chewing the bite in his mouth and chased it down with iced tea before muttering, "How sweet." It sounded weirdly sarcastic, but Dale chose not to interpret it that way. "But that still doesn't explain why you'd risk all that for Mrs. Bumgardner. I overheard you two discussing her husband's diagnosis last week—you must've had to pull some sneaky tricks to ensure she an' her boy get paid once dear old dad croaks. What's he got, six weeks at best?"

Dale's face fell and he looked down at his meal, though his appetite had suddenly disappeared. He set his fork down and took a sip of coffee. He could feel Philip staring across the table at him, waiting for an explanation.

Why did he feel like he was about to be blackmailed?

"I wouldn't call 'em sneaky tricks," he said quietly, slowly raising his eyes to meet the other man's. "Just… pulled some strings to ensure they wouldn't be left penniless."

"Right," Philip nodded. "And have you ever done that before? Pulled some strings for somebody you thought was in need, I mean?"

"Of course not," Dale lied.

Philip studied Dale's face, but he seemed to believe him.

So Dale added, "If I wasn't positive that they deserved it—that they truly needed it—I would never think of doin' such a thing."

"'Cause you know them," Philip said. "Right? I mean, you both grew up here, your parents grew up here…"

Dale nodded rigidly. "That's right. And that's how I know they need it."

Philip narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "But you could get fired if anyone figured it out. You could get prosecuted."

"I'm well aware," Dale said, hoping his face hadn't gone quite as pale as it felt.

Philip simply shrugged. "So… why? Why do it?"

"Because," Dale said with the utmost confidence. "It's the right thing to do. The Bumgardners shouldn't be left homeless, and Barb's boy shouldn't be pulled away from all his friends and the only place he's ever known, just because some company wants to make a few more thousand dollars. The system is all messed up, and I can't do a damn thing to fix it, but this is somethin' I can do… Quite frankly, I'm not sure I could sleep at night knowin' I turned those poor folks away when they needed help the most."

"Hm," Philip hummed softly, taking in the words and ruminating on them. Then he smiled and said, "You're a fascinating man, Dale Horvath."

Dale gazed back at Philip curiously, watching him finish off the last of his steak and chase it with a long drink of iced tea.

Maybe this wasn't blackmail, after all. Maybe he was just genuinely curious. Maybe… he was looking for someone to help guide him. No parents, no brother. How long had he been without a father figure? And he must feel so lost, living in a new town where he doesn't know anyone, no family to call or see on the weekends.

Could Dale step in and try to offer him some kind of moral compass? Some kind of encouragement? Some kind of hopeful outlook in his lonely little world?

"So are you, Philip," he finally said.

Philip's blue-green eyes flicked up to meet Dale's and he smiled. "Me?" He shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm just another average Joe. Not much to show for myself… Maybe someday, though."

"I disagree," Dale insisted, smiling warmly. "I think you're a bright young man. You've got your whole life ahead of you. You'll most definitely have somethin' to show for yourself one day."

And that was the truth. From what Dale had observed over the last several months, Philip was polite. He was seemingly good-intentioned. He was handsome, and he could even be quite charming when he wanted to be. He didn't seem to suffer from any self-esteem issues. He was good with clients but quiet with colleagues, always did his work, kept to himself, never said or did anything to offend anyone. He was sharp as a tack, too. If he worked at it, Dale believed this kid could really make a good life for himself.

Philip shrugged. "We'll see."

Beth was shoved backwards by the unseen force once again. Before the scene of the diner could fully fade away, she was regaining her balance inside the elevator and watching the metal doors slide shut. The classical music started up again ever so casually.

She looked over and saw the second button in the second row blinking expectantly, so she reached out and pressed it. The elevator shifted beneath her feet and glided up, taking her to the next floor. The glowing sign changed from 'AD1985D3' to 'AD1986D1.'

Ding!

The music stopped. The doors slid open. Beth stepped forward and crossed the threshold without so much as a second of hesitation. Her feet were light as air. She could already hear Dale's inner thoughts echoing within her own head.

It was the inside of the insurance office again. The Christmas decorations were gone, replaced with bright red and pink hearts and Cupid cut-outs for Valentine's Day. About a dozen employees were buzzing around, some sitting at their desks, some on the phone, some meandering to the fax machine or the water cooler.

Dale was sitting at his desk, pen in hand and a pile of paperwork laid out before him. But his eyes were on the man at the desk across the aisle.

