All My New Friends Are Dead (And Vengeful)
"Beth," Rick whispered urgently. "What is it? What woman are you talkin' about?"
Beth hadn't even realized her mouth had fallen open, and she had to tear her eyes away from the scene at the other end of the hall. "I—there's a woman there. She has red hair. She looks kinda young. She's…"
Her voice trailed off, but Rick's eyes had gone wide. He glanced down towards where Abe and Eugene were still standing, as though he could see the woman for himself if he looked hard enough. "Don't tell me yer seein'..."
Beth let out a breath. "Another ghost."
"Another ghost!" Merle cried out triumphantly, far too excited by the situation. "Aw shit, she don't even know you can see 'er. Or that I can see her!"
Rick sighed, more thoughtful than annoyed. "You gotta be kiddin' me." Then he perked up, suddenly intrigued for some reason. "Wait—red hair, kinda young… What's she wearin'?"
Beth frowned, and Merle spoke her mind, "Gross, why's he wanna know?"
Rick interpreted her expression and quickly explained, "Not fer pervy reasons, jus'—what's she wearin'? Is she caucasian? How tall would you say she is? Is she skinny or fat?"
Beth shook her head, staring down the hall. The woman was literally screaming into Sergeant Ford's ear and desperately waving her arms around his face, tears of frustration still streaming down her cheeks. She was even trying to get Eugene's attention, but to no avail.
"Um," Beth started, fingers gone numb around the box clutched against her chest. "She's a white woman. Skinny. Probably about my size. About my height, too. Can't be older than, I dunno, thirty maybe? She's wearin' black leggings and a-a long-sleeved shirt. It's dark blue. Her shoes look like black flats." Beth squinted, spotting a tattoo on the woman's left ankle, peeking out from the hem of her leggings. "And she's got a tattoo. It looks like a butterfly."
As soon as the words left her mouth, it clicked in her head. She met Rick's eyes and saw the same look of realization crossing his face.
The "Be On The Lookout" bulletin she'd heard over Rick's police radio. The news report on the TV. The woman who'd been supposedly kidnapped by two Black men. The woman whose body had washed up on the shore of Sope Creek Trail.
"Oh my god," Beth whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "That's her. The missing woman."
"The murdered woman," Rick agreed. "They found her body wrapped in trash bags yesterday morning. Jesus…"
Merle was staring down the hall at the woman as well, arms crossed over his chest as he studied her. "The hell's she doin' here? Why ain't she crossed over?" He turned his head and looked at Beth expectantly. "An' how come you can see her?"
"How would I know?" Beth hissed back.
Rick shrugged. "Thought you might'a seen the news reports—"
"Not you," Beth said sharply. "I was talkin' to Merle."
"Oh. Right." Rick took another look down the hall, then grabbed Beth by the arm and pulled her back around the corner. "C'mon, we gotta go. Abe's comin' back this way."
But Beth pulled away, halting in her tracks. "I can't."
"What?"
"I can't. I can't leave her here all alone. Nobody else can see her. Nobody else can help her."
Rick sighed, anxious to leave before Abe rounded the corner and found them lingering about. "Alrigh', but we can't do it here. We're smack dab in the middle of the Homicide Division. Get 'er ta follow us out to the parking lot or somethin'. C'mon."
Beth turned to Merle expectantly, raising her eyebrows.
"What?" He asked, holding his hands out. "The hell you expect me to do?"
"You can see her, too, dumbass," she whispered. "Which means she can probably see you. And hear you. So tell her to come with us. Out to the parking lot."
Merle sighed with annoyance, shaking his head. "It's always 'go away, Merle,' 'shut up, Merle,' until ya need Merle. Fuckin' ungrateful ass—"
"Just do it!" Beth hissed through gritted teeth.
"Fine! God."
Then, to her dismay, he stuck two fingers between his lips and let out the loudest whistle she'd ever heard. The sound pierced her ears and made her take a step back, but then Rick was grabbing her by the arm and rushing her down the hall, towards the elevators, just in time for Sergeant Ford to round the corner barely six feet behind them.
As they hurried away, Beth could hear Merle calling out to the woman, "Hey, ginger! Over here! Yeah, I'm talkin' ta you, Jessica Rabbit! Tha's right, I can see ya! Don't be scared, I'm dead, too! Get'cher murdered ass over here, I got some good news for ya!"
