The Definition of a Lost Cause

Beth was ripped away from her brief glimpse of the Dixon family in a pre-Daryl era, shoved back into the elevator against her will. The grocery store parking lot disappeared behind shiny metal doors. Elevator music filled her ears once again.

The tentacle-vines squirmed like a million maggots beneath her skin and within her core, completely unsettled. Though they didn't seem to be capable of reaching out in this place, no matter how badly they wanted to.

She was still reeling, barely allotted enough time to comprehend what she'd just seen: Merle and Daryl's mama, pregnant with Daryl, taking abuse from the infamous Will Dixon outside of a grocery store. Beth had hoped for a glance at how The Governor worked, who else he might know, where he might be hiding.

She'd never expected to see the battered woman who was carrying the fetus of Daryl Dixon inside her womb.

But Beth didn't linger on any of that for longer than a second; her mind wouldn't allow it. She'd come to this place with intent and purpose. And she was already looking over at the panel of buttons. At the third button in the third row, blinking as though it were urging her on.

She reached out and pressed it. The elevator shifted beneath her feet and rose to the next level. The digital display above the door changed from 'AD1978D1' to 'AD1986D4.'

Ding!

The music paused. The tentacle-vines calmed and settled somewhere inside her body. The doors slid open, and Beth didn't hesitate before stepping over the threshold.

She recognized Senoia Sanctuary Insurance immediately. Dale and Philip working at their respective desks. Bright afternoon sunlight pouring in through the big plate-glass windows at the front of the office. Easter decorations tastefully scattered throughout the workspaces. The analog clock hanging on the wall.

It was a quarter past noon and most of the desks were empty save for an employee near the front, who was eating at his desk, and another employee seated two desks ahead of Philip, who was working vigilantly on a stack of paperwork laid out before her. The door to Frank's office was shut tight with a handwritten paper sign taped to the front: 'Out To Lunch.'

Dale was focused on his work, trying to catch up on a backlog of paperwork that had arrived over the weekend. He'd noticed Philip working well into their lunch break today as well, though he wasn't sure why. They hadn't spoken much over the last week.

Admittedly, Dale felt a little guilty for snooping through Philip's desk and skimming his personal journal. But what he'd learned had been so off-putting that he still hadn't figured out how to approach the younger man. Nor had he figured out how to continue acting like he was completely ignorant. They'd only spent two lunch breaks together since then, and Dale was finding it harder and harder to keep all his questions—and concerns—to himself. Though Philip didn't seem very interested in Dale's company, anyway. Not that he ever had, but he'd grown even more closed-off over the past month or so.

Which only urged Dale to reach out and help even more. He hadn't made any attempts yet, though. He didn't know how. He had no idea how to approach such a thing without confessing to invading Philip's privacy.

The front door swung open very suddenly, shattering the silence like glass. A burst of warm, humid air rushed through the office. Will Dixon strode in, a wild look in his eyes. He spotted Philip immediately and scowled.

"You gonna blow me off, asshole?!"

Philip was already out of his chair and crossing the room, rushing up to Will and responding in a hushed tone, "What the hell're you doin' here? I told you I might be late today—are you drunk?"

Will slashed an arm through the air and took a step back, looking Philip up and down with squinted eyes. "The fuck business's that a yers? Huh? We had a fuckin' appointment, boy."

Dale and the two other employees inside the office were watching with wide eyes from behind the safety of their partitions. The female employee already had her hand on the phone, prepared to pick it up and call the police. Philip glanced back over his shoulder, frowning and tensing up when he realized all eyes were on him and the infamous Dixon.

He reached out and grabbed Will's upper arm, jerking him towards the front door. "We can talk outside," he hissed.

Will jerked his arm back and shoved Philip's chest with his other hand, letting out a grunt of disagreement. "Get'cher fuckin' hands off me—"

But Philip merely tightened his grasp and shoved Will a little harder, until the older man was stumbling over the threshold and out onto the sidewalk. Dale stood up and watched as the front door fell shut and the two men disappeared from view through the plate-glass windows. Will's voice carried, his disgruntled arguments still barely audible, but Philip's voice was too muffled to decipher. And then they'd walked far enough down the sidewalk that they couldn't be seen or heard.

The other employees exchanged an uneasy glance and some raised eyebrows, but a moment later, they were back to working and eating their lunches. Dale, on the other hand, was still standing at his desk and gazing towards the front door with deep concern.

What the hell was Will Dixon doing here? Why was Philip making "appointments" with that man? Didn't he know what he was getting himself into?

What the hell was that poor boy being convinced to do by the no-good, scheming Dixon patriarch?

Philip didn't return for over an hour. By that time, everyone was back from lunch and working into the second half of their day.

As he walked through the office to his desk, the two employees who'd seen Will show up gave him wary side-eyes, but he didn't acknowledge them. Dale didn't even lift his head to look at Philip, pretending to be too busy to notice his arrival. Though he watched Philip from the corner of his eye. It was no surprise that the younger man appeared a little more agitated than usual.

The work day went on without incident. The clock hit 5 and everyone packed up, bidding their goodbyes and heading out to their cars. But Dale lingered behind. Philip was always one of the last to leave, probably because he wanted to avoid the mingling between employees that went on in the parking lot. And today was no different.

Dale wasn't stupid; he knew it wasn't wise to try and bring up Will Dixon right now. Philip would just get angry and embarrassed and defensive. So he planned to try and appear casually concerned, maybe play it off as an interest in simply speaking to him. Perhaps it would be easier to approach the subject over tomorrow's lunch…?

Philip didn't tuck away all his paperwork and stand from his desk until a solid five minutes had passed since Frank and the last employee left the building. The sun was quickly descending behind the horizon outside.

As he grabbed his jacket and briefcase, Dale stood up as well.

"Uh—hey, Philip…"

The younger man paused and turned to look over at Dale expectantly, eyebrows raised and a frown on his face.

