The Stranger Upstairs Chapter 2, a walking dead fanfic

A/N Thank you all for the comments, the follows, and the favors. I appreciate it all very much. This chapter we're going to learn about Daryl Dixon, the man he is, where he's been and why he's moving into Horvath's Boarding House. Our couple will have some interaction and...well I hope you enjoy!

Hard times? Daryl Dixon has seen plenty of those in his 28 years.

For him they began while he was still in the cradle and were mostly courtesy of his old man, a mean bastard who escalated that meanness by pouring down plenty of hooch. The more Will Dixon drank the more he seemed to enjoy taking his anger out on his wife and sons.

They should have left the bastard. Hell, Mama should have left before Daryl was ever born. But he didn't fault her for staying or for the things his Daddy did to them. He guessed she was probably too scared or too far gone herself to break free.

As for his brother Merle, ten years Daryl's senior, he had his own way of coping with all of it. His way was to run off and do his own share of drinking, and he mostly stayed gone.

The biggest lesson Daryl Dixon learned in those early years was to keep his mouth shut. He tried his best not to be heard or seen, it was the surest way to avoid his Daddy's wrath so keeping quiet became a habit that would carry through to his adult life.

The other thing he learned was how to survive in the hills around where he grew up. He'd take nothing with him but a rusty old carving knife and the will to survive up in those hills and stay for days. By the time he was ten years old he could make his own shelter, find his own food and have a damn good time doing both.

Still, life was pretty damn miserable, but then in those hills where they lived it seemed everyone was just naturally pretty damn miserable. Folks didn't seem to have anything to be happy about and never anything to look forward to. Just more poverty, hunger and desperation.

Daryl saw his opportunity to break free in April of 1917 when the United States joined with its allies in World War I. Even though at 15 years of age he was far too young to join the army and go to war, he knew he had to take his chance to get out. The army wanted soldiers and they didn't seem to be all that diligent about checking papers, turning a blind eye to many a forged birth certificate. Daryl knew plenty of the fellas he served with weren't much older than him.

Like all wars it was brutal. Young men were sent to do the fighting and the front lines often looked like a bunch of kids killing other kids. It got worse when that damn Spanish flu went through the ranks and so many more young soldiers died.

When the virus brought Daryl down they sent him off to one of those outdoor field hospitals. He never did get too sick, not like a lot of guys did, and he didn't stay sick for too long. As soon as he was a little better they sent him right back to the front, he didn't mind. He didn't buck up against orders, he did his duty and he fought the fight. He was afraid if he didn't they'd send him back home.

By the time 1920 rolled around the war and the flu were both done killing young men and Daryl Dixon was done with the army. He was 18 years old and in his young life he'd already seen more than most folks see in a lifetime.

With the end of the war came big changes for Daryl. He knew it was going to be tough getting work, he didn't have much education and no job skills. He had plenty of skills, they just weren't job skills. He could track damn near anything or anyone, he was a deadeye shot with a gun or a bow, he could even throw a knife with precision. He knew how to make beer and hooch, pick a lock, or start up an automobile that didn't belong to him.

None of those things was going to help get him a legitimate job.

Good news came by way of a buddy he served with. They'd gotten to be pretty good pals; both had been raised in the hills and neither ever had much of the good things life has to offer. It just so happened though; this guys' Uncle was some kind of big wheel with the City of Atlanta. The Uncle was able to get both young men an apprentice position with the City's Water and Sewer Department.

Him and his buddy shared a good laugh about being a couple of yokels, fellas who'd never even had running water or an indoor toilet, being hired for this type of work. His buddy went to work in sewage control, and Daryl got a position on the drinking water side of city water.

It wasn't like Daryl would ever choose to live in Atlanta or any other city for that matter. But he was smart enough and hungry enough to know, where you want to be and where the work is aren't always the same. When a man needs a job he can't worry about the scenery.

Besides, at least with a job working in operations he got to be outdoors some. It seemed pretty much every day there were repairs or maintenance needed in some part of town, and there were also several neighborhoods still recovering from the big Atlanta fire of 1917. Rebuilding and new construction required water and sewer lines.

Mostly Daryl just appreciated having the work and he worked hard.

Back when they first started work with the city him and his army buddy rented a place together. Daryl didn't mind sharing with the guy because they were both the type to mostly keep to themselves. They had small needs too, the only things either of them really wanted were things neither had ever had before, a room of their own and indoor plumbing.

