A/N: There will begin to be graphic/explicit sexual content in this story beginning with this chapter. It won't overtake the plot, but I want you to be aware that it will be happening since the story has been pretty much sex-free until now.
And trigger warning: there will also be mentions/references to and flashbacks/depictions of rape and domestic violence/abuse.
rosie, why do you evade?
Monday morning came and went quietly. Beth slept through most of it, waking only briefly to the sound of the front door opening and closing when Daryl and Malachi left for the day. After that, she didn't budge again until well past noon. When she got up and stretched and wandered out into the empty apartment, she found that the weather outside had cleared up and the sun was shining through the last of the remaining clouds. The birds where chirping loudly and there were people out and about once again on their morning commutes – though not as many as usual. The day felt sleepy for the whole city.
Beth's head was foggy and she still felt half-asleep as she found her way to the coffeemaker to brew a new pot, then to the bathroom to relieve herself. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes when she walked back to check her phone for notifications or news updates. To her delight, she found neither. Although part of her was hoping to hear something from Jesus. She wondered if she should message him and ask for a timeframe, or if it would just be bothersome to him.
The smell of coffee began to fill the apartment and she perked up, mouth nearly watering at the prospect. She put down her phone and put the problem out of her mind for the time being to wander back into the kitchen and await her first cup of coffee. It was still odd to her to have such a hectic sleeping schedule, but it was even more odd to have no real purpose filling her days. If it weren't for obsessively checking the news to see how famous she was getting, she probably wouldn't even know what day it was. She'd never had this kind of free time at home, at least not in a very long time.
As she sat at the dining table and sipped her first cup of coffee, eyes occasionally gazing out the window across from her, Beth found herself unable to think of anything but her meeting with Jesus. At first, it had felt like a weight lifted from her shoulders, but the longer it sat in her mind and stewed, the heavier it all became. She was realizing that this was a whole other issue entirely, and it may be the most difficult yet. If Jesus was right, she might have to start trying to leave the city. What were the chances that any of the people she'd met would ever recognize her? But then what were the chances that she could keep herself totally hidden for an undisclosed amount of time? Some of these things were out of her control, but she wasn't one to back down from all liability. She knew that she had at least a little control over who would be seeing her or talking to her in the coming days/weeks/months. The problem was keeping those people ignorant of the truth – that was something she really couldn't control on her own.
Her stomach gurgled but she had no real appetite. She swallowed more coffee in an effort to appease it, mind still racing with everything that Jesus had told her. He seemed convinced that the cops were hot on her trail and would never give up, but if that were the case, why had she gotten away so easily? She hated even thinking about that because it made her feel arrogant, but in all honesty, it had been kind of easy. They weren't even making her case national, so why would she worry about people seeing her face in this city? Then again, the case could go national any day… but if it was going to, wouldn't it have done so already? She was right back to the same question she'd been asking herself a dozen times a day.
Beth began to wonder if she'd ever truly be free, even if she got away. Jesus had told her that eventually, she'd make the Most Wanted list. But he didn't say how long they kept people on that particular list. She'd never really thought about looking into it either. How long would she have to disappear before they'd assume she was dead? An idea popped into her head and she pulled out her phone to look up the FBI's Most Wanted list and check to see how long most of the fugitives had been missing.
At first, she was hopeful because she started reading about a couple of fugitives who'd only been wanted since the early 2000s or late nineties. In her mind, fifteen or twenty years on the run was nothing compared to fifteen or twenty years behind bars. But as she read further, she realized that those were only a couple of the most recent additions to the list. To her dismay, she found that they were still actively pursuing some people who'd been missing since the sixties, and they'd gone as far as to make age-progression photos with computers to depict a more accurate description – including a man who was in his late seventies by now, if he was even alive, and still wanted for a crime he'd committed as an eighteen-year-old. Beth took another sip of coffee but couldn't seem to taste it anymore.
She closed the webpage and set her phone down, staring out the window at the sky with a blank stare. She knew, deep down, that Jesus was one-hundred percent right, just like Maggie had been. But could she really be blamed for being so scared? The thought of escaping to another place she'd never even been was terrifying. Coming to New York City had scared her shitless, but crossing the ocean to step on completely foreign soil? That was absolutely petrifying. Beth started to wonder if she shouldn't begin looking into alternative methods, even though that would mean ignoring the fact that she knew Jesus was completely right in his plan and knowledge of the situation. The brief, breathtaking thought of faking her own death filled her head for a moment, and she mulled over all the options and loose ends.
That would mean acquiring a dead body – whether it was already dead or I had to kill it myself. Either way would be extremely difficult and way more risky than it's worth, she thought. Not to mention the science of it all – making the dental records match, fingerprints… I'd have to find someone like Jesus who knew how to do it all for a price, and what are the odds of me finding someone like that when I have absolutely zero connections? Oh, God, and then, once the news got back to my family - if they believed it - they'd be devastated. My sister would be so disappointed in me. It wouldn't matter that I was still alive, because she'd never be able to know. Daddy would think this had all been for nothing. I couldn't risk doing that to them… not while they're locked up for my crime.
Beth continued to mindlessly sip her coffee, still staring out the window while she had an internal battle. She would go over all these same scenarios at least a hundred times over before she could think of anything else. At the end of the day, she had to admit that Maggie had already known what was best for her. Of course, she had to remind herself that her big sister had originally planned for it to be both of them, so maybe it was just the best plan for two sisters on the run…? Or was Glenn supposed to have gotten away with them, too?
The idea of getting plastic surgery to match a new identity drifted into her head. She mulled it over for a moment, but she could easily imagine what Maggie or Jesus would say about it: You can disguise your appearance, but you can't disguise your DNA. She brushed that idea aside almost as quickly as it had arrived.
She shook her head and finally tore her eyes away from the sky. Without noticing, she'd finished nearly her whole cup of coffee. She let out a sigh and got up to get a refill, hesitating in the kitchen and deciding to get in the bath and attempt to relax again. She brought the coffee with her, and about ten minutes later, she was setting her mug on the edge of the bathtub before submerging herself in warm, bubbly water.
The silence of the bathroom and the soothing water on her skin worked to calm her nerves and slow her thoughts. She kept going over different scenarios in her head – she'd reworked the possibility of faking her own death at least a hundred times – but the whole thing exhausted her and she sunk deeper into the bath. She pushed the worries out of her head, eyes scrunched shut as if she were physically forcing an intruder from her body, and tried to think of something else. For inexplicable reasons, her mind jumped from the memory of talking with Daryl the night before to the brief memory of overhearing him in the bathroom a couple of nights prior to that. Maybe she was connecting his mention of his occasional marijuana use to the smell that had reached her nostrils that night while she lay in bed. Either way, she wasn't sure why it was coming back now, but it began to linger and give her the strangest feeling without warning.
She had felt like she'd been violating his privacy that night, as if she were listening in on something she shouldn't have. For a while, she had told herself he'd been crying or groaning in satisfaction from the relaxation of the bath. But now, she could hear his low, echoing moans in her head and she immediately knew what they were really from... Something that had been sleeping inside her was blinking awake and sending an almost forgotten sensation through her body.
Her hands had been resting beneath the water, one atop her thigh and the other on her hip. Without guilt, she imagined the things the older man may have been doing in this very bathtub, where his hands may have wandered and the cold needles that might've tingled up and down his spine… She bit down on her lip absent-mindedly as that old, familiar tightness formed just below her gut. Her insides squirmed and without thinking, her hand drifted over from her thigh to the soft, fuzzy skin between her legs.