Dale offered a warm smile and cleared his throat before he went on, "Ain't been havin' lunch together too often the last couple weeks. Whadd'ya say we go to the diner tomorrow? Steaks on me."

Philip pushed in his chair and, without looking at Dale, replied, "'Fraid I'm booked this week. Maybe some other time, Dale."

Dale hadn't really expected to be turned down so promptly. Without thinking, he said, "Oh—all booked up, huh? With Dixon, I reckon?"

He tried to come off as teasing and light-hearted, but as soon as it came out, he knew that wasn't how the other man interpreted it.

Philip flashed a defensive scowl before turning away. "I don't think that's any of your business."

Dale snapped his mouth shut, taken aback. It was the response he was anticipating, but at the same time, he hadn't really anticipated it.

Before he could say anything else, Philip was taking long, purposeful strides towards the front door. Dale hurriedly gathered his things, throwing on his jacket and speed-walking through the office to catch up. Philip was already outside and halfway down the sidewalk by the time Dale reached him.

"Hey now," Dale said, walking faster than normal to keep pace with the younger man. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just askin'. Ain't gotta lock me out like some kinda stranger, Philip."

Philip halted in his tracks and turned his body to the side, facing Dale and glaring down at him. They were standing on the edge of the parking lot asphalt, just at the end of the sidewalk. The sun was sinking quickly, sky darkening to an orange-tinted violet, and streetlights were flickering to life around them. The shadows fell upon Philip's face in a way that made him look almost menacing. Dale struggled to keep a straight spine and squared shoulders, suddenly overcome with a sense of intimidation.

"You are a stranger, Dale," Philip said flatly. "Don't be mistaken."

Dale reeled, his wary smile vanishing and his eyebrows furrowing together. "What—well, that's simply not true. I consider you a good friend."

Philip's eyes flashed darker for a split-second, his scowl deepening. But his voice remained just as flat, just as emotionless. "I don't have friends. You are a stranger. Everyone in that office is a stranger. Everyone in this town is a stranger." He'd gotten too good at reading Dale's face, because he saw the next question forming behind his lips and cut it off quickly, "Yes, even Will Dixon. Even the bartender at The Dirty Penny. Even all those clients I pretend to give a shit about. You're all strangers to me."

Dale blinked and took a half-step back, gazing up at Philip with what could only be described as deep disappointment.

Nonetheless, Dale wasn't one to give up so easily.

"Because you make us strangers," he insisted, putting a little heft into his normally congenial tone. "You don't have to do all this alone, Philip. Ya hear me? The world isn't so gray and dreary as you'd like ta think it is. If you'd open your eyes, look around and see who's on yer side, you might—"

"Oh, trust me," Philip scoffed, an amused smirk playing across his lips. "My eyes are wide fucking open."

"Clearly they're not," Dale argued, his voice beginning to rise with agitation. "I get it, alrigh'? Yer young, ambitious, itchin' to get outta these small towns—but Christ. Making deals with a Dixon is no way to reach your goals, Philip. Why, it's downright stupid!"

Philip took a half-step closer and leered over the older man. And even though he was only a few inches taller, Dale felt like Philip was towering over him. His eyes darkened from azure to jade, nostrils flaring and jaw tensing.

"You wanna talk about stupid, Dale?" He spat, his thin mouth tilting downward in a sneer. His contempt was palpable. "Stupid is tryin' to act like someone's father just because you and your wife are incapable of having kids of your own."

Dale's stomach dropped to his feet and his mouth went dry. He had no words. His eyes widened, but he couldn't tear them away from Philip's intense gaze. He fought back tears, praying to God his pain wasn't as obvious as it felt.

But goddamn, he hadn't expected to have that so blatantly thrown back in his face. And it hurt.

"You don't know me," Philip went on, low and threatening. "You will never know me. We are not friends. And if you try to get in my way ever again, I think you'd best just remind yourself how many talks we've had. I know you, Dale Horvath. I know what you've done to keep you an' yours afloat… When it comes down to it, I won't hesitate to throw you under the bus—as you so eloquently put it."

Dale retained his composure and stared up at Philip with gentle defiance, nearing the edge of pleading. "You can spit poison at me all day long, but I won't stop tryin' to help you. Why're you doin' this? You're better—I believe that. You're smart, you're capable. I—I just can't fathom why you'd believe anything Will Dixon tells you. He's bad news, Philip. He's a scam artist. You'll regret ever gettin' involved with him."

Philip didn't waver. He frowned and narrowed his eyes.

The silence hung between the two men like a taut string. Dale hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath until his lungs began to ache. He let it out through his nose slowly.

But Philip was still stiff as a board. His hands were clenching into fists at his side, the knuckles of one hand turning white from their grip on the briefcase. As though he were contemplating… doing something.

He must've decided against it though, because his frown slowly turned upwards. Until he was smirking. All too confidently. Almost smug.

"Your determination is admirable, Dale," he drawled. His smirk disappeared. "But unnecessary. Save your breath an' keep your opinions to yourself… And keep your mouth shut. This has nothin' to do with you."

Dale countered with the first thing that came to mind: "No man is an island, Philip."

But Philip didn't flinch. "This man is," he spat.

Then he promptly turned and strode off towards his car. Leaving Dale standing speechless at the end of the sidewalk, shocked and appalled and downright hopeless.

Maybe he was wrong, after all. Maybe men like Philip simply didn't want to be better. Maybe some people were too far gone to be helped, no matter how young and full of potential they might seem. Maybe the effort and the heartache really weren't worth it in the long run.

Maybe Dale was better off just minding his own business.

Beth was shoved back harder than ever, through the office and back into the elevator, where she stumbled and regained her balance with shaky feet. Something was tingling within her core, and she couldn't figure out if it was the tentacle-vines or something else entirely.

But she didn't waste any time contemplating it. The doors slid shut and the elevator music started up again. She looked over to see the next button on the panel blinking, urging her to press it. So she did. The metallic encasement around her shifted and ascended. The digital display above the doors changed from 'AD1986D4' to 'AD1986D5.'