They found those things in an old house that had been converted into two apartments. It wasn't Daryl's idea of anyplace he'd want to live permanently, but for the time being all he cared about was the fact the rent was low and he could start saving money.

It's now seven years later, 1927, and he's still living in that apartment with his buddy and still saving money. It's important to him to always have a secret stash of money tucked away. He knows what extreme poverty looks and feels like, and now with the Great Depression poverty is visible everywhere. He spent the first half of his life being desperately poor and hungry, he never wants to go back to that.

Then one Saturday morning everything changes for Daryl again. He's out driving around without any particular destination. He's got a fishing pole and a bow and quiver in the back of his panel truck, and his only plan is to see what the day brings.

He's in no hurry, he's just motoring along and if you were to ask him he'd tell you he's driven by that same spot on the highway a hundred times, but not until this time does he see something he's never noticed. It looks like it could be a road. Its brush covered and well-hidden and he's curious. He doubles back around to have a better look and by golly, he sees that it is a small side road.

He decides why not? He isn't going anywhere anyway, might as well see where it leads. He's moving slow on the rough and rock filled road, taking in all there is to see along the way and although the trees and foliage are dense, he manages to spot something off in the distance.

It's tucked away in a cluster of trees, bushes and vines and he feels himself grin when he realizes what it is, a ramshackle old house. Instantly he's drawn to the little place and the feeling is so odd to him it's almost frightening, and so powerful it nearly overwhelms him. It's the sudden and undeniable understanding that he belongs right there. This place, this ground.

He's never been one to just barge in on folks, it must be that he's not thinking clearly because he finds himself shutting off the ignition, stepping out of his truck and walking toward the rundown house.

There's an older man sitting in a chair on the small front porch with a pipe in his mouth, a shotgun resting across his lap and an old dog lying next to him. The dog barely lifts his head, as if he can't be bothered. He half opens one eye, has a look at the intruder and lays his head back down.

The old fella looks at the stranger and asks, "You ain't one a them revenuers are ya? I told the last bunch I ain't here makin' shine. This is my home."

Daryl extends his arms, palms facing out to show he's no threat, "No, no sir, I sure ain't no revenuer. I just happened ta see the road and I come up here outta curiosity. I'm glad I did, ya got ya a real pretty piece a ground here."

"I do. This here's the best land in Georgia. Got me five acres and a natural spring well with the sweetest water ya ever tasted."

Daryl's looking around, taking in as much as he can, "You're a lucky man. I'd like ta have me a place just like it. Close enough ta town I could get ta my job, but it feels like a million miles out."

"You in the market ta buy a place, Sonny?"

Daryl shrugs, "Hadn't thought about it." He's thinking about it plenty right now, but he doesn't want to tip his hand, "Why? Ya sellin'?"

"I don't wanna, that's for damn sure. It's the Missus whose forcin' it on me. Our girl married a fella from up in Appalachia and now that he's got her in the family way, my woman thinks we gotta be up there close to her." He laughs, spits, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and adds, "I guess I think so too cuz I told her, 'alright Mama, I'll sell.' I just ain't got around ta lettin' it be known yet."

Daryl ventures the question, "Whaddya thinkin' of askin' for the place?"

"It's a steal, just twenty-five hundred bucks."

Daryl's been living in the city seven years now, he knows what things cost and he knows that's no steal. For that kind of money he could buy 10 acres with a decent house on it. He doesn't argue though, not yet. Instead he asks, "Can I have a look around?"

The old man's fighting a grin thinking he's going to get twenty-five hundred bucks, "Sure thing, I'll show ya the inside n then we can walk the property line."

They walk in the door and Daryl almost gets sick to his stomach. It's too much like that damn shack they lived in when he was a kid. Square and rickety, everything falling apart and the place stinks. He tells himself none of that matters. He can gut the place, it's the land not the house he wants.

The whole place consists of one large room. That's it. There's a small kitchen area, no back porch, no plumbing of any kind, not even a hand pump for water at the sink. No back porch. It's like a start that has no finish. And he knows he could finish it.

The old man seems pretty proud, "Besides that spring water it's got septic ready ta go. By the time I got that put in I run outta money for a proper kitchen n bathroom."

