Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts in this chapter.

my will to quickly end it all, set thought, no end, my need to fall
(into the ocean, end it all);

Beth fell asleep in her bed, cuddled close beneath Daryl's arm. She awoke briefly in the middle of the night when he got up and kissed her lightly before mumbling something about needing to take Mal to the bathroom so he wouldn't wet the bed. Then she awoke again to find Daryl nudging her gently before kissing her, mumbling goodbye and assuring her he'd see her that evening. She returned the sentiment before rolling over and going right back to sleep.

When she finally woke up for the day, it had only been a couple of hours since Daryl and Mal left, and the scent of coffee and Pop-Tarts was still in the air. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she picked up her phone and checked for new notifications but found none. With a tired haze still fogging up her brain, she checked the news sites to find nothing new there, either. She gradually woke up and cleared her head, thankful that she didn't have any haunting dreams this time. But as she lay in bed and thought back on the night before, and the weekend in its entirety, she realized that this morning felt different. She wasn't sure how, but it just did. Though she was sure it had something to do with the conversation she and Daryl had.

Beth got out of bed and found the coffee left in the pot to be cold, so she poured it out and set a new pot to brew while she went to the bathroom. Changing her pad reminded her to take her antibiotic, which she did right after leaving the bathroom, but it also reminded her of everything else that went along with all that. She almost felt guilty for not feeling more guilty of what she'd done. But in all honesty, after the first few days – and maybe in part due to the conversations she'd had with Carol and Clem and even Daryl – she hadn't felt the need to dwell so much on the choice she'd made. It was getting easier and easier to avoid thoughts of Jimmy. Every morning that she woke up without nausea, and every day that passed without a cramp or a twinge in her abdomen, felt like such a large relief now. She didn't think she'd ever take not being pregnant for granted again. And she was positive she'd never let herself repeat the mistake she'd made with Jimmy. Every day that passed felt more and more like she'd done what she had to do… as Daryl had so eloquently put it.

After a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she got dressed and poured herself a cup of coffee, then made a small breakfast and ate leisurely at the dining table. She had no idea what she was going to do to fill her time until Daryl and Mal got back home. She was even contemplating making a visit to Carol's, even if that meant being faced with a small inquisition. At some point, Beth knew she would have to admit to herself that she probably needed to utilize the kind of help Carol wanted to offer her, but she was still stuck on holding herself up and keeping everything together while there was still so much uncertainty around her future. For now, her own mental health or wellbeing would have to come second, as evading the law and keeping her real identity a secret was always number one. She knew, in a way, that she was self-medicating with the escape of Daryl and their tiny, untouchable bubble. But that would only last for so long before she'd have to face reality, even in that area.

Beth had opened up the window in the living room, but as she sat on the couch with her second cup of coffee and watched sitcom reruns on TV, she realized the usual morning humidity wasn't letting up, and the sky was overcast with dark, ominous clouds. It was in the low seventies and would've been perfect early autumn weather, but the air was unmoving and stifling, and she got up to shut the window before turning on the ceiling fan.

She eventually grew bored of TV and wandered into her bedroom, picking up the guitar and playing around, reminiscing on a couple of old songs she'd been surprised to remember. But one of the songs had been a favorite of her momma's and Beth decided to set the guitar down for a while and pick up her Bible instead. However, that only proved to make her think of her momma even more, and then her daddy. And then Shawn. And Maggie and Glenn… Arnold and Patricia and Otis…

And then she was opening up the dresser drawer and digging through her bag to pull out the pocket watch and the photo – just to look at them. To hold them. To remind herself that it really was real, that all of this wasn't some weird, fucked-up dream. That familiar, old aching started in her chest as she stared down at the photo of her family, and she swallowed back the tears that were threatening to push their way up to her eyes.

We all got jobs to do, she reminded herself.

The glint of metal caught her eye and she glanced down into the bag, the Beretta sitting atop the wads of cash, as though it were taunting her. She'd pushed it out of her mind successfully so far, but it was always there. Always waiting. Just like the bloodstain on the upstairs carpet of the farmhouse. Just like her memory of August Eleventh. Just like the ghost of Shane Walsh, and the threat of Life in prison… or worse. It showed up randomly in her thoughts, taunted her while she was showering or half-asleep.

She knew Jesus had been right. She couldn't shake his words. "You should toss it into the Hudson River. Bury it out in the woods. Whatever. Just get rid of it and don't let anyone know it ever existed."