Thankfully, Rick had parked at the far end of the parking lot, well away from the general traffic of officials and visitors entering and exiting the building. He and Beth stood beside the Sheriff's vehicle anxiously. Though Rick was anxious for different reasons.
He eagerly plopped the small cardboard box down atop the closed trunk and started rifling through it, pulling out a pair of wires and a couple of earbuds to inspect them in the sunlight. "Damn, Eugene really hooked us up. This is exactly what we need."
Beth kept her eyes on the entrance of the building, searching for a sign of Merle or the red-haired woman. "Yeah," she absently agreed. "That turned out better than I'd hoped."
As he returned the equipment to the box and shut it tightly, Rick asked, "An' what's the deal with this other ghost? Thought you could only see Merle. Since when can ya see other dead people?"
"Since always," Beth muttered, glancing back at him with a shrug. "I just… I dunno. Haven't ever had anything like Merle before. Or since. But I think it has somethin' to do with this time of year."
Rick snorted like she was joking. "What—Halloween?"
"Yeah," she confirmed, completely serious. Taking a deep breath, she recited on the exhale, "The Veil is growing thinner…"
Rick furrowed his brow and frowned. "Oh. Wow. I didn't think it actually worked like that."
"Me either," she said. "But apparently, it does."
"Don'tcha think you got enough on yer plate fer now, though?" He asked gently. "I mean… what're you gonna do if this woman asks for your help, too? What can you do?"
Beth shrugged, though her shoulders were tight. "I dunno. But I can't just turn away from her. If I can help, then I want to. I need to. However I can."
He hummed in understanding, stepping over and opening the door to the backseat before placing the box of electronics on the floor behind the passenger seat. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised. You are a Greene, after all," he remarked as he shut the door.
She almost smiled, but then Merle appeared next to her. She looked back at Rick and quickly explained, "Merle's here—hold on."
He nodded, standing by awkwardly while she proceeded to converse with the ghost he couldn't see a few feet away.
Merle cleared his throat, frowning, and said, "Well, she said she's comin' out here. But she wouldn't do the Thing with me. Don't trust me, I reckon. Kept askin' if I was try'na lead her to Hell. Even though I told her I ain't got that kinda clearance yet, and—"
"Thing?" Beth interrupted. "What thing? Did you scare her off already by bein' a pervert?"
Merle rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Not that thing. The other thing—ya know. The…" He waved his arms about, searching for the right word. Then, with a sigh, he disappeared, immediately reappearing on Beth's other side. "This thing! The thing that saves us dead folks so much time."
"Oh," Beth said, retracting her accusatory tone. "Well… I can't say I blame her. I wouldn't trust you either."
"Gee, thanks, blondie," Merle said dryly. "An' here I thought we was startin' ta bond."
Beth huffed. "Keep dreaming." She turned towards the entrance and searched around with her eyes, standing on tiptoes for a moment to get a better look. "Are you sure she's comin' out here? You told her I'm Gifted, right? That I can help?"
"More or less," Merle muttered as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and put it between his lips. He lit it up and took a long drag.
Beth was about to admonish him for being too crass and vulgar and potentially scaring away an innocent dead woman, but then she spotted a flash of red hair in the distance. It was definitely the murder victim—Beth knew because she was currently watching her walk through the glass doors in a very ghost-like fashion.
She waved her hands and attempted to get the dead woman's attention. The redhead stopped, looking around and behind her as though Beth was signaling to someone else. Then she disappeared, and for a split-second, Beth's heart fell. But a second later, the woman reappeared before her, arms tightly crossed over her middle with an expression of deep distrust on her face as she looked Beth up and down.
Beth let out a breath of relief, offering a warm smile. "Hi."
The woman blinked, taking a step back. She looked to Merle, who gave her a wink and a wicked smile of his own, and took another wary step back, tightening her arms around herself.
"It's okay," Beth assured. "I know you're scared, but I wanna help. I'm Beth. Beth Greene."
Merle's smile widened. "And I'm Merle Dixon. Dead as fuck, jus' like you."
Tears formed in the woman's eyes and her frown deepened. She shot Merle a scathing glare before turning her attention to Beth. "I'm Frankie. Frankie… Smith."
"It's nice to meet you," Beth said. "I saw you tryin' to get Sergeant Ford's attention, and I thought—"
But Frankie quickly cut her off, "You're alive? Really? And you can see me? See—" she gave a wary glance towards Merle, "—us?"