Beth hadn't yet admitted to herself that she found Daryl attractive. She had acknowledged that he wasn't bad looking, nothing close to a sore sight; but she still wasn't convinced that he was attractive in any way, let alone sexually. He was so closed-off and hard to read, it was difficult to find a lot of admirable or "sexy" traits. She'd never really been the type to go for six-packs or chiseled jaws, rather charming smiles and lively eyes and laughs that gave her butterflies. But Daryl was none of those. Not to mention, he was exceptionally older than her. She'd never been the type to pine over a man older than twenty-five.
Yet all those thoughts were forgotten right now. Her body was speaking to her and she was listening closely, finally freeing her mind from the constant stress of reality for a short time. She was letting her thoughts drift to unspeakable places as her hand continued to wander down and trace her folds, her lips, the tightening mound that seemed to throb every time her finger got close. The rest of her body was weightless and forgotten as her hand worked beneath the water, starting in slow circles and gradually getting faster. She didn't know why – nor did she care right now – but the low moans she'd overheard from Daryl kept repeating in her head, echoing and inciting vivid, graphic images of scenes that had never before dared to cross her mind.
The water began to make tiny waves and splashes above Beth's hand as she continued touching herself, finger moving in rapid circles. Her lips were parted and she breathed heavily, eyes still shut while she focused on the images and sounds in her head. The growing tightness became tenser, hotter, her toes curled and the muscles in her legs clenched. Daryl was moaning in her head, and she could see him naked, wet, sitting in the bathtub with one arm resting on the edge while the other worked to stroke his hard, throbbing length that was half-submerged in the warm water. The water splashed around his hand similarly to the way it rippled above her own. She could feel the edge approaching, and she could see Daryl's face contorting to match the moans that were escaping his lips. Beth's finger continued in its circles, moving faster and faster as she grew hotter, tenser…
And then she had reached it. Her hand didn't stop, the other hand gripping her thigh instinctually. Her lips remained parted in a frozen, silent gasp. Any moans that wanted to escape were trapped in her throat. All her muscles tensed for a second as something burst inside her, a floodgate opening and letting all the stress and pent-up emotions seep out of every pore in her body. For a transcendent, fleeting moment, the most satisfying feeling in existence was rushing through her nervous system, and she relaxed as the release passed. The sights and sounds she'd been imagining – and hadn't been able to stop imagining – immediately left, and she pushed any shameful remainders out with them. She pulled her hands back and rested them at her sides, sinking even further into the water until it reached her chin.
She felt like she'd stretched out a muscle deep inside her that was normally unreachable. The anxious ball of stress that had been resting in her gut had subsided for now, and she sighed in relaxation as she remembered how nice "alone time" like this had been at one point – or any sex for that matter. She hadn't had this kind of time to think about herself in a while, and recently, she hadn't had the desire either. (Jimmy had certainly ruined her for a time.) But she figured that being cooped up all day would eventually cause her to turn to more unconventional methods of relieving the boredom, and she'd just given in to her more primal needs a little earlier than expected. A large part of her was thankful to find that her deceased ex-boyfriend hadn't completely demolished her enjoyment of sexual pleasure.
Beth remained in the bath for several minutes, her mind and body finally calm as she rested her eyes. She thought about pointless things for a while, like the show she'd watched with Daryl the night before and which book she'd like to read next from his collection. She had several moments where she felt ashamed for the things she'd been imagining while she was focused on self-gratification, but they passed and she assured herself that she wasn't the only person in the world who'd done such things while fantasizing about someone they'd never actually been with – or would be with. She told herself it was just an odd whim. The water began cooling down and she thought about getting up and drying off, but instead, she reached over and took another grateful sip of coffee from the mug sitting next to her. The energy to get out just wasn't quite reaching her yet.
She was still zoned out when a sound from the living room jolted her and her eyes popped open. It was the distinct sound of the front door opening and closing, and footsteps entering the apartment. She was confused, listening closely and wondering for a second if Carol had come over or someone had possibly broken in. But when she recognized the voices – one low and grumbly, clearly belonging to Daryl, and the other high-pitched and belonging to a child – she realized that the boys must have come home early.
Goddammit, she thought, remembering her brown contacts still resting in the dish on her nightstand and the door to her bedroom still sitting open. She'd thought she would have several more hours alone in the apartment.
Beth hopped out of the bath and hit the drain, drying off in a hurry and throwing on her clothes. She was glad she'd thought to bring a shirt and pants into the bathroom with her even though she'd been walking around in her panties before. The ends of her hair had gotten wet from the bath water and she dabbed them dry, then returned the towel and threw on some deodorant before gathering her dirty clothes and the half-empty coffee mug and leaving the bathroom.
When she stepped out into the hall, she saw Daryl's back near the front door, crouching down and shuffling through Malachi's backpack. He was dressed normally for work but not nearly as dirty as usual. Beth sighed in relief and kept her head down as she fast-walked to her bedroom, hoping to slip in unnoticed and without making eye contact. She managed to avoid Daryl, but when she thought she'd made it safely into her room, she realized that a very curious toddler had wandered in through the open door while his father's back was turned. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the scene before her.
Malachi was down on his knees beside Beth's bed, her bag brought out from underneath and his tiny hands pulling out handful after handful of crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills from the safety of the bag onto the carpet. His eyes were wide with intrigue and his tongue was sticking halfway out of his mouth as he focused on emptying everything from inside the mysterious bag he'd found and opened. Beth's heart skipped and she caught herself just before yelling at the toddler.
"YOU – uh, hey, let's-let's put that back," she said, biting back the anger that was boiling up. She knew he was just a kid and it was natural for him to be curious and want to explore his own home, but now she was watching money appear all over the carpet and Daryl could walk in at any moment. She'd never had to live with a toddler and didn't think about child-proofing anything, but now she was kicking herself for it.
Malachi looked up to see her, eyes growing even larger as he realized he'd been caught red-handed. He dropped the bag and the money that had been in his hands and stared back at Beth. She couldn't tell if he was too scared to talk or if he just didn't know what exactly he'd found. She rushed over and emptied her armful of things down onto the dresser, then moved toward the bag, trying to grab as much money as possible with one hand while stuffing it inside with the other. She didn't dare glance over her shoulder to check for Daryl.
"I'm sowwy," Malachi said, a little more loudly than Beth would have preferred. "I-I thought, um, I t'ought there'd be Mo-mop-on-ly in there."
Beth sighed, aggravated when she couldn't easily grasp the cash with her shaking hands. "Yeah, well, there isn't. I don't have any games in here."
The toddler was silent for a second before asking, loud enough to be heard from the living room, "Is dat money real?"
Beth looked up to see Daryl heading toward the open door, following Malachi's voice as soon as he'd turned around and realized his son wasn't next to him anymore. "Mal, where you – "
He stopped abruptly in the doorway, looking first to Malachi and then to Beth, who was still trying to pick up all the money off the floor. She glanced up and met his eyes for a brief second before looking over at the blond toddler again, who was staring guiltily at his feet.
"You touchin' things that don't belong to you?" Daryl said, voice low and stern as he looked directly at his son.
Beth was still scrambling to gather all the stray bills, but she glanced up to check Daryl's face and thought that she might've narrowly missed some serious suspicion; maybe he hadn't seen just how much cash had been on the floor. Either way, she started assuring herself that she could explain this away if she needed to. And maybe he'd be more distracted by the misbehavior of his child.
Malachi was about to speak, probably to apologize again to his dad in an attempt to avoid punishment, but Beth spoke up first.