Yet she couldn't explain why she hadn't done exactly that yet. She hadn't even pulled it out of the bag all week. She wasn't stupid – she knew what a vital piece of evidence it was. She saw the irony in keeping a literal smoking gun on her person at almost all times. But then again, whether she got caught with or without it, what would that matter? They'd have her anyway, and she'd probably never see the light of day again, murder weapon or no. They didn't need the gun she shot Shane Walsh with to know she was a lying, fleeing cop killer. Born for better but raised for worse, and no matter what plea of coercion or "that's just how Daddy raised me" she might've tried to use, that shiny Beretta 92 had Beth's fingerprints all over it. And only two rounds missing – both fired off by her, personally.

And what if Rick Grimes woke up? Would he remember what he'd seen? What would that mean for her family's case, for Maggie's and Glenn's fates? What if they needed nothing more than Detective Grimes' testimony as an eyewitness to send Beth to the electric chair?

Did they even use the electric chair anymore? She wasn't sure, and thinking about it made her stomach turn, so she had to stop and force herself to think of something else. She tried to assure herself that Grimes had already been in a coma for three weeks, and she didn't know much about comas, but she didn't hear of many people who were out that long and came back. Or came back as themselves, at least.

Then she began to feel guilty for half-wishing that a man would die. She was torn because she was afraid Grimes would be the key to locking Maggie away for Life, but if he died, it would mean Maggie was a cop killer, just like Beth. And that wouldn't help her chance at freedom either. Beth decided it was best for her to avoid thinking, or hoping for, anything involving Rick Grimes for now. Hopefully, by the time anything concerning him came about, she'd be on her way out of the country.

The Beretta continued to taunt her from the inside of the bag. She had the pocket watch and photo gripped in her hands, but her eyes were glued to the metal peeking out from the depths of the drawer. She thought of how close she was to the ocean, and all the rivers that were literally within walking distance. She couldn't count how many signs she'd seen with the word "river" on it, most of them leading to somewhere five or ten miles away. She'd even driven over that huge bridge to get to the Bronx, and gazed down into the endless blue that was the river. Which led into the ocean, when all was said and done. There were so many huge, impossibly dark bodies of water around the city, and they all flowed into the wide open ocean, taking everything they could with them. All Beth had to do was toss the gun down there, into the water. Maybe she could even take it apart and scatter the pieces, just to be extra safe. Either way, there'd be no way anyone would ever find the Beretta again. They wouldn't even know where to begin looking.

And then she could finally be rid of it. Done with it, with that particular bone that sat amongst the piles of skeletons in her closet. It would be a small step, but a step nonetheless, and considering it was something Jesus had advised her to do, she was confident that it would be a step in the right direction. She knew she shouldn't have waited this long, but as much as she didn't want to admit it, she was scared and weak. No matter how hard Maggie and Shawn had tried to make her not that way – it must've just been in her blood, maybe there was something wired wrong in her brain that made her the weak one. She was lost and confused and impossibly torn, and though she knew most of it was her own fault and the result of her own doing, she couldn't seem to face the real facts when it mattered. She knew that, and she hated it. But it was starting to seem that, when it mattered the most, she had a tendency to freeze up and forget everything she'd prepared for. Or she just made the wrong decision entirely.

With a finality that seemed to appear from nowhere, Beth tucked the photo back into the bag and stuffed the pocket watch into the front pocket of her jeans. She pulled off her shirt and dug out the gun-concealing undershirt that she hadn't worn for at least a week, slipping it on and finding that it fit better than before (though she wasn't trying to think about that right now). Then she carefully pulled the Beretta from the bag and tucked it safely into the holster pocket before slipping her shirt back on over it all. For a moment, she stood still and tried to get used to the feeling of wearing the undershirt again and having the gun resting against her side and just beneath her arm. But it felt foreign now, and she didn't know how she ever tolerated wearing this around everywhere and having the gun so close. She could feel her daddy's watch ticking in her pocket, almost ominously.

Though she knew it wasn't nearly cold enough to necessitate it, Beth slipped on the knitted white cap she'd found at the thrift store, feeling a bit more like her old self when she saw herself in the mirror with it. The hat felt familiar, but the person staring back didn't. She decided that, if nothing else, it would keep her hair tame once the humidity started soaking in. Then she pulled on her jacket, just for the sake of having another layer covering the gun, and put her sunglasses on. She stuffed a bit of money into her boot and her phone into her jacket pocket, then headed out the door of apartment 3A, locking up behind her and stuffing the key into her boot alongside the cash.

The apartment building was mostly quiet, as it usually was, and Beth could tell that most of the tenants were away at work or school for the day. She passed through an empty lobby and momentarily wondered where Clementine was, then she remembered that it was Monday and she was probably at school, too. Beth thought about texting her, but then she thought of the possibility of another inquisition about Daryl and decided against it. She was pretty sure Clem would be in the lobby after she was done with class, anyway, so she'd have enough trouble avoiding a barrage of questions then. Something told her that Clem wouldn't let it go until she had the answer she was looking for. But that was the very least of Beth's worries right now.