Beth nodded. "Yes. I'm very much alive. And I can very much see you both."
Frankie still seemed uncertain. She pursed her lips, hesitating. Then she asked, "How?"
Merle chuckled, exhaling a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. "How're we still walkin' the earth as a couple'a dead folks? Some questions can't be answered, sweetheart. Best ya just take what you can get. Trust me, it'll save ya a lotta heartache."
Beth sighed, shaking her head and waving a dismissive hand in Merle's direction. "Ignore him. He's an ass. Some of your questions can be answered: I'm a Witch. That's why I can see you. And that's why I can help you."
Frankie's eyes widened. "What? A Witch? Is this some kinda joke or something? 'Cause it's not funny, and I've had enough of you dead people screwing with me, I don't want—"
"Hol' up a goddamn second," Merle interrupted. "You been seein' other dead people? Talkin' to 'em an' whatnot?"
Frankie shrugged, still eyeing Merle with suspicion. "Well, yeah… they're everywhere. But it's never anybody I know, and a lot of 'em have been really mean. Like it's a joke to them or something. They act like being here is some kinda party."
Merle's jaw dropped and he looked nothing less than deeply affronted. "You fuckin' shittin' me?! I been stuck with this uppity broad the whole time when I coulda been yuckin' it up with my own kind?"
"Shut up, Merle," Beth scolded. "This isn't about you." She focused back on Frankie and said, "I'm sorry it's been like that for you, but I promise, I'm alive. So is this guy—he's my friend, he's a Sheriff in my hometown. He can't see y'all, but he knows about our uh, situation."
She gestured back to Rick, who was still standing awkwardly on the other side of the car, watching the seemingly one-sided exchange with wide eyes. He offered an uncertain wave of greeting, lips pursed tightly.
Frankie still seemed unsure, but Beth went on, "How long have you been here?"
Frankie chewed on her lower lip for a second, contemplating the question. She glanced behind her, then back to Beth. "Like here on this plane? Or at the police department?"
"Um… both?" Beth asked, offering a meek smile.
"Well," Frankie started, hugging herself a little tighter. "I came back about a day ago. Right after I… died. I wandered around for a little while. I was… lost. Confused."
Beth was suddenly hit with a very old memory that sent a whole new shiver down her spine: the woman on the other side of the fence outside of her elementary school, pleading and begging with the ignorant, nine-year-old Beth who could see her for reasons unknown. "Little girl—you can see me? Can you help me? Please, I-I'm so lost, I don't know—"
She was quickly pulled back to the present as Frankie continued, "I mean, I still am. But I kinda figured out what's goin' on, I guess. So then I came here. I've been here all day. I keep tryin' to get through to these stupid detectives, but they just keep ignoring me."
"They're not ignoring you," Beth assured. "They just can't hear you. They wanna help, they just don't know how."
"No, they're ignoring me," Frankie insisted. "I've laid it out for them as best I can. I keep pulling up the Google Maps location on Sergeant Ford's computer, but he just keeps getting mad an' acting like it's a glitch. I don't—"
"Wait," Beth interrupted. "That was you? You can—what, manipulate electronics or something?"
Merle scoffed. "I can do that, too. Ain't that impressive."
Frankie's eyes widened as she looked from Beth to Merle and back again. "I don't know. I don't know how any of this works. I've tried to move stuff an' touch people, but it never works. The only thing I could figure out how to do was use the computer, so I thought if I pulled up the exact location the police needed on the Sergeant's computer, there'd be no way he could ignore it." She frowned. "Guess I was wrong."
"The exact location to what?" Beth asked. "Where you were murdered? Your killer's house?"
Frankie shook her head. "They already had my killer in custody for questioning, but I've watched enough of those true crime shows to know they're never gonna be able to get any charges to stick without a confession or a murder weapon. He dumped the weapon in a dumpster downtown—along with my smashed phone. It'll be exactly the evidence they need to charge him, but they're never gonna find it if they don't pay attention to me."
"Holy crap," Beth breathed out, stunned into disbelief as she put the pieces together in her head. "That's… you're right. But who killed you? The last I heard, they were still looking for whoever supposedly kidnapped you."
Frankie sneered. "No one kidnapped me. My husband killed me. In our own home. And then he came up with some shitty cover story about two Black guys in a car."