Daryl nods, it seems like a backward plan, why not the running water first? But then what's there to say to it? A man can only do his best with what he's got and the sense God gave him. Besides, right now Daryl doesn't care about all that, he wants to walk the land.

The dog decides to trail along behind them and for some reason that makes Daryl smile, someday he'd like to have himself a good dog.

The old guy doesn't move real fast and it takes a while to walk the property line of the nearly perfectly square five acres. All of it is almost as dense with trees and foliage as where the house is located, except for the pond. When Daryl's eyes land on it he damn near yells out, "Sold!" But he manages to play it a lot closer to the vest than that.

In addition to trees and bushes, there's a nice grassy area by the pond with colorful wildflowers, the sun is causing the water to sparkle and the sky is cloudless and bright blue, and all of those things together make it look and feel like paradise to him. Daryl wants it bad, but he's still able to keep up his matter-of-fact attitude, "Any fish in that pond?"

"You bet, they're real good eatin' too."

"So, you got a bona fide deed ta this place Mister?"

"Yessir I do. I got a copy back at the cabin and you can verify it at the county."

Daryl makes his counteroffer, "You want cash? I got 1,500 dollars cash I can give ya Monday, right after I do some checkin' on that deed."

"I told ya, 2,500 dollars."

"Ya know damn good n well 2,500 dollars is too much."

"2,000?"

Ah, the old man's ready to bargain, "1,600 dollars cash money."

"Done."

They shake hands, both thinking they made a good deal, and that's that. At least as far as the deal can go this day.

On his lunch break Monday Daryl checks out the county records, sure enough the old man owns the five acres free and clear. The lady there explains to him what he needs to do to legally transfer the title, he gives her a dollar and she gives him the papers he'll need. He thanks her for all the help and right after work that Monday he gets his money.

He doesn't keep it in the bank, he doesn't keep it under the mattress, he doesn't keep it in his boot. He keeps it buried. When he gets home from work he opens the closet door in his room, gets down on his knees and just as he does every payday, he carefully and methodically pulls up the planks of the wood floor. Then he digs with the small hand shovel until he hits the top of the metal box.

It's a green ammo box he may or may not have swiped from the army. He pulls the box up, opens the lock and inside there's a sealed Ball jar. He gets $1,600 out of the jar for the land and another $200.00 for building materials. He slides all the cash down the shaft of his boot, feeling grateful he's been saving his money the past seven years.

Over the course of the next three years the place keeps him busy and that doesn't bother him at all.

The first thing he does is clear some of the trees, vines and brush that were growing right up close to and even on the house. It's not that he doesn't like the overgrown look of it, but since seeing the aftermath of the big Atlanta fire he can't think of a good reason to keep fuel growing next to what will soon be his home.

When the clearing is done he begins to make his building plans. He doesn't need much and at first he only thinks to rebuild the existing house. He'll shore it up, bring in running water, get a decent sink in the kitchen area, frame a bathroom in the corner and get the septic hooked up.

Things change when he sits to draw up his plan. It's another one of those powerful feelings, so powerful it shakes him and so does what he suddenly envisions. The house he sees in his mind's eye is so different than his original idea.

He works this new idea over and over in his mind. Why wouldn't he build the kind of place he sees in his mind's eye? He's never had much of anything in life he called his own, just his tools and his panel truck. And now, dammit, he has the best piece of ground anywhere. A place he feels so strongly is right where he's meant to be, and not just for the time being. This is where he's meant to live out his life.

He draws up a new plan, then he gets busy.

He shores up what's already there, gives it a good cleaning and that's already a major improvement. He sections off the one big room into two, a good-sized parlor and a seating area. He's not sure what he needs a seating area for, but something tells him he should have one.

He adds a doorway that leads from the seating area to what will be the kitchen. He wants it square and plenty roomy. Why? There's only him, why would he need so much? He doesn't know but he can't shake the feeling and he's given up on trying. The old boy left a crusted over wood-burning cookstove and an equally nasty icebox behind. He aims to clean them up good as new. It'll be a project he can work on days when it's too rainy to work outside.

Over the course of time he gets it all framed, along with two good sized bedrooms. He has no idea why a man living on his own needs two bedrooms, but again, he's not fighting the feeling. Who's to say? Maybe someday Merle will show up and need a place to stay.