She walked out into the bright daylight of the busy city and was immediately met with the heavy humidity in the air, reminiscent of late summers in Georgia, and the bustling noise and movement of the East Village's citizens and its nonstop traffic. Beth pushed her sunglasses up higher on her nose and walked at a quick, but leisurely, pace. She weaved in between crowds and around other people, gazing around at buildings and landmarks as she went, searching for street signs and attempting to familiarize herself and memorize some of the streets and businesses. She had no desire to take public transportation today, and that was partly due to the fact that she had no real idea of where she was going. All she knew was that she was looking for water, and she intended to just keep walking in the direction of the East River until she found her way to its edge.

She wound up walking southeast from the apartment building, weaving her way down sidewalks and across streets, waiting at intersections patiently as crowds of people bustled around her. The gun was heavy against her ribs and drops of sweat were rolling down her back from the tight undershirt. She began to spot signs with directions to the East River and various parks with the word "river" in their names, and followed them. The longer she walked, the more signs she saw, and before long, she could see the sparkling, deep blue in the distance. The humidity grew heavier in the air, but it felt crisper and cooler on her face, and she walked far enough that an ocean-scented breeze was rustling the hair that stuck out from beneath her knitted cap.

She passed various parks and walked through numerous neighborhoods, the scenery changing every few blocks or so. Beth had no idea how many miles she'd walked, nor did she really care, but her thighs were beginning to burn with overexertion when she spotted a park that offered access to the river. Her heart leapt and her pace quickened just the slightest, while the Beretta seemed to grow heavier in its holster.

There was a bridge in the distance, close enough that Beth could've walked to it, and she knew from the signs that it was the Williamsburg Bridge. This particular part of the East River wasn't especially wide, as Beth could see across to the other side and make out the buildings and bridges clearly. But it was dark and deep and ever-moving, sparkling with temptation in the afternoon sun, even though the overcast sky made it appear darker and more ominous than usual.

She walked through a green park, full of benches and walkways and fountains, a large, open court for sports, and a bike path winding its way through near the side farthest from the street and disappearing into the distance. Walkways wound through the greenery, the largest and longest of the paths lying next to the water, guarded by a long, cement fence that was only a few feet high. Once she got within a few yards of the water, Beth realized the park was quiet and calm, set away from the bustle and noise of the city. She watched a flock of geese fly overhead in V formation, honking loudly as they passed, on their way to somewhere warmer for the winter. For a second, she wished she were one of them.

Groups of people walking through the park moved around her, and cyclists rode past freely, keeping to their own side of the path for the most part. But no one was paying Beth any attention. She could see the cars driving across the Williamsburg Bridge, and despite the dampness in the air, she pulled her hat down tighter over her dark hair. Beth weaved her way through the park and stuck to the walkways, avoiding other people, until she reached the small wall at the edge of the path and found herself peering down into the dark water.

The ocean smell was the only thing filling her nostrils now, and as she gazed down into the depths, all the other people in the park around her seemed to fade away. She felt that she was standing at the edge, farther away from everyone than any of them could see. The spot on her ribs where the gun had been poking was beginning to itch.

She stared down into the water for a while, her mind swirling with a cluster of thoughts. Her head was everywhere right now, and though her wrist wasn't bothering her, the water was awfully tempting. When she gazed out across the surface, she tried to find an end, but there was none to see. The dark blue water only stretched out into the horizon and faded away, promising thousands and thousands more miles in the distance. For a moment, she wondered how many people had dumped bodies or murder weapons into this water – into this river. Would she merely be joining the ranks of NYC's scummiest human beings? How many other drowned secrets would the Beretta be landing atop?

Then she couldn't help but worry – what if someone found it? What if, somehow, it washed up and landed in the wrong hands? If they turned it in, it'd be placed to Beth's case for sure. And then they'd know she was there. What if she wiped off the fingerprints? Even that wouldn't help at this point – they could probably trace the serial number, if they were able to read it.

So maybe she'd take it apart. Then what? Inconspicuously scatter the pieces? Walk around the East River and drop each part into a different place? That seemed extravagant. She knew it was a far reach just to think that someone would find it in the East River. Especially considering the city and its size.

Beth tore her eyes away from the dark water and glanced around, taking in her surroundings and observing the people passing by and lingering around in the park. She was the only one standing in her general area and looking at the water, but she felt like she was sticking out. Even though no one was looking at her, or even acknowledging her existence. And during her walk there, no matter how hard she tried to stay out of the way and pay attention, she'd still nearly gotten run over by three different cyclists and two joggers. Yet now that she wanted nothing more than to be invisible, she felt like the brightest shining beacon on the island.