"It's okay, he apologized," she said, still gathering money and stuffing it back into the bag without looking up to see Daryl's expression. "He just thought there was a game under here. It-it's my fault, I should've shut the door."
"Still, he knows better than to nose through other people's stuff. It's rude an' downright invasive," Daryl said, voice still stern and father-like. He pointed his words to Malachi now, "This ain't yer room. We don't go in here without permission. Got it?"
The toddler nodded, eyes brimming with tears. Beth felt guilty but chose not to impede on the older man's parenting method.
"Next time you touch somethin' that ain't yers, it'll be time out," Daryl continued. "D'you understand?"
Malachi nodded again and Daryl snapped his fingers, gesturing for his son to leave the bedroom. The tiny blond rushed past his father and down the hall, heading toward the bedroom without having to be told. Beth felt another stab of guilt. She stuffed the last of the loose bills into the bag and zipped it back up, shoving it into its original spot under the bed before standing.
"Sorry 'bout that," he said, still hesitating in the doorway. His fatherly sternness was gone now and he was eying her curiously, brow slightly furrowed.
"No, it's my fault. I left the door open. Didn't realize you'd be home so early," Beth explained, still trying to keep her voice steady while her eyes bounced between Daryl's gaze and the hall behind him. Her hands fidgeted in front of her.
"It's Labor Day," he explained, still watching curiously. "Only worked a few hours… That's a… lotta money t'be keepin' under a bed. Maybe y'should get a bank account."
Beth shrugged, heat rising to her face despite her efforts to keep it at bay. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about Labor Day. "Yeah, uh… I'll look into that," she muttered. She recognized the way his eyes were scrutinizing her and knew he wouldn't let the subject be changed so easily, so she offered a reminder of her explanation, "It's… inheritance – "
" – inheritance. Right," Daryl interrupted her mid-sentence, saying "inheritance" at the same time. But his voice was off, and she could hear the underlying suspicion. "Lotta inheritance," he continued, his voice no more than a grumble but very clear to Beth.
She nodded, and she knew her cheeks were probably flaming red right now, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She swallowed a knot in her throat and refused to break eye contact. But Daryl's blue eyes had glanced to the nightstand behind her for just a second.
"…Okay," he said.
Beth raised her eyebrows, waiting. He seemed to be preparing to say something that he'd wanted to say for a while. She gave him a look that said she was ready for whatever question he had to throw at her.
"What's yer secret?"
She blinked. A small smile formed on her lips, but it felt wrong, so she forced it away. "Sorry… what?"
Daryl's hand moved up to his chin, stroking the hair of his goatee as though he were studying her. He didn't look away. He repeated himself, "What's yer secret?"
Beth gave him a quizzical look. "What d'you mean?"
He smirked, but not in amusement, still stroking his chin. "Ya just moved to the city… got a backpack full o' money, not a single possession t'your name… ya been wearin' fake contacts, and I'm pretty sure that's a wig. Why?"
Beth's stomach dropped down to her feet. She cursed herself silently for not thinking to put in the contacts when she had the chance. But what did it matter now? He was already suspicious of the money. Her hair, on the other hand…
"A wig?! This is my real hair!" She responded defensively. She grabbed a chunk of the dark hair and tugged on it to demonstrate her point.
Daryl furrowed his brow, "Oh. Well… sorry. It's just not a good haircut on you – but that's another thing. Looks like y'did it with yer kitchen scissors. So what's the deal?"
Beth swallowed hard and tried to push past the intense fear that was pulsing through her right now. He'd seen through everything, and she'd become careless enough that he'd figured it out. She'd expected the most unobservant man in the city, which he had turned out not to be, but even if he were, he still would've pieced it together. She was realizing that he hadn't said anything but had obviously been thinking about it for some time now.
"…Who you hidin' from?"
A part of her wanted to break down. She wanted to tell him the truth, the entire truth, and leave nothing out. She craved the intimacy of having someone to be her real self with, even if that self was a cop killer. She couldn't talk to her sister, to her father, Jesus didn't want to know any more than he had to, and every person she met was being told a lie. She couldn't even write her feelings down on paper. It was odd: she'd been raised to never trust anyone outside the family, and the lines between lies and truths had been blurred for most of her adolescence, but she'd never lacked a confidante, or a shoulder to cry on. And now, when she needed one more than ever, she was all on her own, and she had to maintain the webs of lies she'd been weaving. Something inside her told her that she could trust Daryl - that he would be one of the only people who'd really understand if she laid it all out for him. That same part ached for honest human intimacy and would go to just about any lengths to find it. And so she'd learned long ago not to trust her gut. She had to remember to bide her time.
She gave a deep sigh – a little more theatrically than she normally would – and looked down, away from his eyes. She could feel his stare growing deeper once she wasn't returning it.
"Okay, I… Look, I wasn't honest with you," she began, glancing up to check his face and finding his expression unimpressed, but intrigued nonetheless.
He grunted, "Mm-hmm…"
She sighed again, more quietly, then let the web weave itself from her mouth, "I… ran away. I left my… abusive boyfriend. He was a cop and – well, he's got friends all over the state and-and people who had his back no matter what and… I just couldn't take it anymore. I knew the only way I'd be safe was to get as far away as possible, and I ended up here. He kept all my stuff – my ID, all my bank accounts, everything I've ever owned. But I got out with the cash from my inheritance. That – that is the truth. It really is inheritance. I promise. It's just… not the most conventional way of handling it. I don't actually know how far he would go to find me, or who he might have watching me, so… I'm just trying t'be safe."
Daryl's face softened and he continued stroking his chin slowly. He had stopped eying Beth suspiciously but kept the thoughtful and curious expression on his face. He grunted out, "Really?"
She nodded, waiting with bated breath to see if he actually believed her.
The explanation seemed to satisfy him because he nodded, chewing on his lower lip as if he wasn't sure how to react. A few moments passed in stifling silence, and Beth could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She wanted to add more information, widen the lie and the sympathy card, but decided against it for fear of sounding like she was trying to overcompensate. When she saw Daryl move to stroke his chin again, still not talking, she decided to speak again.
"I'm… sorry I didn't tell you the truth. I was – scared," she lied, lacing her words with heavy emotion.
He shook his head and met her eyes, "Don't be. Sorry fer bein' nosey."
She retorted, "Don't be."
A smirk flashed over his lips and he turned to leave the room, but stopped to turn back around and add, "Ain't gotta be so scared, ya know. Yer safe with us. That class'll do ya some good, too."
Beth quietly nodded and watched him leave the room to head down the hall and to his own bedroom to join Malachi. She let out a breath of relief and blinked a few times, nearly in disbelief, then moved to shut the door. She could still hear the boys in the bedroom down the hall, talking. She couldn't help but feel bad for being the reason that Malachi got in trouble. But at the same time, she kind of got herself in trouble, too.
She moved about restlessly, unsure of what to do with herself. All the calmness she'd achieved had vanished now and she couldn't think straight. Yes, she'd pulled the lie off this time, but how much longer could it go on? How many more lies would she have to come up with and how many could she keep straight? How long could she play the part of abuse survivor before Daryl or someone else saw right through her theatrics?
But then again, she reminded herself, it's not a complete lie.
