Chapter 9
Mel's POV
Beth brings me my meals. And each time she tries to talk to me but she ends up having a one-sided conversation with herself. Then, when I hear a defeated sigh, I know she has given up for the time being.
She leaves taking my untouched plate of food with her.
I sleep. I ignore Beth. I ignore the rumble in my stomach at the smell of the food. I ignore everything going on outside of this room. I ignore anything that might make me feel even the slightest bit of anything.
This has become an uninvited routine and it has been going on for two days.
Honestly, if I let myself feel I don't know which emotion is going to win out. There are just too many options and too many questions follow with each one.
If I'm relieved that I lost the baby then does that make me a terrible person?
Am I selfish that I wanted something that was just mine?
Why can't I protect the ones I care about?
I guess it's yet another one of those chapters in the 'How to Act During the Post-Apocalypse' that needs completed. At the rate I'm going I'll have a whole novel soon. Maye I can become the equivalent of the post-apocalyptic Dr. Phil (granted if the original is already dead).
Right now, I can see the light through the yellow curtains so I know that the sun is up but I have no idea what time it is. The sound of the door being opened tells me that it must be time for one of the three meals. I expect to hear Beth's forced cheery voice soon but the sound of a gruff but feminine humming is what starts to reach through the fog my mind has been in.
My arms wrap tighter around myself. It's both an attempt to block out Carol and to stop the visible tremors that still rack my body. I haven't stopped shaking since I was brought into this room. Hershel says that it is normal, but I feel anything but normal. I should be able to stop it but my own body isn't even listening to me anymore.
All semblance of control is spiraling away from me quicker than I can hold on to it.
There is no warning before natural light is no longer being filtered through the curtain and floods the room. I blink my eyes trying my best to adjust to the sudden intrusion.
"Don't you think you have been cooped up long enough?" The sound of the window being lifted open precedes a burst of cool air and the sound of life that I have been successful in avoiding up until now.
I ignore her question and wrap the blanket tighter around me. The only thing keeping me from telling her to go away is the fact that manners have been instilled in me since I was old enough to walk.
Instead, I bite my tongue and continue my stare off with the wall hoping she goes away quicker than Beth usually does.
The bed shifts as Carol sits down at the foot of it. So much for that quick exit I was hoping for.
"I brought you something." Her hand lays down a white flower in front of my eyes on the pillow "-It's a Cherokee Rose. Has Daryl told you the story behind this particular flower?"
Hearing Daryl's name almost makes me sit up, eager to hear anything about him. How beyond pathetic am I? Despite the little I know about Daryl, there is a connection. There is no logical explanation but it's there nonetheless.
It was when Daryl was carrying me up here that I knew what the blood meant. I think he knew as well and I found something akin to comfort when my head was buried in his shoulder. I haven't seen him since then. Not that I blame him, he keeps having to save me. If I was him, I would probably try to stay away from a walking disaster too.
I guess Carol takes my continued silence as a 'no' instead of the intended 'leave me alone' and starts to recite the history of the flower.
"A lot of Cherokee mothers lost their children on the trail of tears. The American soldiers didn't give them time to bury their young, much less grieve. With each fallen child the elders saw how hopeless their people were starting to feel. So, they offered up a prayer and asked for a sign of hope. One that would give the mothers strength. The next day that flower started to grow in the exact same spots where the tears for their lost babies had fallen." As her own emotions start to resurface, Carols voice becomes strangled and her hands smooth out the wrinkles in the quilt "Anyway, Daryl tells it better."
It's a depressing story but it doesn't take away from the simple beauty of the flower. It might even add to it. While Carol was talking my gaze moved from the wall to the flower in front of me. Just five white petals that look similar to silk. I briefly wonder if they share the same texture as well but I stop my hand from reaching out to compare. Instead I continue to study the flower. The petals are made more vibrant because they surround that lively yellow center. It only has the two colors but they balance each other out in a way that only nature can.
Humble, Modest, and probably overlooked. It's the most beautiful flower I've seen.
"I brought you some soup." The clinking of a spoon against porcelain echoes in the room and I stop my stomach from getting too excited at the sound. "You need to eat something. You can't keep this up."
Carol's fingertips brush against my temple and I curl into a smaller ball. A noise close to a whimper escapes me. Which makes me hate myself even more. The touch wasn't threatening. It was a motherly move, something I haven't experienced in a long time.