Her mind assured her she was being paranoid, but her nerves told her that if she pulled the gun out from its safe place, someone would look. Someone would see. Someone would call her out, or get scared, or attack her, or call the cops. She'd heard stories about the NYPD, she had absolutely no desire to have any sort of run-ins with them. And if someone saw her tossing a gun into the fucking East River? Yeah, right. Game over. She could flee, but the cops would show up with CSI or some shit and dreg up her weapon. Then she'd really be fucked.

And what good was it going to do anyway? To throw this gun into the river? What was it even getting rid of? All anyone needed was Beth – or even a fucking picture of her, or a strand of hair. An anonymous tip that they'd seen her at a random self-defense class. A strange e-mail that they'd spotted her shopping in a Trader Joe's. The only thing that would really do any good being dumped into the East River was… herself. Her own body. Her entire existence. Everything that had ever been Beth Greene, or Rosie Wilson, or whoever the fuck she was nowadays. And the Beretta felt like a part of her now. She might as well jump into the water with it, make sure it reaches the bottom with her. Tuck a few heavy rocks into her pockets, climb over the railing when no one's looking, leap in as quickly as possible. She could sink to the bottom and lose consciousness before anyone even noticed she'd been standing there in the first place. And there were no cameras out here. Maybe she'd wash out to the Atlantic.

If she did that… she'd never have to tell Daryl the truth. She could disappear without a trace, leaving nothing but the photo of her family and the bag of money behind. Daryl would find it, of course, and it'd be like her last parting gift to him. Maybe he would never even find out the truth about her. And she'd never have to see the disappointment and anger on his face, or feel the pain of losing him and Mal. She'd never have to think about how she broke an innocent child's heart. She wouldn't have to see her daddy die in prison, or her sister sitting in front of a jury, waiting to be sentenced to the same fate. She wouldn't ever again have to recall the image of her momma and big brother being violently murdered, and she'd never again have to see their lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood when she closed her eyes. She'd never have to feel all this pain again. None of it – not one single ounce.

Beth was lost in her own head as she gazed into the dark depths, eyes unfocused and barely blinking, a dozen different thoughts fighting for the spotlight in her mind every couple of seconds. One hand was resting over her jacket, where she could feel the bulge of the Beretta under her clothes. She could swear it had its own heartbeat now. Or maybe she was still feeling the watch in her pocket, ticking away endlessly, counting down the last remaining seconds of her life.

She was just… so tired of running. Of lying. Of disappointing and hurting other people. Of feeling terrified and foolish and naïve. Of feeling guilty and ashamed and ostracized. She was tired of punishing herself. It was so exhausting.

She was just… so… tired.

It was like the water called to her. She could drift out and be a part of the ocean. She could return to the earth, erase her place in existence. All it would take is one moment. One step. One climb. One small, tiny jump.

Beth didn't know why her heart had sped up, but it was pounding against the inside of her chest so rapidly that she thought she might be about to have a heart attack.

Good, she thought. If my heart gave out, then I wouldn't have to do it myself.

But she knew better than that. She took a slow step forward nonetheless, until her knees were touching the short, concrete wall that separated her from the East River. The water taunted her, rising and falling and flowing over and over itself with effervescence. It tormented her with its mysteries. The darkness was so dark, and so deep, and so absolutely never-ending, that she could do nothing but wonder and question and ask herself what could possibly be down there. Besides some eternal peace and quiet...?

Then she felt another sensation, and for a second, she thought the watch in her pocket was finally giving out, or the gun was somehow humming to life. But she quickly snapped out of her deep, intrusive thoughts and remembered the cell phone in her pocket. The sensation she'd felt had been a vibration, which could only mean a text message. Or maybe a Google alert for her name.

She blinked and looked away from the water, pulling her phone out and unlocking the screen. The first thing she saw was Daryl's name, and instinctually, she tapped on the new message and read:

Missin you.

Beth hadn't felt the tears form in her eyes. She hadn't even noticed them building in her throat, or burning as they blurred her vision. Without warning, a dampness rolled down her cheek, and she shoved the phone back into her pocket while hastily swiping a hand across her eyes and adjusting her sunglasses afterward. She effectively stopped any more tears from falling, struggling to push them back and sniffling as she went back to gazing at the water. Her lips were pursed, and she glanced around again to see if anyone was paying attention to her yet. She could only imagine how odd she looked right now, being so young and so contemplative while staring into the East River.

She didn't know how Daryl managed to pop into her life at the most obscure times like this. She still didn't know what he even saw in her, if she were being honest with herself. But she was suddenly overwhelmed with the guilt of leaving him behind. At the same time, she was asking herself… what was more selfish? Continuing to lie to him while the police searched for her? Or disappearing without a trace, never to be seen or heard from again, and leaving him wondering what he did wrong?