Beth approached the closed door of her father's study, at the end of the upstairs hallway, hesitating before she turned the knob and entered. Her daddy and Maggie were sitting inside, waiting for her. They usually didn't call her to the study to talk except for serious matters, and that had only been the case three times: a couple years ago, when her daddy had to explain to all of his kids why and how things were going to change around the farm because of his new business partner, then again after her momma and Shawn were killed and they had to talk about how things would change from then on, and finally, about two months after that to discuss how they would have to be more careful with Dawn Lerner and her team of detectives watching them closely. The talks they had were never good, and they always meant painful changes for Beth. She had a feeling she knew what this meeting would be about, but she was nervous because she couldn't predict exactly what would be said. She braced herself for the worst and stepped into the study, closing the door quietly behind her.
Hershel was sitting behind the large desk that occupied most of the small study, and Maggie was sitting on the edge of the desk closest to Beth, her legs dangling off the edge as her feet didn't reach the carpet from atop the desk. Two small, black armchairs sat before the desk and Hershel gestured to them casually.
"Sit down, Bethy," he said in his soothing, fatherly voice. But she knew he was just trying to butter her up before dropping whatever bomb he had.
Maggie nodded when Beth glanced at her and the young blonde sat down in one of the chairs, the leather sticking to the bare skin of her thighs that wasn't covered by her jean shorts. Beth had expected to get a helpful look of some sort from Maggie, but her older sister seemed to be tight-lipped and hesitant. They both looked to their father.
"We need t'talk to ya, and now – just hear us out, okay? It's important," Hershel started, hands folded on the desk surface before him as his bright, blue eyes remained focused on Beth's. "This affects the whole family, farm, and church."
Maggie nodded weakly from where she sat.
Beth swallowed. "Is this about Jimmy?"
Hershel sighed and nodded and Maggie pursed her lips and nodded again, but more fervently. Before her daddy could begin lecturing her for the thousandth time, Beth became defensive.
"Okay, I know he's been gettin' out of control. I've talked to him and we've been workin' on it and – it's fine, he'll act better, Daddy. He's just been – goin' through a rough time. But he ain't stupid. He wouldn't do anything to put us at risk. I wouldn't let him. You know that."
Hershel's eyes grew sympathetic, as if he were being forced to tell a child that Santa Claus isn't real. "I know you're tryin', sweetie. But it's not workin'," his voice remained soft, but grew more stern as he went on. "He's a damn addict now. He's a fool and a liability, and we can't risk him bein' around all this anymore. He needs to move on, and so do you."
A pit opened up at the bottom of Beth's stomach. Her voice was weak, "What… like, he's not allowed to come around anymore?"
"Like, you need to break up with him, Beth," Maggie chimed in, her voice coming out impatient and irritated. "He's doin' meth. We all know it. You're better than that."
"You've seen how addicts can behave," Hershel interrupted, Beth's eyes shooting from her sister back to her father. "He's hurting himself and before too long, he'll be hurtin' you, too. And if that happens, you won't have a choice in breaking up with him… because I'll kill him."
Beth swallowed past the knot in her throat and found her mouth had suddenly gone dry. Her daddy wasn't just asking her to keep her boyfriend from coming around her home… he was asking her to cut him off completely. How was she supposed to move on from the guy she'd been in love with for the last year? They were high school sweethearts, first loves, the stuff that everyone in small towns talked about when they described their perfect relationships. And he wanted her to just give up on him for the family business?
"He's hurtin', Daddy… I have to help him," Beth said, her voice cracking as she gave her father the widest, saddest eyes she could muster. She didn't have to force it, though, because she was quickly growing devastated.
"You can't help him, Beth," Maggie snapped. "He's only gonna drag you down with him, and guess who gets dragged down if you do? All of us! He's an idiot and an asshole an' you can do better."
"But I – "
Hershel stopped her, "You don't have a choice. You have to do better. Because he's not allowed on my property any more. He lost me money, and I forgave it… because he's yer boyfriend. He used my product for personal gain, and I forgave it… because he's yer boyfriend. He disrespected me, disrespected Maggie, disrespected you… I didn't forgive it, but I certainly let him off a hell of a lot easier than anyone else has ever gotten off around here. And now I'm tellin' you to cut things off and send him on his way. If he wants help, he'll find it. If not, he can destroy his life on his own time and leave our family out of it."
Beth was fighting back tears. "This isn't fair. You've known him fer years, Daddy. I love him, I can't just – stop talkin' to him. You want me t'just abandon him?!"
Maggie spoke first, and her voice was surprisingly soft as she attempted to approach Beth from a sympathetic angle. "We know you love him… but he's dangerous, Bethy. You think he's really worth riskin' all our lives?"
Beth blinked and stared at her sister unwaveringly, "I dunno, you think Glenn is worth risking all our lives?"
Maggie rolled her eyes, "Glenn has never used meth in his life, and he wouldn't do anything to risk this family if his life depended on it. I can promise you that. Can you say that same thing about Jimmy?!"
Beth tried to seem confident, but her hesitance was clear when she didn't reply within the first few seconds. Maggie glanced to Hershel, who continued watching Beth. She looked back to her father, fingernails digging into the leather of the armchair next to her thigh.
"You can't do this," Beth choked out, eyes brimming with tears. "I love him. He'll – get better. You can't force me to stop lovin' someone."
Hershel shook his head, finally looking away to stare down at his hands. "I'm not tellin' you to stop loving him – that's impossible, you'll have to do that on your own time. But you have to stop seeing him and speaking to him. Plain and simple."
Beth was screaming in her head, wishing she had the guts to rebel against her father without the fear of his anger and disappointment. 'This is fucking bullshit,' she thought angrily, a tear sliding down her cheek. 'This isn't fucking fair, they can't DO this! I've done everything I'm supposed to – every single thing – and now they wanna take away the one thing - the one PERSON – that I actually got to choose?! I've followed all the stupid rules, told all the bullshit lies, yet somehow it's still me who has to sacrifice something. Maggie can have Glenn, and we all trust him, great, he's only been here for two years, and how long have we known Jimmy? A decade? But someone can't be weak. No, that's not the Greene way. You're either useful or not, and if you're not – bye! So fuck me, fuck my feelings, fuck my choices, I'll never be free of this nightmare. I get to be alone and miserable because Daddy and Maggie think it's best. I'm almost eighteen but I can't make my own fucking decisions…?!'
"Beth, we can talk about this alone, if you want. But it's not a choice anymore," Maggie interrupted her thoughts and the stiff silence in the room, leaning down to look Beth directly in the eyes. "He's an asshole. You'll move on, you'll meet someone else. Once this all blows over, we can go back to normal, you can go to college, meet boys, make friends – "
"I don't want to meet boys. I want to be with Jimmy," Beth interjected. "We were gonna go to college together. Get married after – "
"Bethy, that boy ain't goin' anywhere until he goes to a rehab facility," Hershel spoke up matter-of-factly. "He needs a kind of help that you and I can't give him. And he won't be ready for somethin' like college anytime soon. He'll only hold you down."
"Daddy's right," Maggie immediately agreed. "If he was gonna go t'college, he would've gone after he graduated. He just wants to get high and party and mooch off of people. He's not gettin' better anytime soon."
"Oh, really?" Beth snapped, tears still brimming in her eyes as she turned her head to Maggie, her words full of spite. "Then why didn't you go to college? You're not Momma now – you don't get t'make the decisions for everybody. You'll never be Momma."
She regretted it as soon as she said it, seeing the hurt evident on her sister's face. Before Maggie could defend herself, Hershel interjected himself and scolded Beth momentarily, "Hey! We don't say those hurtful things to each other. She's your sister – you cannot talk to her like that. No, she'll never be your mother, but she's an adult, and she's your big sister. Her word has just as much weight as mine… We aren't doing this to hurt you, Beth. We would never do something to intentionally hurt you."