She enjoyed a very brief moment of relief knowing that she would be seeing more about The Governor and not another out-of-place, painful flashback pertaining to the Dixon family. Then she remembered that she didn't know exactly what she would be seeing, because clearly Dale knew a lot more than he'd let on, so she'd better just prepare herself for the worst.

Ding!

Thankfully, when the doors slid open and the music paused and she stepped across the threshold, the scene that formed was inside Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. Dale was walking to Frank's office and entering, closing the door tightly behind him.

Beth followed. As she passed through the office and all the employees working at their desks, she noticed that the Easter decorations were gone. And based on how everyone was dressed, it was getting pretty hot and humid outside.

Inside the tiny manager's office—which didn't look much different from its present-day state, save for newer furniture and the addition of a computer—Dale was taking a seat across from Frank, smiling warmly while Frank gazed at him over the desk. According to Dale's inner thoughts, he had no idea why Frank had called him in here. The only reason he could think of was that Frank was possibly extending an invitation for his annual Memorial Day cookout.

However, the somber expression on his boss's face made him a little worried. And he realized this probably had nothing to do with the Memorial Day cookout.

Frank cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair and settling his gray-blue eyes on Dale. "So, Dale… I know you an' Philip are friends. And that's why I'm comin' to you about this. But I'd like it to stay between us."

Dale's heart sped up and he tensed in his seat, his smile quickly fading. "I wouldn't say we're friends, exactly."

He couldn't forget how Philip had spoken to him that night. How the younger man had made it very clear that they were not friends and would never be. How he used exactly what he knew would hurt Dale most in order to push him away for good. They'd barely spoken since. There were no more lunch dates, no attempts at any sort of casual friendship. Their relationship was strictly business now, and the only time they talked was when their work necessitated it.

Dale figured that was for the best. Philip wanted distance. That much was obvious. And Dale wasn't about to risk his livelihood and his marriage just to push unsolicited help on some guy who was, quite frankly, out of his damn mind.

For the first time in his life, Dale considered someone a Lost Cause. And as much as he hated it, he couldn't change that fact.

Sometimes, you just have to accept that you can't change everything.

Or so he told himself. He was getting older, but he wasn't getting so old that he'd refuse to learn new lessons.

Philip was just that: a lesson. He was the line that had to be drawn. Dale couldn't help him; all he could do was pray that someone could figure out how to help that poor boy someday. Before he got himself in too deep to ever get out. Before he hurt someone.

That person would not be Dale, though. And he'd accepted that. In a blunt sort of way, the risk was not worth the reward.

Frank's brow creased and he frowned. "Oh—well, I just thought, since y'all seem to have lunch together pretty often, an' yer the only one I ever really see him talkin' to…"

Dale shrugged, trying to sound as casual and indifferent as possible, hoping he wasn't going to come off as accusatory or bitter. "He doesn't much care for me. 'Spose I came on a little too strong. He's not the social type."

Frank nodded and let out a hmph of interest. "Huh. Well, all the same… I'd like yer opinion."

Dale's eyes grew wider. "On what?"

Frank cleared his throat again and said, "Like I said, I'd like this to stay between us…"

Dale quickly nodded. "Of course, Frank." He motioned to close an invisible zipper over his mouth.

Frank seemed to relax the slightest, but he kept his voice low. "Stella mentioned somethin' the other day about Will Dixon comin' in here lookin' fer Philip a couple weeks back—said you an' Mike were the only other two people here, an' y'all saw him, too. Or so she says. What happened? D'you remember?"

Dale shifted uncomfortably in his seat, frown deepening. He didn't look away from his boss's gaze, though. "Yeah, I remember. Stella's tellin' it right. Wasn't a big deal, though. Didn't think it was worth mentioning. You know how that Dixon can be."

"Yeah, I do know," Frank agreed. "That's why I'm askin' you. What'd he come in here for? What was he yellin' at Philip about?"

"Oh, the hell if I know," Dale lied, waving it off like it was nonsense. "I think he was drunk. Coulda just been lost."

Frank ticked his jaw to the side in dissatisfaction. "Didn't much sound that way. Way Stella told it, Will was hollerin' about Philip blowing him off—like they had some kind of appointment."

Dale pursed his lips and stared back at Frank, unsure of what to say next. Was he supposed to cover for Philip right now?

What would happen if he didn't?

Frank reiterated, "You don't know anything about it?"

Dale finally sighed, his shoulders slumping. "What d'you want me to say, Frank? I don't talk to the kid anymore. He barely told me shit, even when we were havin' lunch together three times a week. I don't have the faintest clue why that Dixon scoundrel was causin' a fuss. Hell, fer all I know, it coulda been no more than a case of mistaken identity. Can't say I bothered to ask. Philip seemed to have the situation under control."

Frank glanced away, frowning and obviously displeased with this lack of an answer. He appeared genuinely confused as he muttered, "Thought you might be the one person in the office who'd have an idea what's goin' on… I ain't ever dealt with somethin' like this before. I don't even know where to start."

Dale furrowed his brow. "With what? What d'you think is goin' on?"

Frank sighed and met Dale's eyes with trepidation. "Well, Philip tried to get me to approve a deal with Dixon a few weeks back. I turned him down of course, but I could tell he was pissed about it. Then I find out that he went over my head with a new deal—straight to corporate—an' got approved."

Dale's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

Frank shook his head. "Wish I was. Thing is… I can't figure out how he fixed the numbers."

"Fixed the numbers?" Dale repeated, confused.

"Yeah," Frank explained. "The deal that corporate approved had much higher numbers. And the deposits to back 'em up. So naturally, I'm wonderin'... where the hell'd he get that kinda money? 'Cause I know Will Dixon sure as shit ain't got it."