Her mind was working in every which direction, though, and Beth reminded herself that lying to him about who she really was, waiting so long for everything to get so serious, could very possibly do the same amount of damage as disappearing. On the other hand, she could already imagine how Daryl's mind would work the gymnastics to convince himself that he'd fucked up in some irreparable way and caused her to leave, to just disappear. Or he'd put two and two together and figure out that she went the same route as Lucy – which was a thought so devastating that she couldn't bear to imagine it any farther than that. She shook her head, as if to rid her brain of these 'what if's and 'how's and 'maybe's. The tears were still threatening to pool in her eyes again and she swallowed past a hard knot in her throat.

But Daryl's face was in her mind, and Mal's. And she thought about them smiling, and the sparkle in their blue eyes, and the way they laughed the same and had the same crooked smile when they were being ornery. And then the Beretta felt lighter against her ribs, and she took in a deep breath of ocean air and her heartbeat gradually slowed.

Once she'd regained confidence that her heart wasn't about to burst inside her chest, Beth kept her eyes on the water and slowly reached her hand up and underneath her shirt, curling her fingers around the handle of the gun and pausing. She glanced around at the other people in the park, the cyclists passing by, the joggers on their runs, and the few passersby that had casually glanced at her without much acknowledgment. Could it really be this easy? Could she just slip it out, toss it in, and walk away? Problem solved, just like that?

Yes, she told herself. Just do it. Do it now. One problem solved. One less thing to be carrying around.

Then she looked out into the water again, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

One less thing to defend myself with, she thought hesitantly.

Beth was torn in two different directions. One half of her urged the hand on the Beretta to pull it out, toss it into the water, be done with it. But the other half kept her motionless, contemplative, full of so much doubt that she almost felt she wouldn't need any rocks to help her sink to the bottom of the river. Her brain was sending two contradicting signals to her muscles, and her body had decided to ignore them all and freeze in place.

She suddenly got the feeling that she was being watched and she glanced around again, her eyes almost immediately drawn to the unmistakable uniform of a police officer. It was a dark-haired man, and for a split-second, Beth thought she might've been hallucinating, because the man almost looked like Shane Walsh. But then she blinked and cleared her vision and realized he had a completely different face, though his gaze was set on her as he strolled down the walkway with a purposeful stride. Her breath caught in her throat and she immediately looked away, back to the water.

Fucking pig, she thought scornfully. The thought ran through her mind almost mechanically.

She let go of the gun and slipped her hand out from beneath her shirt, reaching out and resting it on the railing in front of her. She continued to gaze at the water, but she watched the cop walking by in her peripherals, heartbeat thumping in her ears. Her face was turned away from him and her hat was pulled down over most of her dark hair, and she was glad she hadn't taken her sunglasses off. She could feel the sweat rolling down her back again, beneath the undershirt. The Beretta felt heavier than ever, and she was almost positive that the cop was able to spot the bulge in her jacket from a mile away.

But he must not have, because he eventually looked away from her and continued walking on. Beth didn't move until she could see the back of him, getting smaller and smaller as he walked farther and farther away. When he was finally out of sight, she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Yet she could no longer find the strength to reach beneath her shirt and grab the gun. The thought of pulling it out and tossing it into the river was terrifying now. All the possibilities of what could happen if she were caught were flooding her head, and she wanted nothing more than to turn and run as fast as she could back to the safety of apartment 3A. Back to the comfort of the couch, beside Daryl and Mal. Back to Daryl's low, rumbling voice, and his familiar scent, and his warm embrace. Back to their safe, impenetrable bubble, where she could stuff the gun down deep in the bag at the back of her dresser drawer and try to forget about it. Where she could lock away all her secrets in that little bedroom and bask in the warmth and security of the apartment with the boys.

And she knew – she knew she couldn't do anything yet. She couldn't toss the gun into the river, she couldn't tell Daryl the truth. She was terrified of losing what little shred of happiness she'd found. She was terrified of trying to move on when she could barely move at all. She was frozen in place.

But goddammit… it was such a soft place.

The large farmhouse had been anything but silent since T-Dog had said his piece and stormed out on Saturday morning. Well, it was silent – but in spurts. Beth's daddy had stayed locked away in his study since Saturday morning, emerging only to oversee operations on the farm and eat small meals before retreating behind the heavy, wooden door. He had even skipped church the next day – something Beth hadn't seen him do since his brother, Arnold's dad, had died eleven years ago. And when there wasn't complete silence throughout the second floor of the house, Beth could hear Maggie and her daddy arguing loudly, though she no longer cared to listen to what they were saying. She spent most of her time writing in her journal or looking at old photos of Momma and Shawn. And when she wasn't doing that, she was sleeping or generally trying to escape reality. She'd been ignoring Jimmy's texts and calls – all he wanted to do was coddle her anyway, and she just didn't have the energy for any of it.