Beth shook her head, another angry tear rolling down her cheek. "Then why are you doin' this when you know it's hurting me? You're being so judgmental. He waited for me. We were gonna do it all together – "
"Cut off all ties with him," Hershel interrupted. He was clearly at his rope's end. He put up a hand to silence any other arguments Beth might've had, "End of discussion. This isn't a choice. This concerns all our lives. End it, Beth."
Beth pursed her lips. But she nodded. She knew better than to incite her daddy's anger, or dig herself a deeper hole. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to escape, but she held them back. The knot in her throat was the size of a golf ball.
"I'm sorry. I wish it could be different, but it's just… too dangerous right now," Maggie muttered, looking down at her younger sister with sympathetic eyes, though Beth could see the slightest glimmer of satisfaction as well. She knew that sometimes, her sister loved nothing more than being right.
Without another word, Beth stood from the armchair, shoving it a few inches back in anger. She turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her and leaving her daddy and big sister sitting in silence. She knew they were looking out for her, and for the entire family, and she knew just how dangerous it was right now – yes, she REALLY knew, she GOT IT. But they still treated her like a child, and while Maggie could make at least some of her own choices, Beth was being forced to live a life built completely on lies and what her father thought was best.
When it came down to it, she found that lying to her family was much easier than she'd expected. They'd taught her well, after all.
Beth remained in her bedroom, with the door tightly closed, and silently panicked. She knew she'd successfully lied and misled Daryl for now, but she didn't like how shaky the ground was becoming. She debated on messaging Jesus, even going as far as checking her text messages and email inbox for an address that she could direct the message to, but changed her mind and ritualistically checked the news sites instead. It calmed her just the slightest to find no new updates on her family or Jimmy – although there probably wouldn't be many more of anything on Jimmy except for his connection to the Greene case.
She spent the better part of an hour sorting through her money and wrapping it back into neat wads secured with rubber bands. She looked around the room and decided to place the bag inside one of the empty dresser drawers, hoping it would be a better hiding place than under the bed. When that was done, she checked the news sites again and tried to distract herself with reading random articles. In all honesty, she was trying to keep herself from reaching out to Jesus. But before long, she was interrupted by a light knock on the bedroom door.
Her heart started racing again and she answered the door with hesitation, finding Daryl standing before her looking just the same as earlier. Beth nodded in acknowledgement, waiting for him to speak.
"I still got a couple loads of laundry to do over at Carol's, did y'need to do a load or two?" He asked.
She was searching his face and his posture for some sign of awkward tension or distrust, but he appeared to be acting no differently than he had before he'd confronted her about lying. She was still uneasy, but she also needed clean clothes to wear. So she nodded but tried to avoid prolonged eye contact.
"Well, we're headin' over in a couple minutes if ya wanna get yer laundry together and come with," Daryl explained.
"Okay. Thanks," Beth said softly, and he nodded before turning and heading back down the hall to his bedroom.
She closed the door again and turned back to her room. She gathered up every piece of clothing she could find – she'd worn nearly the whole pack of new underwear that Irma had given to her by now – and debated on washing the weapon concealing undershirt. She decided against it, not wanting to risk Daryl or Carol seeing the shirt and asking about it. Not that they'd go through her laundry, but since the shirt required a delicate wash setting and had to be hung up to dry, she knew that one of them would see it at some point and wonder what it was for. She was able to explain away the money and the color-changing eye contacts, but she wasn't so sure she could come up with a believable lie for the Beretta and the shirt she'd bought specifically to hold it.
Using a large, plastic garbage bag she'd gotten from the cabinet in the kitchen, Beth gathered up all her dirty clothes and carried them to the front door. She looked down the hall to check for Daryl and Malachi, their voices drifting all through the small apartment. Malachi was speaking rapidly and with great excitement as usual, and Daryl was giving grunts and short answers or questions in return.
When she realized it'd be a few minutes, Beth pulled out her phone and inhaled sharply through her nose, making a decision to try to contact Jesus, if for nothing else than to ease her own mind. She found her way back to the area of Craigslist where she'd made the very first post and quickly navigated to create a new post. She could still hear the boys' voices down the hall as they shuffled about the bedroom.
She posted the subject as "seeking Jesus" and left a vague post that said nothing more than, "how long?" Once she saw that it was up amongst the other various posts, she locked her phone again and stuffed it back into the pocket of her lounging pants. She continued to stand by the door, waiting, with her bag of laundry in hand, but only for a few moments before Daryl and Malachi began making their way down the hall. A tall laundry hamper was weighing down Daryl's arms.
"Can y'open the door?" Daryl asked her as he approached, and she quickly unlocked and opened the front door, holding it wide open for him to get through with the hamper. Malachi followed him closely from behind, and once they were both out into the hall, Beth followed and closed the door behind her.
"Mal, go knock on Carol's door," Daryl instructed the toddler, who rushed forward on his little legs to the door of 3B. He made tiny fists and knocked on the door three times with both of them. Within seconds, the door opened to reveal Carol, who stepped aside to let the trio inside.
"Hi, Carol!" Malachi called as he headed straight for a small toy box sitting in the corner.
"Hey, guys," she greeted, shutting the door behind them.
Beth gave Carol a polite smile and followed Daryl through the small apartment. Inside apartment 3B, it was a mirror image to Daryl's place in 3A. There was a bit more furniture and clutter, and a lot more floral patterns, but most everything else, including the walls and carpets, were the same. Instead of a dining table, there was an old piano sitting in one corner of the room. The layout was reversed, and Carol's kitchen and the hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom were to the right of the living room. Daryl led Beth through the living room and past the kitchen, which had a bar identical to Daryl's except that this one had bar stools seated at one side, and down the hall to the open door of the bathroom. The inside was only slightly larger than the bathroom in 3A, with the extra space mostly occupied by a large, white washer and matching dryer. There was a shelf on the wall above the washer and dryer that held a few different boxes and bottles of laundry detergent, fabric softener, bleach, and dryer sheets. Beth noticed that even the shower curtain and bathmat were decorated with floral patterns.
Daryl set the heavy laundry hamper down onto the tile floor, grunting in relief when his arms were free of the weight. He gestured for Beth to help herself and she set her bag down next to the hamper.
"Mind if I throw in my work clothes real quick? I didn't get a chance to do our laundry yesterday like I usually do," he asked, pointing to the washer.
Beth shrugged. "Sure, no problem. Just let me know when I can throw mine in."
He nodded and she turned to leave the bathroom, gazing around the hall and spotting a closed door at the end – probably leading to Carol's bedroom – and another closed door beside the bathroom, which had bright pink letters plastered on the front that read SOPHIA. Beth saw that there was light coming from beneath the door and figured Sophia must be inside her room. She turned and headed back to the living room, spotting Malachi playing at the toy box from afar before walking a bit further and finding Carol in the kitchen.
"Want some water? Tea?" Carol offered, looking to Beth from where she stood at the kitchen counter, giving her a pleasant smile.
"Um, sure. Tea would be nice," Beth agreed, attempting to return the smile as genuinely as she could. But the phone in her pocket was heavy and she was trying to restrain herself from checking it every two seconds while she waited for a response from Jesus.
Carol's apartment smelled like freshly baked cookies with a hint of carnations. Her kitchen was packed with what looked like every cooking and baking utensil in existence, with the appliances that couldn't be stuffed into cabinets taking up corners and counter space. It made Daryl's kitchen look bare and neglected. The couch in the living room was smaller and more worn, a patchwork quilt draped over the back. The TV was smaller but centered nearly the same as Daryl's, and the walls and various shelves were decorated with framed photos of Sophia through the ages, Carol with family members and friends, and the typical décor that most middle-aged mothers put up, like curly letters that stood on the ends of bookcases to spell out Live Laugh Love. The apartment was a mirror image of Daryl's, yet it seemed cozier and more lived in.