He puts in a big bathroom, this he does for himself because he doesn't just want a tub, he wants one of those showers. That'd be a good thing to have when he's gotten real dirty at work or out hunting.

He makes the front porch bigger, and at the back end of the house he adds a combination mud room and storage for his hunting and fishing equipment. He even leaves a spot just in case someday he decides to get a washing machine. Then he adds on a nice back porch.

When he thinks about the size of it, the work he's done and the money he's spent on materials, he shakes his head in wonder. What does a man like him need with so much house? He must be out of his ever-loving mind. Shit, he can almost hear what Merle would say if he came by. If he told his brother about the powerful feeling and the vision Merle would laugh until he got sick, then beat Daryl to a bloody pulp for being an idiot.

1930 rolls around and he's still not done with the place. He only has Saturdays and Sundays to work on it and it's just him. Still, it's framed in, the floors are in, the bathroom and kitchen are roughed in, the roof is on. It's the inside finish work that remains to be completed. He has it figured at another year and that will be that. He'll have what is essentially a brand new house, one that he built for himself and by himself on a piece of ground he feels sure he was always destined to live on. After three years he's getting mighty close. He's even starting to imagine himself living there.

For now he's still living with his buddy, and then that suddenly changes. Daryl gets home late Sunday afternoon after working on his place and the guy tells him the news. He's gotten his Sweetheart in the family way. He says he loves her and he aims to do the right thing by her and their baby. "Gonna have ta get married and find us a place of our own I s'pose."

Daryl shakes his head, "Nah, you two stay right here. I'm the one who should go. I only got me ta worry bout, you're gonna have a whole family ta take care of 'fore long."

They sit at the kitchen table each with a bottle of beer, beer they made and bottled right in that kitchen just three weeks earlier, and they talk it all over. The fella mentions the idea of a boarding house, "You wouldn't have anythin' ta take care of and the livin' is easy. You got a furnished room, they do all the shoppin' and cookin', shit, we probably shoulda moved in one a them places a long time ago."

The idea of living in a house with a bunch of other folks doesn't sit right with Daryl. On the other hand, it's cheaper than renting a house or apartment and he'd have his meals. Not a thing to worry about other than paying his weekly fee. Besides, it won't be long and he'll be out and living in his own place.

Right after the dinner hour on Friday evening he pays a call at two boarding houses he's heard about. The first doesn't feel right. There are families living there and he'd feel out of place. At the second house the proprietor tells him it's all men living there. That sounds better, and when he tells the fella he won't be eating Saturday dinner or Sunday meals, the owner gives him a little discount off the weekly fee.

That encourages him to take a chance and ask something else, "How bout if I's ta get ya a deer when I'm out huntin', would I get a discount then?"

The proprietor is beaming, "You sure would son. You bring me a deer and butcher it and I'll give you a week for free. I'll make you a good deal for rabbit, fish and game birds too."

Daryl plans to take the guy up on that offer.

It's not like he can't afford the full fee. After ten years with the city water department he's seen his hard work pay off. It's not just the $24.61 he makes every week, he's also managed to work himself into a real good position. He's respected, he has knowledge of how every single thing in the main plant works and he's considered valuable. The city furloughed plenty of fellas when the economy went down the hopper, but he still has his job.

Saturday morning comes and it's so damn hot and steamy out it's like a person can't even breathe. What's worse is he hates giving up a Saturday to move, but it's got to be done.

Daryl doesn't plan on taking much, he'll leave most everything for the newlyweds except for his bedroom furniture. It'll be nice having a real bed to sleep in on the weekends when he's working at his place.

He's also got a bureau, two night tables and a radio. Then he realizes, even if he had electricity he probably couldn't get radio reception out that way. Maybe though. He does have plans to eventually get one of those steam generators for electricity and just maybe he can figure out a way to rig an antenna.

His buddy helps him and they get Daryl's bedroom furniture out to his place, along with his hunting and fishing things and most of his clothes. He notices it feels a little cooler there without the city concrete and the asphalt letting off even more heat. All the shade trees are making a difference too.

When they're done setting furniture in the bedroom the men wish each other luck, shake hands and promise to get together for a beer real soon. Once his buddy heads home Daryl washes up a little and makes his way to town and the boarding house. He won't be moving much in there, just one box and his fan. The box has the clothes he'll need for work, his bathroom things and tucked in between it all, a handgun. A man never knows.