She was trying to give me comfort but my reaction is to recoil in fear? Pitiful.
Closing my eyes on an exhale, I'm quickly reminded of the loss that is no doubt still fresh for her.
"Sorry." I mumble to the wall because I am afraid of the hurt I might see if I look at her face.
"Do you plan on just wasting away up here?" Her voice holds an angry tone.
Despite how rude it might be, I don't answer. Manners be damned. I didn't ask her to come up here, hell I don't even know this woman.
Carol sighs, then I hear her place the bowl of soup on the side table next to the bed. I think she is about to leave but her footsteps go further into the room. Looking past my feet, I can see her standing in front of the window, her right hand holding a fistful of that yellow fabric.
"You were lucky enough to never have the pleasure of meeting my husband Ed. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead but he never was a man of much worth. It wasn't long after Sophia was born that he was laid off from the plant and money started to get tight. Not that I am making excuses for him but that's when he started to really change. He became a different type of mean altogether." Carol is still telling the story to the window. Which I understand, because it's easier when you don't have to see the pity on others faces.
"One night he came home smelling like cheap liquor and he hit me because I left the porch light on for him. That was the first time he put his hands on me but it wasn't the last. Anyway, it wasn't long after that night I found out I was pregnant again." She turns around and resumes her spot at the bottom of the bed, this time I move my legs over to give her some room. "Something that should make me happy and there I was just terrified. I tried to ignore the pregnancy because ignoring it was easier than thinking about the life my child would lead after it was born. The fear and pain it would know only because it had the misfortune of being born into the wrong family. Don't get me wrong, I loved my Sophia. She was my reason to keep living after a certain point but I should have done more for her when she was alive."
Looking into Carol's eyes there is no doubt that she loved her daughter or that she has already lived a life full of regrets.
"Ed had a way of making me feel like I was worthless. I tried to run away a couple of times but I always came back. I don't know what kind of hold he had over me but after a couple of days away, for some reason, I thought I was better off with him than without him. I think I was just afraid of being on my own. Being alone. So, I would always find my way back even though I knew that he would beat me for running away in the first place."
Her hand hovers over my leg like she needs the physical contact but she hesitates before placing it back in her own lap.
"It got to the point that I wanted to give up and just stay on the floor after each one of Ed's punishing bouts of anger, especially after the night I laid in my own blood for hours when he caused a miscarriage. After a while I remember being grateful that it happened. That I wouldn't fail another child as a mother. I've never told anyone this. I don't think Ed even knew I was pregnant a second time."
The urge to hug the older woman is overwhelming. Everything about her right now screams emotionally raw and I have no clue what to do in this situation. I wonder if this is what people see when they look at me now.
"Why?" it's not until I speak that I realize tears have started to roll down my own cheeks at this woman's pain.
"I wish none of this would have happened to you Mel but I think I'm telling you now so that you know you aren't alone. It's hard not knowing how to feel. Like the world is trying to punish you for thinking your own private thoughts."
"No." I shake my head, elaborating on the question I just asked. "Why did you get up?"
The sleeve of Carol's shirt acts as a tissue for her eyes before she answers me, "I knew that I had to keep going. Sophia needed me. Just like you have people who need you."
That's where she is wrong and I voice my opinion without thinking.
"I don't have anyone anymore Carol. I failed the people who needed me. Now the only people who have ever cared about me are dead."
"Oh honey, that's not true." She reaches for me. This time I know that the touch is coming so it doesn't affect me as much. Her shaking hand grabs ahold of mine. "I care. Beth and Hershel care. Daryl cares. Did you know that he has been sleeping outside your door ever since you've been in here?"
Taken by surprise, my muscles are stiff as I make them work to push me up so I can sit against the headboard. It makes me feel less vulnerable while talking.
"I've been nothing but a nuisance to him since he found me. Why would he do that?" I'm genuinely stunned that Daryl would silently sleep outside my door. I thought I was talking to myself but then Carol answers my question.
"Daryl is a very loyal person. He has a tough exterior that he likes to put on but underneath that is someone who cares deeply. You are lucky enough to be on the other end of that. Now-" she nods to the table, her face still wearing that sad smile "-I made a promise to Beth that I'd get you to eat. So how about some of that soup?"