The dark SUV had been driven away to a part of the farm that Beth wasn't allowed near and she hadn't seen it since. Which was fine with her, because every time she remembered the look on T-Dog's face and the emotion in his voice, a cold chill ran down her spine. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was trying to warn her, trying to get through to her in a way that only he knew she needed. What if Maggie and her daddy didn't really know what was best for her? She felt selfish for thinking it, but she was disappointed that Shawn had died before he could teach her the things he wanted to teach her. What if he'd known better than Maggie or Daddy – what if he'd known something they didn't? What if he could see that Beth needed to be more prepared? T-Dog's final words still echoed in her head whenever she was on the edge of consciousness. They haunted her.

'What if's didn't help anyone, though. Beth knew that. So she pushed the thoughts out and chose instead to be sad about losing her only brother, and her mother, and any chance at normalcy that her family had ever had.

It was Wednesday afternoon, four days after T-Dog had made his last ever visit to the Greene Farm, and exactly one week since Annette and Shawn had been murdered. Beth was staring at the clock and thinking about where she'd been exactly a week ago, how she'd been so sure that nothing out of the usual would happen that night. She was remembering how she'd felt, walking around the farm, passing Shawn without a word on the stairs as she headed back to her room after cleaning up from lunch. Why had she not taken advantage of every single second to tell her brother how much she loved him and how much he meant to her? Why couldn't she have suggested that they go out to that pond a couple miles away and camp for the night, take Momma and the whole gang with them, just get away from the house? If she had, they'd all still be there. They'd all still be alive. But they'd all just eaten dinner and gone to bed like it was another night. Like they were so sure that they'd all wake up on Thursday morning and have breakfast as a family.

How could they have been so naïve?

There was a knock on Beth's bedroom door and she closed her journal, though the pen in her hand had been motionless for several minutes. She shoved the tattered book into a drawer and turned around in her chair before calling out, "Yeah?"

Something told her that this wouldn't be a "come help me clean the horse stables" call through the door, and she'd been right, because the door opened and Maggie slipped inside the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and Beth gave her big sister a quizzical look.

"Hey," Maggie greeted softly, heavy bags still under her eyes and a deep sadness, mixed with eternal exhaustion, evident on her face.

"What's up," Beth said quietly, looking down at her lap after only a brief moment of eye contact. She couldn't seem to look into her sister's eyes lately without feeling a painful pit opening up at the bottom of her stomach.

Maggie cleared her throat, then asked hesitantly, "Can we talk?"

Beth nodded and Maggie moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge and gazing down at her hands. Neither of them was looking at the other.

"So, the thing with T-Dog," Maggie started quietly.

Beth picked at her fingernails, fighting the urge to scratch at the scar on her wrist. "Is he… gonna be okay?"

She saw Maggie nod from the corner of her eye. "Yeah – um, that's what I wanted t'talk to you about. When he came by the other day, an' all that stuff he said… I don't want you t'be scared. I tried to calm him down, but – "

"I'm not scared," Beth interrupted, looking up from her lap and staring at her sister. Maggie glanced up and met her eyes, nodding quickly and looking back down to her lap.

'I can't be,' she thought. 'I have to be strong, like you.'

"It's okay ta be scared right now," Maggie said, voice wavering. "I am, too..."

'But you're not scared of anything,' Beth thought, swallowing back her argument.

"You already know not t'repeat things, so I don't even gotta tell you to keep it t'yourself," Maggie started, her voice a bit steadier. "But Dad sent T-Dog and his family away. I don't know where – he wouldn't even tell me or Glenn. Nobody knows where they're going except them an' Daddy. But that's because… it has ta be that way. It's what's safest right now. They left yesterday and they won't ever be comin' back to Georgia. That's all I know. But they're alive, unharmed, an' safe – and they'll stay safe. That's what matters."

Beth felt a small rush of relief, happy that T-Dog wouldn't be put in any more danger. She hoped that wherever he, his mom, and his aunt had gone was nice, and that they liked it better than they ever liked Georgia. And she hoped they would find a new church, where the congregation was all normal, God-fearing people. With every little bit of hope or faith that she had left, she hoped that T-Dog and his family were truly safe, and happy, and would grow old and die of natural causes, and that the Greene family and everything they'd done would become a distant and far-off memory for T-Dog. She didn't need Maggie to tell her to keep it a secret – Beth had already sworn to herself within seconds that, for as long as she lived, she'd never utter T-Dog's name aloud to anyone ever again, in hopes that he would never be found or bothered by anything to do with her family. Getting them out of Georgia was probably the only good thing her daddy had ever done for them, and for that, she was grateful.