When he arrives at what will be his new residence he has no idea that once again, his life is about to be forever changed. He rings the front bell fully expecting the owner, Dale Horvath, to answer. He's surprised to see it's not the proprietor at all, it's a young woman. She's a fair-haired beauty with pale skin flushed pink from the heat; and the way those damp curls are framing her face, he's not sure how a man puts words to it, but that look does something to him.

He's like any fella, he enjoys laying eyes on a fine looking woman, and Atlanta's got its fair share of pretty women. This woman though, she's not like those fancy made-up gals. The way she looks is far more appealing. Her lashes are long and fluttery, her eyes big and blue. Pretty. Damn she's so pretty. It's not just that she's a looker though, there's something else about this woman. There's just something about her that goes right to the heart.

He realizes he's probably staring but he can't seem to stop. Finally he manages to compose himself enough to give her his name and tell her why he's there.

She wonders why in the world she's so mortified. He's just the new boarder, that's all. No. He's a handsome new boarder with a strong, masculine build and very defined, very manly facial features. Those eyes, yes it's his eyes. That's what's making it so hard for her to concentrate and to speak. "Oh, um, let me see. Um…"

He's worried that for some reason he's upset her, or worse, scared her. He asks, "I wasn't sure whether I's s'posed ta come ta the front or go round ta the side."

Thank heaven above, she's found her tongue. "Um, yes, the backstairs are through the side entrance. Come, I'll show you."

She walks out the front door and he dutifully follows her as she leads him around to the side of the house. He already knows the way but he doesn't bother to tell her. Walking behind her now he sees how small and dainty she is and it makes him feel big and clumsy in comparison.

It's a little easier for her to talk now that he's not looking at her face. She's also thinking more clearly and feels she should explain, "Of course there's no restriction, you're welcome to use the front door. I just thought…it's just that most of the men seem to prefer coming in and out the side entrance. The backstairs are right through the side door entry and they lead directly to the rooms. At the other end of the hallway are the main stairs, you can take those down to the dining and parlor rooms."

She's talking fast and her voice is trembling and why does that make him feel guilty? He hasn't spoken or behaved inappropriately with her and yet he feels like he's to blame. He doesn't want to upset her so he tries to say the right thing, even though he has no idea what that could possibly be, "That's fine. I'll probably be parkin' my truck round the side anyway."

"Oh." For goodness sake, what in the world is the matter with her? Has she lost her senses along with her ability to speak?

She begins to reach for the doorknob at the side entry door, but he's already leaning around her and his hand grasps the knob first. As he pushes the door open he quietly says, "Here, lemme get that for ya." He's completely unaware the small gesture has nearly taken her breath away, he only knows it felt real good to be so close to her. "I'ma just go back ta the truck and get my box of things and take it on up. Thank you Miss, um, Miss…"

She swallows hard and manages to say, "Beth, my name is Beth."

He isn't one to ask questions of women but he's curious about who this one is exactly, "Are ya Mr. Horvath's daughter or granddaughter?"

"Oh no sir, I'm not family. I'm just the hired girl."

He smiles, nah, she's a lot more than just a hired girl, "Okay Miss Beth, and my name ain't Sir. I'm just Daryl."

She looks at him and he looks at her and something powerful passes between them, neither has any idea what it is but they both feel a warmth in their hearts and in their bodies, a warmth that has nothing to do with the weather.

It's she who finally turns her eyes away, looking down she breaks the spell and in a nervous and quiet voice says, "It's nice to meet you Mister Daryl." She apologizes, "I'm sorry I can't take you upstairs and show you your room. I'm not allowed to be up there when the men are home. It's room number eight. I just made it up yesterday afternoon so it's nice and fresh for you." She remembers then, "Oh yes, and Mr. Horvath gave me your room key in case you came while he was out."

She dips her hand in her apron pocket, pulls out the key and as she hands it to him she realizes, his room is the one directly above her room.

A/N Now we know who Daryl Dixon is and there seems to be an instant attraction between the new boarder and Beth. Please leave me a comment with your thoughts. As always the chapter photo is on my tumblr blogs, gneebee and bethylmethbrick. I'll be back next Friday with another chapter of The Stranger Upstairs and I hope you'll be here too! Until then remember, I love ya large! xo gneebee