Dale pursed his lips and stared back in bewilderment, trying to put the pieces together in his head. What was Philip up to? He could only imagine.

Frank leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows atop the surface of the desk. He lowered his voice even more, until Dale was straining to hear him. "I was thinkin'—an' tell me if I'm completely off-base here—but, what if Philip is usin' some kinda drug money or somethin'? I mean, what's he doin' with Dixon anyhow? We all know what kinda shit that guy gets into. Where's this money suddenly comin' from? And what're these two planning?"

Dale's stomach churned and twisted. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain eye contact with Frank. He'd always respected this man, and he felt awful lying to him.

But what choice did he have?

If he told the truth—that Philip had used his own savings to compensate for the Dixon insurance plan—then not only would he have to admit to snooping through Philip's personal belongings, but he'd also have to face whatever repercussions came from Philip being fired and possibly prosecuted.

And Philip knew about the Bumgardners' less than legal plan. He'd expose Dale's shameful secret in a heartbeat. Irma was an understanding and compassionate woman, but if she ever found out that Dale had put their livelihood on the line just to help a family friend, she'd never forgive him. She'd feel betrayed, and she'd have every right to feel that way. Because he'd kept it from her. He'd known she wouldn't approve. Helping her mother was one thing—she'd been incredibly uncertain about it and had tried to talk him out of it more than once, but he'd managed to convince her it was the only way. However, helping Barbara Bumgardner just because he could? On top of realizing he'd lied to her by omission, Irma would feel as though Dale were putting random townsfolk before the importance of his own wife and potential family.

She would surely leave him. Losing his job and his house was one thing. So was jail time. But losing the love of his life? Watching his soulmate walk away from him once and for all because he'd betrayed her trust?

That was the definition of Hell for Dale Horvath.

Philip would drag Dale down with him. He'd said it himself. He'd promised it. And he'd sounded very fucking serious.

Dale simply couldn't take those kinds of risks. It wasn't worth it. Whatever Philip and Will were planning, he was almost certain it would fail and blow up in their faces before any malice could come from it. There was no way they'd get away with something that was so blatantly illegal. They'd pay for their stupidity.

But until they did, he would just have to keep his mouth shut.

It was none of his business, after all.

"It's nothin' like that," Dale said. "Philip isn't involved with things like that. I know the plan with Dixon is sketchy, but—Philip's smarter than that. He's young. Naive. Ambitious."

Frank quirked a brow, suspicious. "Ambitious enough to scheme with a Dixon?"

Dale shook his head and scoffed convincingly. "Lord, no. You know how smoothly Will can talk people into stupid deals. Just let Philip figure it out on his own. When the plan blows up in his face and he's left with a negative balance, he'll learn his lesson. But until then, we just can't tell him nothin'... and trust me, I've tried."

Frank relaxed just the slightest bit and let out a deep sigh. Then he nodded. "Right. Guess I should've expected somethin' like this from an out-of-towner. And such a young kid to boot."

It almost made Dale feel worse to know that Frank trusted his word so much. But he had to use this to his benefit.

Irma was depending on him and this job. Their future was depending on him and this job.

Dale shrugged and forced a smile. "Boys will be boys. Isn't that what they say?"

Frank hmphed. "Yeah. Somethin' like that." He glanced away, shaking his head. "I'm just gonna take yer word on it, Dale. Seems like yer the only one who knows anything about that boy."

Yeah, Dale thought. Isn't that unfortunate.

Beth was shoved back by an unseen force. The scene faded and darkened. The metallic doors slid shut.

The elevator music started back up and she looked over to see the next button on the panel blinking. She reached a hand out and pressed it. The floor shifted and ascended beneath her feet.

The digital display above the doors changed from 'AD1986D5' to 'AD1986D6.'

Ding!

The doors opened. The music paused. Beth gazed out at the shadowed and hazy scene for no more than a second before stepping over the threshold.

She heard Dale's inner thoughts and an unfamiliar woman's voice. Then the silhouettes morphed into full-fledged forms. Though the hazy film remained over everything, like she was watching an old film on a projector.

She took another step forward and found herself inside the living room of Dale and Irma's house. She recognized it from the very first floor she'd visited on this weird Elevator of The Past. Dale was sitting on the couch, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in his hands. He was leaning forward with his mouth open in shock, his eyes wide and stuck to the TV a few feet away.

Beth realized the unfamiliar woman's voice was a news anchor speaking on television. It was the local Atlanta news. The report was about a house fire that had occurred overnight.

A house fire in Senoia.

Dale's hands were shaking, struggling to keep grasp of the coffee mug. He set it down on the coffee table in front of him, though his eyes were glued to the TV. His mind was racing, heart thumping like a drum inside his chest.

One woman dead; a wife and mother. A trailer burnt to the ground. Ruled an accident—the woman was smoking in bed. Yet another tragedy. Thank God her son made it out alive. He's only eight years old. His bedroom door was locked, but he managed to slip out the window at the last minute. A little smoke inhalation, but nothing he won't recover from. The father was out at the time, drinking at a local bar. No foul play suspected.

What a preventable tragedy. What a terrible, reckless thing to happen to such an innocent family. In a small sleepy town like Senoia, no less. Who could've ever predicted it?

They couldn't release the names of the victims yet, but Dale already knew who it was. So would everyone else in town. He recognized that trailer, even though it was barely more than a pile of ash on the TV screen. As would the rest of Senoia.

Everyone knew who the Dixons were. Everyone had driven past the shithole mobile home that Will and Leanne called home at one point or another.

The blood had already drained from Dale's face and his extremities were turning cold.

All he could think about was Philip Blake and that goddamn insurance plan…

Beth was shoved back into the elevator.

The music resumed and the doors slammed shut. She reached out and eagerly pressed the next blinking button on the panel. The tentacle-vines inside her body were squirming restlessly again.

The elevator jolted and ascended to the next floor. The digital display changed from 'AD1986D6' to 'AD1986D7.'

Ding!