But then she scolded herself for thinking like that – her daddy had done a lot for T-Dog and his family out of the goodness of his heart, and she knew they were appreciative. She just couldn't help but think that maybe they would've been better off never getting involved with the Senoia Baptist Church and its dark secrets in the first place.

"What about the cops? That Lerner lady?" She asked hesitantly, glancing up and watching her sister meet her eyes. There was a flash of fear across Maggie's features and Beth instantly regretted asking the question.

"Dad – he got rid of… everythin'," Maggie muttered after a long moment of tense silence. "Any evidence that T-Dog was ever here, that his family was ever in the church t'begin with – it's all gone. We burned it."

"Oh," Beth said, feeling as small as she sounded. She should've known they'd take care of it. She had no reason to doubt Maggie or her daddy. But a small part of her was beginning to worry what else they'd need to burn before long.

"And – well, the cops never saw 'em around us. So we think they got a good chance of never bein' brought up again," Maggie continued. "Like I said… ain't gotta tell you t'keep yer mouth shut. You already know the drill. 'Specially when it comes to that Lerner chick."

Beth pursed her lips and nodded, watching as her big sister went back to looking down at her lap. She had the same nervous habit of picking at her fingernails.

Maggie visibly swallowed before speaking again, voice low and quiet, almost ominous. Mostly shaky, though. And a bit on edge, almost fearful. It was a strange sound in Beth's ears. "I… Bethy, I gotta tell you somethin'… about what you heard earlier. About, um… when T-Dog got shot…"

Beth furrowed her brow, unsure if she wanted to hear whatever it was. However, her curiosity was piqued, and she could tell it was something that Maggie felt she needed to know. So it had to be important. And when had she ever seen Maggie appear this… frightened? Remorseful? Full of dread?

"What… what is it?" She asked hesitantly, watching as Maggie began jiggling her knee nervously, continuing to pick at her fingernails while she stared down at her lap. Beth's hands, meanwhile, had steadied and were clenched together tightly in her own lap.

Maggie licked her lips and opened her mouth, then seemed to change her mind and quickly closed it again, knee jiggling faster for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and said, "I – the note that T-Dog was talkin' about, that I told Dad about… me an' Shawn found it the day before... The day – um, before Tee got shot."

Beth's face grew more quizzical as the confusion muddled her brain. She didn't quite understand what any of this had to do with the other – she hadn't even heard of the existence of any sort of note until a few days ago, and T-Dog was yelling angrily about it and pointing at Maggie without much explanation.

Maggie glanced up and checked Beth's reaction, then looked back down to her hands, appearing to realize that Beth was lost. She explained hesitantly, "I told you the least that I could after it happened – I didn't wanna scare you. Me an' Shawn both agreed on that. Daddy didn't even wanna acknowledge it, but – that's a whole other shit show… I jus' had ta make sure you knew that things were gettin' dangerous. And – dammit, Beth, if I didn't argue with Dad nearly every fuckin' day about teachin' you how to shoot… him and Shawn nearly had an all-out brawl at one point – he's just so damn stubborn. I can't – we didn't know it would come to this. If I had… fuck…"

Beth didn't know what to say. She was still piecing things together in her head. She watched Maggie silently, chewing on the inside of her cheek nervously as her older sister picked so hard at a hangnail on her pinky finger that she could see tiny droplets of bright red blood forming.

"There ain't no more time for 'if's an' 'but's anymore, though," Maggie said, the resilience in her voice sounding obviously feigned. "The thing is, me an' Shawn found a note the day before Tee was shot – it was a warning from The Governor. But it was just – it was so ridiculous. It was like a movie or somethin'. We didn't think it could be real… Shawn even made a joke about how overdramatic an' childish it was, an' if it was real, then this Governor dude is jus'… he's like a fuckin' comicbook villain or somethin'. It's so… I still can't even wrap my head around it. We didn't think it would… it could…"

Maggie's voice trailed off and she was staring down at her own hands in disbelief, as if she thought this were all a long, drawn-out, overplayed dream. Or nightmare. But she couldn't wake up. Neither could Beth.

"What'd it say…?" Beth asked, her voice coming out barely louder than a whisper. But the bedroom was silent, and her voice rang loudly in her own ears. She still wasn't sure that she wanted to know any of this, or hear the answer to her question.

Maggie shook her head and closed her eyes for a second longer than a normal blink. Then she pursed her lips and gazed off thoughtfully before opening her mouth again and speaking, her voice almost monotone, "It was a warnin' – a promise… It looked like one a those ransom letters from kidnappers that you see in the movies – all the letters were cut outta magazines an' newspapers. And it didn't make sense…"

Beth stared at her sister quizzically, hanging on her words and watching Maggie's face contort in confusion and disbelief as she talked. And regret.