While Carol retrieved a jug of tea from the fridge and poured a glass, Beth glanced across the array of photos on the walls and shelves, searching for any signs of an older male who could've been Sophia's father. She just couldn't help but to be a little curious.
"I heard you went to class the other day," Carol commented. "Did you like it?"
Beth tore her eyes away from the walls and looked to Carol, who was holding out the glass of tea for Beth to take. She took it carefully and smiled, "Thank you. Uh – yeah, I did. It was really – informative."
Carol nodded, returning the jug of tea to the fridge before turning to give her full attention to Beth once more. "I'm glad to hear that. Daryl's a wonderful teacher – he just doesn't know it yet."
The older woman gave a smirk like the two of them were in on a private joke and Beth chuckled, trying to hide her uneasiness. "Yeah, he's actually… he seemed really comfortable. I mean, I haven't known him long, but he doesn't really seem like the type to like big crowds. But everybody loved him."
Carol continued smiling, but now she was watching Beth with slight amusement, as if she found it entertaining that the young girl was even attempting to understand Daryl. Or maybe Beth was just looking too much into it. She was starting to realize that Carol was nearly as unreadable as her neighbor.
"He just has to be in his own element. He likes to help people," the older woman explained as Beth took a sip of her tea, finding it to be perfectly-mixed sweet tea just like she used to drink back home. "Just doesn't like it to show because then people will take advantage of it. He's smart. But he's also stubborn."
Beth furrowed her brow for a second as she stared into Carol's bright blue eyes, then smiled as if it were just small talk and chuckled, "Yeah, seems like it. But he's, um, very nice."
Carol gave a tight-lipped smile and nod. Beth heard footsteps approaching from towards the hall and turned to see Daryl leaving the bathroom and approaching the women.
"You guys got that meetin' tonight?" He asked, looking at Carol. He seemed oblivious to the fact that they'd been talking about him seconds before.
She nodded. "Yeah, we're gonna leave in about fifteen minutes. Probably won't be back till you're all done, so you can just lock up on your way out."
Daryl gave a nod of acknowledgement before heading to the fridge and helping himself to his own glass of sweet tea. Carol didn't seem to mind and Beth assumed they must've been doing a routine like this for a while now, considering how comfortable they were with each other. She watched him for a second, then turned back to Beth and reached out a hand. Before Beth could wince away, Carol's hand was lightly touching the ends of Beth's short, dark hair, running her fingertips through the strands.
"I can fix this for you, if you'd like," the older woman offered, pulling her hand back while Beth remained frozen, still uncomfortable from the sudden invasion of her personal bubble.
But she brushed it off and nodded, trying to remain polite. "Oh, you can cut hair?"
Carol nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Just let me know, I'll bring you over and we'll do it right here. I have an old set from cosmetology school. I usually cut Sophia's hair for her."
After taking a hearty sip of tea and leaning his hip against the edge of the counter next to Carol, Daryl inserted himself into the conversation and asked Carol pointedly, his voice lowered just slightly, "How's she doin'?"
Carol glanced at Beth once more, who was grateful for the subject change, before turning and facing Daryl to tell him, in an equally lowered voice, "Improving. This weekend was a little rough but it got a lot better yesterday and today… We'll see, though. I told her to do some journaling before we go tonight, so maybe that'll get us somewhere."
Daryl nodded, listening intently. "Think she'll be able to make it t'school tomorrow?"
Carol shrugged. For a second, Beth wondered if she should remain standing where she was and listening to a conversation that clearly had nothing to do with her, but she figured it didn't matter if they had chosen to openly talk while she was feet away. "We're taking it day-by-day. You won't have t'worry about finding somewhere for Mal, though, he can come over either way. Sometimes, I think he cheers her up a little. She always wanted a sibling."
Daryl smiled and his dark blue eyes sparkled just a bit. "You know I ain't worried 'bout that. As long as Sophia's okay."
Carol patted his shoulder affectionately and turned back to Beth. "So how are you likin' it in the city? You met some of the girls from class?"
Beth assumed that Daryl had already told Carol most everything that happened, but she obliged and answered, "Yeah, um – Rosita and Tara and Clem and, uh – oh, Enid. We had lunch together after class. They're really nice."
She felt awkward and scrutinized with Carol and Daryl both watching her while she talked, but forced her most polite and appreciative voice, hoping this older woman wasn't secretly judging her or studying her for signs of betrayal. Yes, she seemed nice enough, and obviously she was a good friend and neighbor if Daryl and Malachi loved her so much. But Beth was still unsure of her intentions, and there was something about her that set off the internal alarms inside – not that she was dangerous, but that there was something fake about her. She didn't think this woman was a serial killer in hiding or anything like that, but there was an indescribable vibration that Beth was picking up that told her there was something much more beneath the surface of floral patterns and warm smiles.
"They are some of the sweetest girls you'll ever meet," Carol affirmed, nodding knowingly. "Rosita and Tara have been attending since we started. I wouldn't say they really need the class, but – "
"Yeah, they're pretty self-sufficient as it is. But it never hurts," Daryl agreed.
Carol nodded and followed up with another question, "So d'you think you'll go next week? Sophia and I should be able to make it this time - we rarely ever miss class, it was just a bad week."
Beth shrugged lightly, trying not to sound rude, and answered, "Uh – yeah, maybe. That would be cool."
Daryl was about to speak up and say something when the sound of a door opening in the hall pulled all their attentions in that direction. Sophia appeared from behind her bedroom door, walking out into the hall and closing it behind her. She was dressed in jeans and Converse sneakers, a black hoodie zipped up over her shirt. She still looked young to Beth, but now that she was seeing her up close, she realized that the preteen was taller and lankier than she'd first thought, and her hair was a reddish-brown, one side of long bangs swept over her left eye. She glanced up at Beth for only a second before looking away and heading straight to her mother's side.
"Mom, I'm ready," she said in a quiet voice, obviously trying to avoid any conversations with the two visitors in her home.
Carol nodded and put her arm around Sophia's small shoulders. "Okay, sweetie. Lemme grab my purse and we can go."
She gave a brief smile to Daryl and Beth before heading to her bedroom down the hall, returning seconds later with a purse on her shoulder. Sophia had wandered over to Malachi, leaning down to talk to him and tell him hello and goodbye for the night, getting a quick tiny-armed hug before standing back up and following her mother to the front door.
"Okay, lock up when you're done. See you tomorrow," Carol called as she headed out the door with her daughter in tow, waving to Beth and Daryl on her way out.
Daryl waved back and watched her leave, then turned to Beth. She sipped her tea, hoping he didn't plan on continuing their conversation. "Washer should be done in about fifteen or twenty. We can watch some TV or somethin' till then."
She shrugged and he took it as an agreement, leading her to the sunken cushions of the couch where they sat down. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV as if he'd been in the home and made himself comfortable a million times before, flipping through the channel guide to see what was playing. Malachi continued to occupy himself in his own little world in the corner, dragging nearly every toy out of the toy box and creating an elaborate scene on the carpet in front of it.
They sat in silence, watching TV idly. Beth pulled out her phone and checked for replies from Jesus, finding only sex solicitations. She deleted the emails and moved to checking the news sites, finding nothing new. When she finished that, she stuffed the phone back into her pocket and returned to staring blankly at the TV screen.