The doors slid open and the music paused. Beth stepped out into the slowly-forming memory. Shadows and muffled voices developed into a discernible setting and comprehensive words.

It was the inside of Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. There were Halloween decorations scattered throughout the desks and partitions.

Beth had no more than a split-second to comprehend the time frame and remember where she'd come from—wait, Halloween decorations? There was an odd niggling at the back of her mind, something that was stored within her present-day consciousness, a bit harder to access in this particular state… Daryl had never mentioned when his mama died. Was it around Halloween time? Had the anniversary already passed in the present timeline? Was this somehow relevant?

The tentacle-vines squirmed uncomfortably from somewhere beneath her heart, as though they were itching to reach out and snake their way through the past. She tried to store away the memory and keep from forgetting: ask Daryl about when the fire was. Or ask Merle. Because for some reason, it feels important.

But she was snapped back to her current focus by Dale's inner thoughts, which told her that what she was seeing was taking place mere hours since he'd watched the news report on TV. The news report that had not specifically named the Dixons, but had shown their trailer—or rather, the ashen rubble that had once been their trailer. The news report that had discreetly described the fate of poor Leanne Dixon, and the surely lifelong trauma of young Daryl Dixon.

And now everyone in the office was whispering about it. Everyone except Dale, of course.

They were mostly gossiping about the Dixon family's reputation, how everyone in town had always kind of expected something like this to happen eventually. But they were also lamenting about how Leanne and little Daryl didn't deserve such a thing on top of being stuck with awful old Will.

"They was always the good half of the family," one coworker said.

"Sure was," another coworker agreed. "Nothin' at all like that Will an' Merle. Poor things."

"What could we have done, though?" a third coworker piped up. "I mean, we all know this couldn'ta been no… accident."

"What was there to do? Ain't right to go stickin' yer nose in other folks' business," the first coworker remarked with a scoff and a sip of his coffee. "She shoulda left him years ago. Went an' got herself knocked up twice. Wasn't a soul on earth who could convince her to leave that man, I tell ya what."

"Yep. I'll tell ya what else ain't right," the other coworker agreed. "Is accusin' a man of settin' his own home on fire. Now that's just wrong. Say whatcha want about ol' Will, but I don't think he's the type to outright burn his family up. Not his own boy, that's fer damn sure."

A moment later, the chatter hadn't died down. Philip entered the office and made a beeline for his desk. No one seemed to take notice of him, though. He'd been keeping to himself more than ever over the last six months—ever since that little incident where Will had popped in, and Dale had tried one last time to help.

And he hadn't spoken so much as a word to Dale since their heated confrontation.

Today was no different. Philip sat down at his desk and got to work while his colleagues meandered around, sipping coffee and sharing teary-eyed whispers.

Dale watched him for a bit, but he wasn't acting any weirder than usual. Then he remembered that Mike and Stella had both witnessed Will Dixon making a scene all those months ago. He glanced over at them, expecting to find them side-eyeing the hell out of Philip. But they weren't. It seemed they'd already forgotten.

Either that, or they didn't know that Philip had tried to sell an insurance plan to Will.

Frank knew, though.

Dale got up from his desk and strode across the room. He didn't dare glance in Philip's direction. He approached Frank's office door and knocked lightly.

"Come in!"

Frank was sitting behind his desk. He looked up from the paperwork in his hand and nodded at Dale, who was shutting the door tightly behind him and taking a seat in front of the desk. He noticed Frank wasn't smiling. In fact, his face looked a little paler than usual.

"Mornin', Frank," Dale said somberly. "Reckon ya heard the news…"

Frank let out a deep sigh and set his paperwork down, folding his hands atop it. "Yeah. It's a downright shame. That Leanne was always a good girl. It's too bad she got stuck with Will."

"Yeah. It's a shame alright," Dale muttered.

A shame this dinky little town and its old-fashioned people didn't offer her the resources she needed to get her and those boys out of that situation, he thought. But he'd never say that aloud. No one in Senoia would ever admit to sitting by and doing nothing when they knew they could've done something. They were too ignorant.

In some ways, Philip was right about places like this and the people who called it home. And Dale really hated realizing that.

"But ya know," Frank said, lowering his voice. "That's not the part that's really botherin' me… I got to thinkin', and… You remember that talk we had a few months back? About Philip?"

Dale nodded. This was exactly what he'd come in here for. "'Course I do. And I was thinkin' the same thing…"

Frank raised his eyebrows and his frown deepened. He went a little more pale and dropped his eyes. Dale could see him swallowing thickly before he spoke. "I'd never wanna accuse nobody, but I just can't—I can't get the idea outta my head. I mean, we all know what Dixon's capable of. And this is one helluva coincidence to jus' look past it…"

Dale nodded, shoulders stiffening. "No, I agree. It's too much of a coincidence." He paused, glancing at the door before leaning forward and practically whispering, "Surely they're gonna investigate it, right? Trace it back… here?"

Frank sighed again and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "They already did. Boys in blue work fast 'round these parts… I got a call from the lead investigator 'bout half an hour ago."

Dale's stomach dropped. "Christ."

Frank slowly lifted his head and met Dale's eyes with a tired and slightly fearful gaze. "Yeah… this ain't good."

"So they're gonna come question him?" Dale guessed. "Or—"

"Nah," Frank shook his head. "They wanna talk to everybody. Didn't even mention his name in particular."

"Okay," Dale said. "That makes sense—I'm sure they know. They just don't wanna tip him off or risk him gettin' scared an' leavin' town… Right?"

Frank scoffed, his frustration growing more evident. "Hell if I know, Dale. All I know is this ain't gonna look good fer the company. Not one damn bit. Whoever approved that plan is gonna have some shit to answer for. And so will I, fer lettin' it get past me."

Dale waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, c'mon now. You did your job, you had no way of stoppin' him from goin' over your head like that."