Beth gasped. "Your husband?"
"Don't act so surprised," Merle chided. "Nine times outta ten, it's the husband. Or boyfriend. Or the pissed off ex. Ain't you been payin' attention to the news fer the last twenty years, blondie?"
Rick chimed in from where he was still standing beside the car, "It was her husband that killed 'er, wasn't it? I knew it!"
Frankie was still sneering, her face contorted in disgust and contempt. "Negan," she spat out, as though the name alone left a bad taste in her mouth. "We got married last year and moved down here from Virginia. That's when everything changed. He started getting secretive. Started gettin'… violent." She sighed, worrying her lower lip as her face fell with sadness. "I guess I should've seen it coming. I shouldn't have put up with it. But I-I really thought I loved him. I thought… he loved me. We said those vows. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse. 'Til death do us part… I thought it was just a rough patch. A phase. I thought he was just stressed out because he'd lost his job and he was havin' so much trouble finding a new one. Money was getting tight, and my mom was constantly criticizing him. He's always had anger issues, but never…"
Before Beth could say anything, Merle spoke much more soothingly than she'd ever heard him speak before, "Can't blame yerself. Pieces'a shit like him are jus' that: pieces of shit. He knew exactly what he was doin'. Ain't no more'an scum. Preyin' on women. Beatin' up on the only people that ever could'a loved 'em." He took a drag off his cigarette and added, "My old man was the same. Only thing that could'a helped was a knife to the throat." He cracked a smile and exhaled a cloud of smoke as he concluded, "An' trust me, it did help. Fuckers like him don't regret shit 'til they're seein' their own blood spilled on the floor."
Frankie grew defensive and argued, "But it wasn't like that! We had our fights, and he had his anger issues, but it wasn't ever more than a-a bruise, or a black eye, or—he always apologized. It was in the heat of the moment. He didn't—"
"Stop defending him!" Merle barked. "He fuckin' killed you, girl! He knew what the fuck he was doin', an' there ain't not one part of it that's yer fault. He's a fuckin' wife-beatin' piece of shit, alrigh'? No man should ever be layin' hands on a woman. Ever. Ain't no fuckin' excuses ta be had, period."
Frankie seemed to relax at his words, flashing him the briefest smile of appreciation and nodding weakly as she swallowed back her tears.
"So then what happened?" Beth asked gently. "What all can you remember?"
Frankie took a deep breath and regained her composure, then she went on, "I finally caught him in one of his lies—he'd been cheating on me for months. Probably longer. He came home really late the other night. I finally confronted him about it; all the texts on his phone, all the late nights an' shit. We got into a huge fight. Like a full-on screaming match. He has this stupid baseball bat—some collector's item or somethin'. He always kept it up on the wall in our living room for display." She blinked for a long moment, recalling the details. "I remember we were screaming at each other in the kitchen. He walked into the living room an' I followed after him. I saw him grabbing the bat off the wall, and I was still pissed because he'd called me a stupid bitch, so I called him a small-dicked lunatic, and then he got this crazy look in his eyes…" She paused and took a shaky breath. "And then he was swinging the bat, and he wasn't just aimin' for my body this time, he was swinging at my head. I screamed. And…" She shut her eyes, exhaling and fighting back tears as she hugged herself tighter. "That's the last thing I remember before I woke up in some… other plane."
Beth's breath hitched in her chest and she found herself speechless. Even Merle was at a loss for words, staring at Frankie with wide eyes as his forgotten cigarette burned down between his fingers.
Beth shuddered as she remembered how she'd been dreaming of little Daryl swinging that baseball bat at the wall in a desperate attempt to escape his burning bedroom. How she'd jolted awake at the sound of a screaming woman. How she'd looked at the clock and seen 3:34.
Thankfully, Merle spoke and interrupted her train of thought. "Some other plane, huh? What'd it look like?"
"It looked like a really long hallway," Frankie replied. "There was this guy there. I dunno who he was. I think he might've been a demon or something. But he talked about death and the afterlife like it was some kinda… business. Like there was paperwork and contracts and clauses." She sighed, shaking her head. "It all sounds so silly now that I'm sayin' it out loud. I don't even know if it was real or not. Maybe it was some kinda after-death hallucination before I got condemned to this Hell."