It doesn't take an emotionally stable person to see that Carol just opened up to me about something very personal or that she would rather not dwell on what was said. So, I look at the offering and see that steam is still rising from the bowl and my stomach admits a very loud defeat.
Daryl's POV
My feet are rooted just outside of the door where I stopped at the top of the stairs.
Feeling like an intruder, I slip back into the hallway. Leaving Carol to finish the story that I have no right hearing. I hadn't set out to eavesdrop. The hammer and box of nails are proof that I had every intention of fixing the broken door across the hall. With more people inside the house, having an extra bathroom with a working door might come in handy.
At first, I wasn't able to make out their conversation. It was just a light, lilting hum in the air, a nice offset to the silence that has been the girls room. Then I took another step and the words became clear.
Carol's words are still swirling around in my brain on a seemingly infinite loop.
Back at the quarry we all knew her husband was a piece of shit but I'd never seen him lay a hand on Carol or Sophia. Hell, if word got back to Merle that he was a wife beater Ed would've ended up dead a lot sooner than he did.
Everyone's got some kind of sob story but it is their right to tell it and Carol meant for only the girl to hear hers. What I should have done was made myself known. But like a coward, I slipped out with none the wiser. All because I'm still not ready to face the girl yet.
If I see her, that aching pit called guilt will pull me in further than I already am. The knowledge of my own responsibility for the girls' current state is crushing and the main reason I had to leave the farm. Originally, I had zero intention of coming back. This place and everyone here remind me of a time when I cared. I learned back then at a pretty early age that it was dangerous but now it is just plain suicidal to open yourself up and care about anyone else. Knowing that they'll be dead soon enough.
That is what I tried to remind myself as I drove Merle's bike away after finding out about the girls' baby. Fully intent on leaving it all in my rearview. That I'm only with these people because it is easier than being on my own. That it is easier for me to put up with them if I have a place to sleep where I don't have to worry about someone stabbing me for a can of food or waking up to a walker gnawing on my foot. That it's all about survival.
Then I reminisced about the times these assholes have punched and shot me recently. So why did I come back?
It's an unanswered question I continue to ask myself as I walk back to the tent.
Last night was the last time we would be known as two separate groups. Hershel has offered to let us move into his house for the winter. Can't say that I am excited to be cooped up but I guess it's better than freezing my nuts off.
What little I have fits quickly into the bag and I throw it outside the tent. Only a sleeping bag and a backpack are left inside. Both belong to the girl.
The shiny light green fabric of the bag still has the dark spot of dried blood. My eyes avoid the spot and I leave it behind as I grab her backpack, flinging it over my shoulder. It feels too light and I know that she only has a bottle of water, a borrowed shirt, and a book with a dried oak leaf holding her place inside.
A blunt reminder of how little she has.
I make a mental note to take her into town. I saw a consignment store that looked deserted so she can at least have her own clothes and not be dependent on the other girls' generosity.
Jesus. What the hell am I thinking? Merle would have a field day with the idea of me taking a girl 'shopping'.
Mel's POV
My thoughts are still twisting and turning inside my head after Carol leaves. Everything she said still resonating with me. She is right, I need to get up and keep going. Even if I don't have anyone who cares if I am alive or dead. I still need to keep going. For myself.
Now that my stomach is full I can no longer concentrate on the gnawing hunger and I start to notice that the longer I sit here doing nothing the quicker my thoughts seem to gravitate back toward the depressing side of the spectrum.
That can't happen.
There's no way I can sort out all of the issues I have going on right now and still remain a somewhat stable human being. So, I figure I can lock them away behind a wall constructed by my mind. I've read about athletes doing something similar on game days. Blocking everything but the game off from their mind in order to win.
For me, it's a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation.
A psychologist would probably tell me that it isn't healthy to do what I plan to do but if I had a psychologist around I wouldn't be navigating this shit-storm blind. Plus, it is surprisingly easy to forget things if you really want to. Even things as horrible as what I need to forget.
Another brick in place.
Walls won't last forever, I know that, but I just need time. Time to feel like the person I was before, that calm trusting person that I haven't seen in what feels like years. I want to smile, joke, and laugh without feeling guilt that I'm still alive.
Another brick.