"But I knew it was a bad idea, and I had my suspicions that it was borderline illegal," Frank argued. "I shoulda reported it, at the very least. They're gonna have my head fer this. Gonna make an example outta me to keep somethin' like this from ever happening again."

"No, they won't," Dale assured. "It's not the first time some sorta fraud like this has happened, and it won't be the last. You're not the guilty party here."

Frank paused, licking his lips and averting his gaze downward. Then he asked, "And you think that young man out there is? You think he's…" He lifted his head and met Dale's eyes with a look of intensity. "…capable of plotting somethin' so… downright heinous? 'Cause you didn't sound quite so certain last time."

Dale froze, a knot forming in his throat.

Is that what he thought? Was he prepared to condemn Philip Blake for murder?

When he didn't respond for a long moment, Frank reiterated.

"Tell me the truth, Dale. You think that boy's got Leanne Dixon's blood on his hands?"

Dale swallowed past the knot and cleared his throat, resituating in his seat. He struggled to maintain eye contact, and his voice wavered a bit when he responded. But it was the only thing he could say with full confidence.

"Here's the truth, Frank: I'm not sure what he's capable of… And that's the part that worries me the most."

Before Frank could react, Beth was being shoved back out of the office and into the elevator. The doors slammed shut in front of her and the music started back up.

She reached out and pressed the next blinking button on the panel almost frantically. The metallic lift shifted around her as she watched the display above the doors change from 'AD1986D7' to 'AD1986D8.' Then the music paused.

Ding!

The shiny metal doors slid open and Beth stepped over the threshold as soon as she saw solid ground. The tentacle-vines had gone still within her core. Dale's inner thoughts urged her forward and the scene took shape as she entered yet another memory.

It was the inside of the insurance office again. And it was the same day as the prior scene, but much later. The sun was setting outside the big plate-glass windows. The analog clock on the wall read 5:23. All the desks were empty. Save for one.

Dale sat behind his desk, a pen clutched in his hand and hovering over a stack of paperwork. But his eyes were staring forward, towards the front doors, and he appeared to be zoning out. He was thinking about Philip and the insurance plan with Will Dixon, wondering why the police hadn't shown up today to interview all the employees of Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. He was questioning himself deeply because he'd watched Philip from the corner of his eye all day, and the younger man hadn't exhibited any signs of distress. In fact, he hadn't appeared fazed in the slightest. Though he'd kept his head down and avoided making eye contact with anyone, that wasn't anything new.

Plain and simple, he hadn't acted any differently today. Which was making Dale question his own suspicions. Had he been wrong after all? Were his assumptions completely misplaced? Was Philip actually innocent?

He could only hope.

With a tired sigh and the thought of Irma's lasagna urging him on, he scrawled one last signature on the paper before him and set it aside. He packed up all his things and organized his desk for the next morning, then he shut off the lights and headed out the front doors, locking up behind him.

The sun was sinking quicker and quicker. By the time he made it to the parking lot, the sky was orange-violet with a dozen twinkling stars coming to life. A veil of dark clouds had hovered overhead all day, and they remained even now, casting a grayish glow over everything in sight and threatening rain. The streetlights had come on, barely breaking through the haze that clung to the sidewalk and the trees.

Dale was lost in his own head as he approached his car, parked in its usual spot at the edge of the parking lot closest to the side of the insurance building. A particularly shady spot, cloaked in shadows cast from streetlights and the setting sun. He stuck his key into the lock on the door handle, thinking about Irma and the Dixons and that poor little Daryl. But before he could turn the key, he heard a low and menacing voice speaking from just behind him.

"I think we need to have a talk, Dale."

He froze, hand still wrapped around his keyring. He recognized the voice immediately.

Philip.

Dale turned around just in time to see Philip taking a step closer, a shadow spilling across his face and giving his azure eyes an ominous glow. He stopped less than an arm's reach away with his hands behind his back. His thin lips were set in a hard line.

Where the hell had he come from? His car was nowhere in sight and he'd seemingly appeared from the shadows. Had he been waiting to get Dale alone with no witnesses?

"About what?" Dale retorted. "We're not friends, Philip. I've said all I need to say to you."

Philip narrowed his eyes. "Well, I haven't said all I need to say to you."

Dale straightened his back and stared up at the younger man, unflinching. "Whatever you've got to say is null an' void by now. I know what kinda man you are. You've shown me—hell, you've shown all of Senoia."

Rage flashed across Philip's face and his azure eyes flickered to jade. "That's what we need to talk about. I'm innocent. When the cops come sniffin' around tomorrow, they're gonna find themselves at a dead end."

He stated it like it was a predetermined fact. Which made Dale's blood boil.

His jaw stiffened and he argued, "And what makes ya think that? I know about the insurance plan you sold Will. So does Frank. You went over his head and got it approved against both our better judgments. We know the Dixons didn't have near enough money to cover those numbers. There's no way yer gonna get away with this—"

Philip took a rapid step forward and invaded Dale's personal space, looming over him and glaring down with barely-contained lividity. His voice was lower, more menacing and laced with bare threat. "Yeah, you an' Frank are real good buddies, aren't ya? It'd be a damn shame if he found out you swindled his precious company outta money just to ensure your dying mother-in-law could have a few last-ditch treatments and a decent funeral."

Dale's mouth snapped shut. The blood went cold inside his veins.

How did Philip know about that? Of course he'd known about the Bumgardners, but the numbers Dale had fudged to ensure his mother-in-law wouldn't die in debt had been taken care of before Philip even moved to Senoia.

His confusion must've been obvious on his face, because Philip smirked and drawled, "Yeah. I know. I did a little research… You're not the dutiful, God-fearing, by-the-book employee that you've got everybody convinced you are. Ain't that right, Horvath?"

Dale swallowed hard, mustering up every last ounce of courage he'd ever possessed. "And you're not in your right mind, Blake. I did some research, too. I know a helluva lot more than you think I know—the meds, the parasites, the paranoia and delusions." He shook his head and scoffed. "You need some serious help, Philip. I'm a proponent for rehabilitation over incarceration, but maybe gettin' locked up would do you some good."