After about twenty minutes, Daryl got up and went to the bathroom to check the laundry. He returned a few moments later but didn't take his seat on the couch.
"Alright, washer's ready for ya," he informed Beth. "I'm gonna take Mal across the hall and get him some dinner so he can have a bath and get to bed. Think y'can stay here and let me know when the dryer's done?"
Beth blinked, surprised. "Um, sure, but – "
"Carol won't be back for a couple hours, don't worry. Laundry'll be done way before they get back," he explained, accurately predicting what she was about to ask.
She nodded and shrugged. "Oh, okay. Yeah, sure."
He walked over to Malachi and instructed him to begin cleaning up his toys, helping the toddler gather everything and return it to the toy box. He explained that it was time for dinner and a bath and Malachi whined a little, but Daryl quickly halted it with a stern look. The small, blond boy finished cleaning up his toys and waved goodbye to Beth before following his dad to the door.
"Want me to save ya some dinner?" Daryl called as he held the door open for Malachi to walk through.
"That'd be great. Thank you," Beth said, craning her neck over the back of the couch to give a grateful smile to Daryl.
He gave a quick thumbs-up motion before turning and following his son out the door, shutting it behind him. Beth found herself alone in the apartment of a stranger, sitting on the couch and watching a show on TV that she hadn't really been paying attention to. The darker part of herself immediately thought about how she could take this opportunity to nose around just like she'd done in Daryl's apartment a few days before, but the more logical part of herself silenced it quickly. Carol's life was none of her business, no matter how badly she preferred to be distracted by other people's life problems rather than her own. She didn't have the excuse of living with this woman as a reason to justify snooping through her books or looking for photo albums.
The hum of the dryer could be heard from the bathroom, and one of the windows in the living room was open a crack to let in some of the sounds and smells of the neighborhood outside. Beth stared blankly at the screen of the television for some time, watching whatever program was on but not really absorbing anything. A half-hour passed in silence, but she was lost in her own thoughts. At one point, an advertisement for the zombie show she'd been watching with Daryl came on during commercials and caught her attention, and she smiled at the memory.
After a while, with the hum of the dryer still going steadily, Beth was eying the piano that sat in the corner. It was clean and dust-free, polished and obviously well taken care of. It was old, she could tell, but it had endured successfully and remained in good hands. The ivories called to her, and memories of the years of piano lessons she had endured flashed in her head. It had been bothersome at first, and her momma had insisted on it for some unknown reason. But once she realized she had a knack for music and creating something out of nothing, Beth was hooked. She had played in church for filled pews of people, and everyone always went up to her daddy afterward to dote on her beautiful talent. Because of the piano, she had decided to pick up the guitar, and music ended up becoming one of the few escapes she had, especially once she couldn't confide in a journal anymore.
She glanced at the door a few times, wondering if Daryl would come back on his own or if she'd have to go and get him. She kept looking back at the piano, something inside her reaching for it. She yearned for something that would make her feel at home again, even if only for a short time. After several minutes of debate, she decided to get up from the couch and mute the TV, then approached the piano. Beth stood before it, just behind the bench, and looked down at the gleaming, white keys and their accompanying black keys. She intertwined her fingers together and stretched them out, cracking her knuckles simultaneously. Then she pulled the bench out carefully and sat down with caution, praying it wasn't an antique that was about to crumble apart at a touch. But it proved to be sturdy, even in its age, and when she put her fingers to the keys, she was able to close her eyes and imagine that she was in her daddy's church again, about to play a song for the congregation.
She hadn't had any idea of what she wanted to play. All she knew was that she wanted to feel the ivories beneath her fingers and the way their sound vibrated through her bones. When her fingers began moving, she quickly realized that she was playing "The Parting Glass" and, though she couldn't explain why her hands chose that particular muscle memory, she followed it and began to sing. Her voice didn't waver or crack, nor did she lower it for fear of being heard. She knew that she'd never heard the piano being played from inside Daryl's apartment, and why was it here if Carol didn't play it at least once in a while? Instead, she took advantage of her solitude in the quiet apartment and sang nearly as loudly as she would every Sunday, and some Wednesdays, in church.
"Oh, all the money that e'er I spent, I spent it in good company… And all the harm that e'er I've done, alas, it was to none but me," she sang, fingers nearly floating across the keys of the piano as her eyelashes fluttered and her throat tickled from the changing tones of her singing voice, her chest filling and releasing with each lungful of air while she followed the melody. "…And all I've done for want of wit, To memory now I can't recall… So fill to me the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all…"
She could see Maggie in her head, smiling, brown hair flying about her head out in the open wind and sun of the farm in Senoia. She was laughing, mouth wide open and teeth bared in enjoyment, while Glenn stood beside her, telling her jokes and whispering quiet compliments in her ear that made her blush. He was grinning, too, and his black hair was catching the same breeze and being ruffled about.
"Oh, all the comrades that e'er I've had, are sorry for my going away," Beth continued to sing, eyes shut tightly as she imagined her family's loving faces in the darkness of her eyelids, her fingers moving leisurely at their own will. "And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had… would wish me one more day to stay… But since it falls unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not… I'll gently rise and I'll softly call…"
Her daddy was happy. She could picture his face, clear as day, and the beard he'd grown out over the last couple of years. The wrinkles around his eyes grew deeper and longer, but his smile never changed. She could see the Georgia breeze tousling his gray hair, and the way he beamed anytime he looked at Maggie or Beth or Shawn. He was smiling now – she could see it as though he were right in front of her.
"…Goodnight and joy be with you all… good night and joy be with you all," she finished the song as her fingers found the last keys, the notes ringing out from the piano and echoing off the ceiling and walls. When the song finished, she felt as though something had escaped her body, or like she'd just taken off a heavy coat. She shrugged her shoulders a few times, shaking out the last bits of chills that had been coursing up and down her spine. But she couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was being watched.
She'd been so engrossed in the song she was playing and singing, dragged down into the depths of memories and old images of her family - like a dusty photo album invading her mind - that she hadn't noticed the feeling of another presence in the room until everything had gone silent. She opened her eyes and looked around at first, seeing nothing changed. But then she turned around on the piano bench to look behind her toward the front door and found Daryl standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his weight resting on one leg. His arms were crossed in front of him and she had no idea how long he'd been standing there. There was the faintest trace of a smile on his lips beneath the facial hair, and his eyes were focused steadily on Beth.
Her face dropped and she felt the heat rising to her cheeks, turning away and standing up from the bench quickly. She turned back, but avoided eye contact.
"Oh, sorry – I-I didn't realize you were there," she apologized, stepping away from the piano and listening for the hum of the dryer. But she couldn't hear it, and she feared he'd be upset that she was using Carol's piano without permission while also ignoring his request for her to let him know when the dryer was done. "I – um – sorry, I know I shouldn't have touched it without asking, I just… got bored."
But he shook his head, still looking peacefully pleasant. "'M sure she won't care. Didn't know you played."
She shrugged, cheeks still hot as she forced herself to make eye contact. "I took lessons as a kid. I… only know a few songs."
He nodded, "Ain't the worst I ever heard. I liked it… Yer pretty good."
She saw the small smile on his face and smiled back, relaxing. "Thanks."
He stepped away from the doorway, entering the apartment fully and closing the door behind him. "You can keep playin'. I was just gonna check the dryer."