"Nah," Merle assured, his voice low. "That wasn't no hallucination, sweetcheeks, and this ain't the Hell ya gotta worry about."
Beth glanced over at him uncertainly before setting her gaze on Frankie. "You—a hallway? Are you sure it wasn't a crossroads?"
"I think I know what a hallway looks like," Frankie snapped back. "It was like a hotel. There were a bunch of closed doors on both sides, and all these weird wisps of-of smoke floating by. It was cold and hot at the same time. It… it's hard to explain."
"Was it…" Beth hesitated, licking her lips and trying to sound as serious as possible. "Was it Purgatory, maybe? Or Limbo or whatever?"
"I don't know," Frankie said, shrugging. "I didn't even think any of those places were real before all this. I was raised Catholic, but I've been an atheist since college. I thought when you died, that was just… it. Lights out. Nothing else." She shuddered. "I never could've guessed how wrong I actually was."
"Welcome to the club," Merle grunted. "An' what makes ya think the guy was a demon? Was he lack? Long dreadlocks? A couple'a nasty mutts at his side?"
Frankie shook her head. "No, he was…" She paused, looking away thoughtfully as she recalled it. "He was in a long, black cloak with the hood up. I couldn't even see his hands, let alone his face. He had a really deep voice."
Beth furrowed her brow. "Did he… did he offer you a deal?"
Again, the dead woman shook her head. "No. Not really. He said he was givin' me…" She paused, swallowing hard, and met Beth's eyes tearfully. "He said he was giving me a chance."
"A chance for what?" Merle demanded.
Frankie averted her gaze to the ground, shrugging meekly. "A chance to find peace. And rest. He said there was a clause—the Slaughtered Wife Clause, he called it—and that he was obligated to give me the opportunity to ensure that my husband was punished in life and in death. He…" She snapped her head up and suddenly stared at Beth with narrowed eyes. "He said there might be someone here who could help me."
Beth's heart skipped and fell. Her breaths came shallow and short as the realization sank in. She could feel her face draining of color.
Frankie's eyes were still narrowed in suspicion and confusion as she whispered, "Is that someone you, Beth Greene? Is that what he meant?"
Beth swallowed hard, and then felt herself nodding slowly. "I… Yeah, I think it is."
Merle clucked his tongue. "Well I'll be goddamned. If this ain't some kinda fuckin' plot twist." Then he cackled and turned to Beth. "Jus' what ya need on top'a everythin' else, princess. Another murder victim expectin' ya to bring their killer to justice!"
Frankie shook her head and told Merle, "No, I don't need her to bring Negan to justice. I just need her to take the homicide detectives to the dumpster where the evidence is stashed. The rest will be up to the officials."
"Psh," Merle scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yer really overestimatin' the officials there, darlin'. Hate t'break it to ya, but they're pretty fuckin' incompetent 'round these parts."
"I mean," Beth said, frowning as she remembered the statistics Eugene had recited. "He's not exactly… wrong."
Frankie heaved a frustrated sigh, arms falling to her sides and hands clenching into fists, her voice rising with anger. "No, y'all don't get it. I don't care if he goes to prison or not—I know how the justice system works, I know he'll probably get away with it. He's a charming and attractive white man, of course he won't have to face any actual consequences. I just want everyone to know that he's a sociopathic murderer! I want my family to know the truth, and I wanna make his life hell for at least a few months! I want the words 'accused of murdering his wife' to show up every time someone searches his name online! I want strangers to glare at him, and reporters to follow him around! I wanna make it even harder for him to find a job, and-and I want that ignorant little bitch he's been sleeping with to know exactly what kinda man he really is!"
Beth reeled, but Merle just cackled. He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at Frankie with something that Beth could only describe as respect. Maybe even admiration.
"Well shit, Jessica Rabbit," he drawled. "If that's all ya want, then I reckon ya came to the right place." He looked over at Beth and added, "And the right person."
Frankie narrowed her eyes, looking at Beth with suspicion once more. "Is he tellin' the truth? Can you really help me?" She tucked a loose strand of red hair behind her ear and straightened her back. "'Cause I don't like askin' strangers for help, but… I really need some help here. From a living person."
Without hesitation, Beth nodded. "Yes. I can help." She smiled weakly. "And we're not strangers anymore."
For the first time since they'd met, Frankie grinned. And Beth could see the hope sparkling in her eyes.
to be continued…