He barely had time to comprehend the look of rage that filled Philip's face before he found himself being shoved back against his own car. Philip's hand was wrapped around his throat and squeezing.

"Now you listen here, you fucking hillbilly," Philip growled, his face inches away from Dale's and his hand tightening around the older man's throat, making him gasp for breath. "I'm not going to jail. And if I am, you're coming with me. I meant what I fucking said six months ago—if you so much as breathe a hint of my name to the police, I. will. gut. you."

Dale grasped Philip's wrist with both hands, desperately trying to pull it away from his throat while gasping for air. But the younger man was so much stronger than he looked. And dammit, Dale had never been very physically strong to begin with.

Within a split-second, he realized… Philip could strangle him to death right here. And he'd probably get away with it.

Or he could expose every single dirty little secret Dale had ever held and essentially kill him without stopping his heart. Strip away his job, ruin his marriage, soil his reputation, pull the rug out from under his feet.

He was helpless. He was at Philip's mercy.

God save him.

"Let—me—go," Dale choked out, scratching at Philip's wrist.

But Philip tightened his grip and leaned in closer, until Dale could feel his hot breath on his face. "I could kill you right here—you know that, right? You realize I hold your entire life in my hands?"

Dale's eyes were bulging out of his skull and his face was turning blue, vision growing spotty. He clawed desperately at the younger man's wrist, struggling to pry it from his throat. In a last-ditch effort, he nodded.

And just like that, Philip let go. He took a half-step back and Dale's feet fell flat against the pavement. He grasped at his own throat, gasping in lungfuls of air, shoulders slumping with both exhaustion and defeat. He regained his composure and looked up at Philip with fear.

This man was capable of so much more than Dale could've ever imagined. Jesus Christ, how did he misinterpret everything so badly? Had he made a dire mistake by underestimating this guy? How the hell was he supposed to know that Philip was so fucking off the hinges?

And to think Dale had tried to help him…

Philip smirked. But that wasn't what made Dale nauseous; it was the look of completely smug satisfaction on his face that made Dale's stomach turn and plummet. Like Philip had gotten exactly what he wanted.

Which… he probably had.

Dale was still struggling to catch his breath and slow his racing heart when Philip drawled, "You've got a lot at stake here, Dale Horvath. And if you don't wanna lose everything you've worked all these years to obtain… I suggest you forget anything you think you know about me. Use that charming personality you've got to win over our coworkers. Reassure that dimwitted boss of ours of my ignorance in the whole situation. Tell the cops I'm innocent. Ya know—straight from the horse's mouth an' all that."

He let out a cold chuckle. A shiver ran down Dale's spine and his stomach churned.

Regardless, he retained his dignity. He'd never been one to back down from a threat. He narrowed his eyes, glaring up at Philip. "And if I don't?"

Philip quirked a brow, appearing genuinely amused. It only served to make Dale's spine stiffen in defense.

"Don't is not an option," Philip said flatly. "Either you'll cooperate and keep this quiet little life you've worked so hard for… or you'll suffer."

Dale cleared his throat, still trying to recover from the pain of a hand clutched around his neck. "I'd rather lose my job than sit by an' let you get away with murder."

Philip smirked. He put his hands behind his back again and hmphed in mock amusement. "But it won't be just your job that you lose, will it?"

Dale's face went pale.

Philip's smirk turned into a smile. "No, it won't. It'll be that precious wife of yours that you can't seem to knock up. It'll be that shitty little house you're scrimpin' and savin' to pay off. It'll be this shithole town that you love so goddamn much. It'll be every fucking person you've ever known looking at you like they don't recognize you." He barked out a laugh. "And that's even worse than death for people like you… isn't it, Dale?"

Fucking hell.

As much as Dale didn't want to admit it… Philip was right. He had him pegged to a T. There was no escaping this particular type of hell. Not when he'd allowed such an evil person to know him on such a personal level. Not when he'd allowed someone with such a thirst for power to have so much power over him.

What the fuck had he been thinking, getting close to someone like this? Someone he barely knew?

And now he was paying for it. He was suffering because he'd wanted to help.

When the hell would he learn to mind his own business?

Nevertheless, Dale couldn't smother his own defiance. He mustered up his remaining strength and glared back at the younger man with disgust. "How can you sleep at night? Knowing you killed a woman? Knowin' you nearly killed an eight-year-old boy? How can you look at yourself in the mirror without wanting to vomit at the mere sight?"

Philip's jaw twitched and his eyes flashed from jade to azure and back again. He let out a low growl from his throat, almost animalistic. But his smirk remained.

"Ain't nothin' more than natural selection. Weedin' out the weak makes for a better world. Some of us—" he barked out a laugh, flat and emotionless yet cold all the same "—well, some of us are just born to step on the heads of the unworthy. How else are we supposed to climb our way up?"

Dale's heart plummeted to his feet.

How had it taken him this long to realize that Philip was so fucking far gone?

"Jesus Christ," he whispered out on a shaky breath, staring up at Philip with a mixture of disbelief and abhorrence. "You're a million times worse than Will Dixon could ever hope to be. Just when I thought I'd seen it all…"

Philip barked out another laugh, shaking his head and smiling like Dale had told a joke. "The best part is that you think it was Will's idea. As if that inbred fucking moron could come up with such a brilliant scheme." He laughed again. "This whole town is full of unsuspecting, simple folks like you. Like Will. Hell, let's be honest—he would've killed Leanne whether I gave him the payout or not. Just so happens I managed to make the act worth our time."

Dale swallowed thickly and realized his hands were trembling. "You're evil, Philip Blake. Pure evil."

Philip closed the distance between them, nostrils flaring and blue-green eyes narrowed. His voice was close to a hiss as he said, "You think you're the first person to tell me that?" His mouth ticked to the side in dissatisfaction. "You're simple, Dale Horvath. Just like everyone in this godforsaken little town. You've no idea how to deal with people like me."