She shrugged and lied, "I just wanted to see if I could still play. Um, I think your clothes are done now. They were still going when I last checked…"
He walked away without a word and disappeared inside the bathroom. Beth glanced back at the piano, wondering how long he'd been standing in the doorway and listening to her. A few moments later, he reemerged with the hamper in his hands, stuffed full with his clean, dry clothes. She rushed over to the door and opened it for him, offering help as he carried his hamper out into the hall.
"Alright, y'can throw your clothes in now, if you want," he told her, stopping in the hall. "I gotta make sure Mal's ready for his bath. Lemme know when ya get back so I can lock up Carol's place."
Beth nodded in understanding and shut the door again. She headed to the bathroom and moved her clean, wet clothes into the dryer. Her mind was racing again, not only with thoughts of her family but also with thoughts of Daryl and Carol and even Sophia. When the dryer was turned back on and working on her load of laundry, she went back to the living room and sat down at the piano once more, but didn't play any particular songs. She played around on the keys, tapping out old, simple tunes and reminiscing about the more pleasant memories she held. The hum of the dryer continued and when she got bored with the piano, she went back to the TV and surfed through the channels to kill time.
After her laundry was done and she had returned to her bedroom, bag full of clean clothes and Carol's apartment safely empty and locked, Beth bid goodnight to Daryl and Malachi. The toddler was being fussy after having dinner, and Daryl seemed to be getting frustrated. Both of the boys headed to their bedroom at the end of the hall, all grumbles and disagreements, and Beth retreated into her bedroom and shut the door tightly. She knew she wouldn't be able to get to sleep for quite some time, but she'd grabbed a few books from Daryl's bookcase and stacked them on the nightstand in preparation. She emptied out her bag of clothes onto the bed and sorted through them, folding and organizing each item and then placing them in the empty dresser drawers. She was relieved to have clean clothes again.
When she'd finished and settled down, she wandered out into the apartment and found it dark except for the stove light. The boys' voices could still be heard from the bedroom at the end of the hall, but they were quiet. Beth found the plate of dinner that Daryl had left for her sitting in the microwave, and she reheated it and ate while standing in the kitchen. When she was done, she grabbed a glass of water and went back to her bedroom for the night.
After getting comfortable and laying down in bed, she pulled her phone to her first and began scrolling through her email inbox before settling in with a book for the night. She was disappointed to find no reply from Jesus, but she assured herself that he would take time to respond since he was so busy. She moved to the news sites to double-check for updates before trying to leave it be until morning. Unfortunately, the very first headline at the top of the page – for both the Atlanta news and the Georgia news – was a video post concerning the Greene family's case.
Beth's heart skipped and she clicked on the link of the headline, which read: Comatose Officer's Wife Pleads For Help in Locating Wanted Fugitive. The page contained a small box that held the video, and a short description that read, "Lori Grimes, wife of Detective Rick Grimes, stands with their son, Carl Grimes, as she asks the public for their help in locating the missing 18-year-old Beth Greene, who is wanted for the murder of Grimes' partner, Detective Shane Walsh." Beth tapped the small Play button on the video and watched as the video took up the screen of her phone and came to life.
Standing at a podium, surrounded by microphones, photographers, reporters, and police officers in uniform, was a middle-aged woman, her dark black hair flowing down her back and shoulders in dry, frizzy strands. She wasn't wearing makeup and looked like she hadn't slept in days. Beside her stood a young boy, maybe nine or ten years old, with brown hair and a round face, one hand on his mother's leg as he stared out at the crowd with wide, anxious eyes. The woman was tall and lanky, nearly skin-and-bones, and she wore a burgundy dress that hung loosely on her tiny frame. She stood close to the podium, nearly pressed against it, and her trembling, skeleton-like hands held a piece of paper that she kept glancing at as she spoke into the various microphones set up before her.
"I'm Lori Grimes. I am the – the wife of Detective Rick Grimes," her voice was shaky, but grew stronger as she continued to speak, her voice getting louder and carefully enunciating each word clearly. "Last Saturday night, the twenty-sixth of August, my husband entered the home of Hershel Greene with his partner of five years and best friend of seventeen years, Detective Shane Walsh… My husband left with his life. Shane Walsh did not. Now, the father of my child lies in a hospital bed, fighting for his life… He has been in a coma since August twenty-sixth, and he remains stable. But we do not know if he will wake up. And if he wakes up, we do not know if he will ever live a normal life… Hershel Greene's oldest daughter, Maggie Greene-Rhee, bashed my husband over the skull with a lamp. Now, Hershel and Maggie, as well as her husband, Glenn Rhee, are in police custody, awaiting trial. Meanwhile, my husband battles every day just to continue breathing."
This woman seemed to be composing herself fairly well, despite her appearance, but her words were still shaky, and her voice wavered here and there. Beth was holding her breath as she watched, eyes brimming with tears while this woman she'd never met spoke so passionately – and vengefully - to the cameras.
"Hershel Greene's youngest daughter, Beth Greene, killed Detective Shane Walsh. She shot him in cold blood, without a moment's notice, without a second thought… He was thirty-six years old. He was our best friend. He was the godfather to our son, and would've been the godfather to our second child… He was in law enforcement his entire life, and dedicated everything he had to serving and protecting. When he stepped onto that farm, he didn't know he would never leave. But never, for a second, did he hesitate. Never, for a second, did he put himself before someone else. And he paid for it with his life! Now, the woman who did this is out there somewhere. She's free and she's alive and she's evading justice. At the cost of Detective Shane Walsh's life... Her sister may pay for the damage she's caused our family… but until we can apprehend Beth Greene and bring her to justice, Shane Walsh will never be avenged. There is no justice until we can arrest this heinous woman… Please, if you know anything, if you've seen anything, call the number we've listed. Call nine-one-one. Tell someone. Anything helps, so please, please do your part in bringing this murderer to justice. I, personally, will never feel safe sending my son to school while I know that Beth Greene is still out there somewhere, walking free after she killed my husband's partner, and our very best friend, in cold blood."
Beth nearly rolled her eyes, a bit in disbelief at how dramatic this woman was being. But at the same time, she could feel the pit in the bottom of her stomach opening up, and she knew this was the result of her own actions. She'd caused irreparable pain and damage – not just to her own family, but to others. A phone numbers was listed in bold, white print at the bottom of the screen of the video, urging viewers to call in tips. They also displayed a website and the address to the police station that was in charge of the case. Beth searched the screen for any signs of FBI information – whether it be to contact them or otherwise – but couldn't seem to find any. She wondered if that meant the case hadn't gone to the FBI yet.
"Please, please call and report any info you may have. Her name is Beth Greene. She's eighteen years old," Lori Grimes continued, stepping a bit closer to the microphones and speaking loudly and clearly. A small square popped up on the screen and displayed the same photo of Beth that they'd been putting into the news articles, remaining on the screen for the remainder of the video clip. "She has blonde hair, blue eyes, she's five-foot-four, and she weighs one-hundred-and-ten pounds. She was last seen with a black bag, wearing jeans and a green shirt. She may be armed, and she is very dangerous. If you even think you've seen her, please, please call. She was last seen on the night of August twenty-sixth heading northeast of Senoia, but she could be anywhere… Thank you, everyone, for all the well wishes and everything you've done to help us catch these criminals so far. I, um… I just want to add that… Rick would be very proud of his community right now. And I know that, if he were able, he'd be right back out on the streets, searching for Beth Greene at this very moment… Thank you again."
With that, Lori Grimes stepped away from the podium, eyes full of fire and tears, and the video ended. The screen of Beth's phone returned to the original article that had held the video clip, but she stared at it blankly.
She just kept asking herself how this story hadn't gone national yet.
to be continued…