The questions that won't help me survive. What if I am always this scared? What if I can never trust again? What kind of miserable life awaits?
Another brick.
Of course, in theory I can think about the way I have found friends and kindness here but the darkness of my past will keep creeping in until I have no other future but waking up every night screaming about something that isn't really there.
I just finish putting the last brick in place when someone knocks on the door.
"Come in." My voice already sounds stronger and I start to think my plan of escaping behind a mentally constructed wall might have worked.
Slowly the door opens and a head of blonde hair comes inside.
"You're up." The smile on the young girls' face is so heartening that it makes me believe for a second that Carol was right about people still caring about me.
"I am. Sorry I haven't been much company lately" the smile on my face is forced but hopefully convincing.
An old saying pops into my head and I hold on to it. Making it my temporary motto.
'Fake it to you make it'.
My feet stay frozen at the doorway. Even with my imaginary wall allowing me to pretend like everything is okay, it doesn't let me forget about everything bad that has happened outside of this room. I know it is false security but the connection is still there.
Beth has started to notice my hesitation and I hate the way she is looking at me. Like she knows what is going on inside of my head.
As my little sister would say, 'It's time to pull up my big girl panties'. Concentrating on the weight of Daryl's leather vest on my back, I switch one security blanket for another and cross the threshold. Once past that invisible shield each step is easier and it isn't long before I am walking side by side with a talkative Beth.
"Daddy agreed to let Rick and the others move into the house for the winter. Which makes sense really, we have plenty of room for everyone. I mean yeah, it'll be a little crowded but hey, maybe we can share a room, it'll be like old times. Just like when you and Harmony shared a room and I'd spend the night."
Unaware that by saying my sisters name to me she has already started a tiny fission to form within the bricks of my wall, Beth keeps moving her mouth. I pretend to listen but stopped after hearing the reminder of one of the things I was trying to avoid. She didn't seem to notice so I focused on mundane things like the steps under my feet until I find myself sitting on the soda in the parlor room.
Seemingly happy that I am out of the upstairs bedroom, Beth continues to talk. Not caring that I am only giving half-hearted nods of acknowledgement when there is a pause in sound.
Scanning the room, I am shocked by the number of boxes and bags scattered everywhere. Finding a path to the couch was a feat in itself.
It is going to be difficult finding personal space and time now that Rick's people will be within the confines of the farmhouse. It already starts to feel too claustrophobic just thinking about it and I find myself planning out a possible way to escape.
I really don't think Daryl plans on asking me to tagalong with him out in the woods anymore. The idea of losing that valued time pains me more than I thought it would. Everything about that time spent with Daryl was therapeutic in a way.
He doesn't prod, judge, or question me. He just lets me be.
The only time he talks is when he deems something worthy enough to teach me because more than likely it is something that will one day save my life.
Heavy footsteps approaching the front door turn my attention fully back toward Beth while my peripheral catches Hershel walking into his house. A quick smile covers up his surprise at seeing me sitting on the couch with his daughter.
Daryl's POV
"Hershel is being kind enough to share his house with us. We are still guests in his home so let's keep that in mind while we are staying here." Rick's voice is confident as he addresses the group.
For some reason it feels like I am back in grade school and Rick is lecturing us like we are about to visit a museum. Reminding us to be on our best behavior. I start to roll my eyes but then I see Shane look particularly intense as Rick's gaze land on him at the end of his speech.
It is no secret that there is no love lost between Hershel and the former ass-hole cop. So, there is no doubt that Rick will be spending his time interceding between the two grown men. Then to make matters worse, Shane has been especially edgy since the Randall incident.
The meeting sounds like it is about to wrap up and I hold my breath as Shane does his signature scalp rub, it becomes obvious to all of us that he wants to say something.
Rick notices it as well, "Got something on your mind Shane?"
A humorless chuckle escapes Shane and just like that, any hope that today was going to end on a good foot goes out the damn window.
"Yeah I think I got something to say." Shane looks around the group circled around "Are we just going to pretend that what happened on our turf didn't happen? I mean you brought the threat here and then you failed to protect our people. The way I see it -it's your fault what happened here and to Mel."
"Don't!" I say on a growl before I even think the words. Then Rick moves to stand in front of me effectively stopping me from closing the distance between me and Shane. "Don't act like you give a shit about that girl."