Dale prepared for another hand around his throat, but it didn't come. He stared up at the other man with unabashed terror.

"One day," Philip drawled, smirking. "You might just find yourself bowing at my feet. And I hope you remember where you came from… Because I certainly will."

Dale blinked dumbly, mouth agape and at a loss for words.

Philip huffed out a breath and shook his head, taking a half-step back with his hands still behind his back. "I'd hate to throw you under the bus so violently. I know you only mean well, Dale." He shrugged indifferently. "But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

Dale exhaled through his nose, eyes widening. His voice took on a pleading tone as he said, "No, you don't, Philip. You never had to do this. You're delusional. You're just sick. You need help, you—"

"Shut the fuck up," Philip snapped, cutting him off abruptly. The younger man's mouth turned downwards in a scowl and he glanced away, his whole body going rigid with anger. "Call me sick and delusional one more time… You'll regret ever fucking crossing The Governor like that."

Dale's heart thumped against his ribcage and he swallowed back a retort. His fear was taking control now, rendering him silent.

Not silent enough, though.

"The Governor?" He repeated, no louder than a whisper. "Like those kids used to call you?"

Philip narrowed his eyes and Dale tensed, prepared for some sort of backlash.

However, Philip merely smiled. Then he tilted his gaze skyward with something like wistfulness in his expression. He chuckled softly.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Like those kids used to call me… But better."

He lowered his gaze to meet Dale's once more. It sent an icy chill through Dale's bones.

"What the hell am I supposed to say that would exonerate you from somethin' so damn obvious?" Dale asked. "You can't possibly expect me to convince the whole town you're innocent when it's so clear you're not."

Philip rolled his eyes. "Just spout the same shit you've been spoutin' fer the last two years. Whatever keeps you outta hot water. Ain't like you don't know how to hit these people where it hurts."

Dale nodded in understanding, though he hated himself for it.

Is this who he'd become? The man who was willing to cover up literal murder just to save his own family and livelihood?

He'd always thought of himself as the type of man who'd do what was right when it was necessary, even if it meant costing his own reputation in the process. He prided himself on being the one who stood up against injustice and spoke out even when it made others uncomfortable. But now that he was being threatened with everything he'd ever worked to achieve—now that he was standing on the precipice of his own marriage and his own career and the house he was still paying off and the reputation he'd spent literal decades building…

Well, it just wasn't that easy, was it? Maybe that made him a self-serving piece of shit. But he wasn't willing to sacrifice the woman he loved and the career he'd worked towards for someone who was already dead.

Because Leanne Dixon was already dead. There was nothing he could do about that. Her youngest son had survived and maybe that was enough. Or maybe it wasn't. But at the end of the day… it was none of Dale's business. It didn't affect him or his family.

The only thing that mattered was maintaining the stability he'd worked so hard to achieve. The stability that Irma relied on so much.

No, Dale had never been one to sit by and do nothing when he knew he could've done something. But when that something meant risking everything he'd ever loved, when it meant letting his wife down… shit. Maybe it just wasn't worth it, after all.

Maybe it was about doing what he could and keeping his mouth shut when he couldn't do anything else.

It wasn't like he didn't know how small towns operated. He'd essentially been "looking the other way" for his entire life. How was this any different?

"Fine," he croaked out, hanging his head in shame and refusing to meet Philip's gaze. One hand still clutched loosely at his throat, rubbing what would surely be a bruise. "You keep my secret… I'll keep yours."

He wanted to retch as soon as the words escaped his mouth. What kind of person was he? Who had he let himself become?

Had he ever really known?

He could hear the smirk on Philip's lips as the younger man drawled out, "Now that's what I like to hear." He chuckled and took a half-step back, giving Dale some breathing room. "I've got an alibi: you an' I were hanging out together. I was nowhere near any of the Dixons when that tragic fire started. And you an' I have shared enough lunches for you to know I would never be involved in such a thing—I simply didn't know what Will Dixon was plannin'. Why, I was none the wiser. Just a young, ambitious guy who was eager for a new client. If I'd had any idea of Will's nefarious intentions, I surely would've walked away."

Dale slowly raised his head and looked up at Philip, who was glaring back menacingly.

"Got it?" Philip asked, lifting his eyebrows in a look of expectancy.

Dale nodded. His voice was still hoarse as he asked, "And what were we doin' together, exactly?"

Philip shrugged all too casually. "Havin' dinner with your lovely wife. Watchin' the game on that nice color TV inside your quiet little living room. You know… friend stuff."

Dale cleared his throat and nodded again, though much weaker this time. "Alright... "

Philip raised his eyebrows again. "And Frank? The others?"

"I'll tell 'em," Dale assured. "I'll make sure they all know… we were together… you had no idea."

Philip's smirk widened into a grin. He reached out and Dale winced, but he simply clapped a hand on Dale's shoulder and chuckled. "See how good things can be when ya just cooperate, Dale?"

Dale stared up at the younger man with wide, fearful eyes. He couldn't bring himself to nod.

He didn't recognize the man standing before him. This was not the Philip Blake he'd thought he knew. This was not someone's son, someone's brother, someone's… anything.

This was someone else entirely. Someone barely human, because humans felt empathy and shame and guilt, and this man didn't seem to be familiar with any of those emotions. Dale felt as though he were staring up into the eyes of Satan Himself. But it wasn't Satan, was it?

No. It was The Governor.

Philip's hand squeezed his shoulder a little harder than was necessary, his grin remaining like a macabre mockery of true happiness. "I guess you were right after all, huh? I just needed a good friend."

Could Philip feel Dale trembling beneath his grasp?

Yes. He most definitely could. And it only seemed to please him more.

to be continued…


A/N: This fic is now a podfic in progress! Check it out on AO3 for the link to listen :)