Every single day at 3 pm, like clockwork, Philip would discreetly pull something out of the top drawer of his desk and tuck it into his pocket before heading to the bathroom. Dale probably wouldn't have noticed, but he'd been observing Philip a lot more since they'd started getting to know each other. They were having lunch together once or twice a week, and though Philip still hadn't revealed much about himself, Dale was always looking for new topics of conversation. New bits of information that might explain his coworker's off-putting tendencies.

It wasn't like he didn't trust him. Philip hadn't so much as brought up the topic of the Bumgardners' insurance policy since that first lunch they'd shared. He seemed to have forgotten about it entirely.

Dale didn't mean to be nosey or anything. But he couldn't stop himself. Philip had some… curious habits. Things you probably wouldn't notice unless you spent five days a week working ten feet away from him.

But Dale told himself he was just looking out for Philip. Obviously he didn't have anyone else to look out for him. Right?

He was pretending to read the paperwork in front of him, but he was actually glancing from the clock hanging on the wall to Philip sitting at his desk. And the second it hit 2:59, he watched Philip open his top desk drawer, reach in, pull something out, and discreetly shove it into his pocket. Then he stood up and headed off to the door labeled 'Restrooms.'

Dale hesitated, watching as the younger man strode across the room and disappeared behind the door. A second later, he dropped his pen and stood up, walking quickly towards the restroom door.

Beth followed close at his heels, watching and listening intently; a silent ghost traipsing through a memory stuck in time.

The office restroom was unisex, with three stalls across from two sinks that sat underneath one large mirror. Dale pushed the door open and stepped inside, and he was immediately met with the sight of Philip standing at the sinks, carefully plucking pills from a small plastic container that was set out on the countertop.

He recognized the container right away: it was the same kind Irma had been using for her fertility drugs and prenatal vitamins, with little compartments labeled Sunday through Saturday that designated which pills should be taken on each day of the week. His mother-in-law had been using one, too—though for a vastly different reason.

That was worrying. Was Philip sick? Was he hiding some kind of debilitating illness or disorder?

He clearly hadn't expected to have company, seeing as he always seemed to slip in and out before anyone needed to use the stalls. He quickly stepped aside, as if to block his pill container from sight, and looked at Dale with surprise.

"Sorry, just had to use the toilet," Dale apologized, making a beeline to the closest stall.

But Philip knew he'd already seen. He'd probably caught the look of recognition on Dale's face, too.

Admittedly, Dale had never been much good at masking his emotions.

"You follow me in here, Dale?" Philip asked, his back to the countertop as he continued using his body to hide the pill container.

"Why would I do that?" Dale chuckled, feigning ignorance and pausing with his hand on the stall door.

"You tell me," Philip said.

Dale shook his head. "Nothin' like that, Philip. Just so happens I had a full bladder—all the coffee, I reckon." He smiled, attempting to ease the tension, but Philip didn't smile back. So he grew more solemn and said, "Nothin' to be ashamed of anyhow, ya know. It's no one's business but yer own."

Philip gave a clipped nod. "I agree."

He probably should have left it at that and pretended he'd seen nothing at all, but Dale couldn't help himself. The concern was audible in his tone as he asked, "Are you alright? You're not… sick, are ya?"

Philip narrowed his eyes. They flashed from blue-green to a deep emerald. Or maybe it was just the lighting inside the restroom.

"Just a little tapeworm," he said. He put on a tight-lipped smile.

Dale doubted that was the truth; a tapeworm that he'd been treating for well over a month now? And why would he need so many pills designated for every single day? Maybe it was actually antidepressants.

Of course. That must be it. The poor kid had lost his whole family and he was barely 25. And most people weren't very understanding when it came to finding out that someone was "clinically depressed," let alone that they were being medicated for it. No wonder he'd feel the need to hide it.

"Well it's nothin' to be ashamed of," Dale said, giving Philip a very serious look. "Maybe some people wouldn't understand, but ya won't hear any judgment from me. Like I said, ain't nobody's business but yours."

Philip didn't appear very pleased, but he kept smiling nonetheless. "That's right," he agreed quietly.

He seemed to be waiting for Dale to turn away, so Dale took the cue and did such. He retreated inside the stall and shut the door. Though he could hear Philip hurriedly clicking the pill container closed and shoving it into his pocket.

He could only hope he hadn't screwed anything up. Philip had just been starting to let him in.

to be continued…


A/N: Hey! This fic is being turned into a podfic now :) If you're interested in listening to chapter 1, check out this fic's posting on AO3 for the link!
Thank you for reading!