Everyone else has stepped away from the immediate threat that is unfolding between us. Shane doesn't even try to hide the cruel smile on his face before he responds.
"You're right Daryl. I don't give a shit about her." He points to the house where she is. I try to move but Rick's goddamn body is still blocking me "But the fact remains that Rick is the leader and he put all of us at risk. Including her. I think we should take a vote and decide if he should be in charge of these type of decisions anymore."
"And I'm sure you'll be more than happy to step up. Go back to sitting on top of the R.V. telling everyone else what to do?"
"Last time I checked, Daryl, we were all alive when I was calling the shots. It was when he showed up that people started to end up dead. Your brother included. Or did you forget that Rick left Merle chained up on that roof to die?"
I hadn't forgotten. I also hadn't forgotten how much of an asshole my brother could be.
That bait Shane was dangling was going to stay on the hook. If it was Shane on that roof instead of Rick, Merle wouldn't have had a chance in hell. At least Rick tried to go back and didn't flat out shoot him in the head.
"Shane's right." Ricks calm voice interrupts "You people can decide whatever the hell you want to. In the meantime, Daryl and I are going to talk to Mel. Try to find out what happened leading up to Randall escaping in the first place."
"I'll come to."
"No. You won't." Ricks tone leave no room for bargaining "Why don't you stay here Shane and stage another coup. Daryl and I can handle this."
We find the girl with Beth, Carl, and Hershel sitting around the kitchen table playing some kind of board game. Her smile is not quite believable but at least she is out of that room.
At least she isn't crying.
When Rick clears his throat, I find my eyes looking at every small detail in the room just so I can avoid meeting the girls' eyes.
In spite of my best efforts the room doesn't hold my attention.
I hate that her face changes when Rick asks to speak to her in private. That flash of panic and fear in her eyes. I hate even more that she looks to me after he asks. Not sure if she is asking for permission or searching for reassurance I speak up.
"Hershel'll be there" I nod. Knowing that the old man will insist on joining us in the room if she is in it. Which I don't fault him at all. Hell, the girl just decided to come out of her self-imposed solitary confinement after being assaulted on a farm full of people. I'd say that any trust issues she might have would be warranted.
If I had my way, we wouldn't be asking her any questions at all 'bout what happened. But it isn't up to me and no one so much as asked for my damn opinion.
Rick is a cop. Finding answers is his thing and there are too many of those answers missing surrounding the whole Randall thing.
Too many things that are just not adding up.
More or less I trust Rick. I have since the day we went against those Mexicans in Atlanta just to get Glen back. All because Rick felt he owed Glen for saving his life in the beginning. Not to sound too sentimental but that was when I knew Rick was worth a damn as a leader.
Mel's POV
I already don't like how this is going.
Beth and Carl left me and the game of monopoly sitting at the kitchen table. While Rick takes the seat across from me I briefly notice Daryl leaning against the doorway with something close to a bored expression on his face.
"How are you feeling Mel?"
This is the first time I have talked to Rick one on one and I'm taken aback by the way he says my name. With such ease and concern, it's like we have been friends for years. Unease immediately takes up residence in my stomach.
"I'm feeling a lot better. Thank you." My words are scripted and said only as a pleasantry but also not entirely a lie. Thanks to my wall I am numb and not feeling much of anything right now which is an improvement.
"If it's alright with you I just have a few questions about what happened the other night."
I don't want to talk about that. On their own, my eyes search for Daryl. He is my only constant and he is my only hope of getting out of this situation. But when I find him he is still leaning against the door frame like only his weight is keeping it from collapsing on all of us.
He has a sudden interest in the hardwood floor or maybe it's his shoes. All I know is that he is looking everywhere but at me. That hurts more than my busted lip as I start to chew on it.
Rick is still waiting for me to respond to his question.
I'm aware that my head is shaking back and forth and that my eyes have no doubt switched from pleading to resemble a trapped animal but I really don't want to do this. I just managed to lock it all away. Everything I want to avoid is still sitting behind that rapidly failing barrier I built and I want it to stay there.
It hasn't even been a full day.
As if it wasn't difficult enough to ignore the banging against the wall every time Beth said my sisters name or when I saw Lori cradling her own stomach when she looked at me with a mixture of fear and pity. Now they want me to relive what I've locked out.
It was stupid.
I was stupid.
Stupid for thinking I could ignore everything. That dam started crumbling as soon as I put that last brick in place.
It isn't until Hershel grabs my hand that I realize I am on a verge of a panic attack. He is talking to Rick and it looks like they are arguing about something but I can't hear anything. The only sound filling my ears is a whooshing noise like I can hear every cell of blood as it runs through my veins.
Then above that thundering in my head I hear a chair as its legs drag against the wooden floor. Daryl has moved from his post and is now sitting in front of me. Rick and Hershel continue to talk but I focus on the two small pools of blue across from me.
I've lost my mind because the next 30 seconds is filled with an entire conversation without either of us saying one word out loud.
"Ya good?"
"No. Not really."
"No one's going to make ya but he wouldn't ask if it wasn't needed."
"I can't."
"You can."
That is how the conversation went in my head anyway. It was all said in his clipped voice but if Daryl was experiencing the same thing I was I couldn't tell you. And I'll never ask him because it is more than a possibility that he was just looking at me and I made the entire exchange up inside my head.
Before I think better of it I allow my voice to mix with both Hershel and Rick's.
"What do you want to know?"
Daryl's POV
I fucking hate doing this to her but I know where Rick is getting at with it. I have the same suspicion he does but Rick was a cop and he thinks evidence is still needed to convict a guilty man. I don't.
I'm close to pulling the plug on this whole thing when I notice a change in her.
A second ago she looked like she was about to chew her own leg off if it meant getting away from Rick and his questions. I don't know what steeled her resolve but I watched it as it fell into place.
Rick and the old man hadn't even noticed as she quickly started to shut down in front of them. Like usual, I didn't know what she needed or how to bring her back from whatever was happening inside her own head. Unsure of my next step and completely acting on instinct I moved to sit across from her.
Unblinking, her green eyes stayed fixed on mine. Our eyes didn't stay locked together for long but in the few seconds that they were, it was as if she was both telling me all of her secrets and begging me to help her.
I did nothing but watch as she took a fortifying breath and said, "What do you want to know?".
Her voice finally brought the attention of the other men away from their 'who's right and who's wrong pissing match' and back toward her.
Her back is straight, and her face calm. The only evidence of her inner battle moments ago is in her slightly trembling hands. Even that is being hidden by how she keeps moving them from her lap to back to the table like she doesn't know where they belong.
Ultimately, they settle in her lap as Rick asks, "Were you there when Randall got out? Did you see it?"
I already know the answer before she even answers. Her footprints were nowhere near the shed where Randall was being kept until his escape.
"No. I was looking for you-" the girl nods her head in my direction but I'm impressed that her eyes return to Rick "-at the pond. I just turned around and he was there."
Her voice starts to crack and I can tell her hands are working overtime as they try to calm her.
"He did say that his group had a camp…Wood something Woodside? No that's not right. I can't remember what he called it." She turns to Hershel "That town where they have the tractor pull every year?"
"Woodbury" the old man nods and puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's close to a 45-minute drive from here. Northeast on some back roads."
"That's a big help Mel." Rick voice has the practiced calmness of a seasoned cop "One last question, did he say how he got out? Or do you remember anything that might help us figure it out?"
"N—" I watch as her face scrunches up like some memory is coming back to her. Then that shadow of panic starts to flicker behind her eyes again. "H-he said that the person who let him out made a deal with him. That he could get revenge on Daryl if he-by killing me. He was supposed to kill me." the last of her words are no more than a whisper.
My knuckles are white from the sheer willpower it is taking me not to reach for my crossbow and point the business end at that dick head outside. Instead I try to keep my voice even as I speak to the girl for the first time in days.
"Why were ya lookin for me?" My attempt at keeping my voice calms fails but she doesn't flinch at my harsh tone.
She just seems surprised by my question and by being pulled from reliving the memory of how close she came to dying.
"He said you were looking for me. That you were headed toward the pond."
I wasn't looking for her that day. I was out walking the fence lines.
"Who said that Mel?" Rick beats me to my next question.
"Sh-Shane." The girl must have put two and two together because her head darts toward the window probably in search of the traitor who was all too eager to sacrifice her so he could prove himself right and Rick wrong.
I am going to kill him.