Maggie continued, her voice cracking slightly. She sounded like she was still trying to make sense of everything, as though it were all a crazy, elaborate joke. "It-it said, 'He sound of the not warning shall be'… Complete nonsense – didn't mean anythin'. We read it like… fifteen times before Glenn got the idea t'put a fuckin' blacklight over it, of all things. I still dunno – he watches too many damn movies… But when we did, we found… They used invisible ink ta fill in the blanks. Again, of all things – an' when we read it altogether, it was a Bible verse… But the invisible words, by themselves, said, 'heard the trumpet and took his blood upon him.'"

Beth pieced the words together in her head and immediately recited the verse to herself silently: 'He heard the sound of the trumpet and took not warning; his blood shall be upon him.'

Without really thinking about it, Beth muttered aloud, "Ezekiel thirty-three…"

Maggie nodded but didn't look up. Beth was chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek as she watched Maggie pause and close her eyes for a moment, reminiscing. Reliving it.

Then her tone grew more serious, and her voice was weaker. "We had no idea that it was… real. That it could actually be from The Governor. We thought it was a prank, maybe a scare tactic from those bottom-dwellers in Atlanta… I never woulda laughed if I'd had any idea… It jus' seemed so – so stupid. Shawn was makin' fun of it, said we shouldn't even waste anybody else's time with it..."

Maggie shook her head and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand in frustration, wiping away invisible sweat. She sighed and finally looked up to meet Beth's gaze, giving her an expression that Beth couldn't quite interpret. Beth pursed her lips and stared back, speechless, waiting for the rest of the story.

"Then Tee got shot," Maggie choked out, pausing and swallowing audibly before she continued, her mouth dry. "And – we told Dad about the note. Right away. He… we didn't know. We didn't think it was…"

Beth nodded, watching her sister struggle with the words and force back tears of regret. She hated watching Maggie suffer like this. She hated seeing any of her family suffer. She'd seen enough to last her a lifetime by now.

"They were comin' fer Shawn," Maggie said, straightening her back and sniffling, swiping a hand across her nose and looking Beth in the eyes. There was a newfound defiance in her voice. "They – that fuckin' asshole sent guys after Tee thinkin' it would be Shawn. An' when it wasn't… he sent people t'find us – ta find where we live."

Beth felt the knot building in her throat, threatening tears that would soon be pushing their way up to her eyes. She tried not to focus on the memories of last Wednesday night playing over and over in her head as she thought about how Shawn had been killed, how her momma had run out from the bedroom and tried to intervene when she should've just… stayed back.

Beth licked her lips and spoke weakly, still staring into her sister's watery brown eyes, "Momma wasn't s'posed t'be there… she wasn't s'posed to be killed…"

Maggie closed her eyes for a long few seconds and Beth could see her taking in a deep, sharp breath through her nostrils. She was trying her hardest to compose herself, that much was obvious. There was a flood of tears waiting to burst free behind the stony expression on her face. Then she nodded and choked out, "I know, Bethy… I know."

They sat in painful silence for a moment, both girls fighting back tears and sobs. Then Maggie cleared her throat loudly and sniffled again, picking at her fingernails once more as she stared down at her lap.

"Look," she started, and Beth gazed down at her own pale hands as she listened. "I know you filled out all those college applications, but… it's jus' not… possible right now. Daddy's been lookin' into some other options. So have I… But we have t'make sure you're safe – you gotta understand how scared he is, how scared we all are – "

Beth interrupted, "I know. I didn't – I mean, I knew better'an to get my hopes up."

'Please stop talking about how scared everybody is. You and Daddy are supposed to be the strong ones here,' she thought.

Maggie sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Beth. We'll figure it out eventually – I promise. We just… there's so much t'deal with right now. I've been talkin' ta Dad…"

Beth looked up at this and met Maggie's apologetic gaze. She knew Maggie was referring to the loud arguments she'd been having in Hershel's study.

"It's – I hate that it had t'come to this… I wish he woulda just fucking listened to Shawn," Maggie started, pausing and biting back her anger, then shaking her head before going on. "But me an' Glenn are gonna teach you how to shoot. Dad really doesn't like the idea of a gun in your hands, but – he knows now. He knows we gotta be prepared. And that means teachin' you everything about handling a weapon, an' using it… You think you're ready for that?"

Without hesitation, Beth nodded. Even though a new, deep, dread-filled ache was growing in her gut. She wanted to ask why they couldn't just leave – pack up and move. Take everything they had and run, like T-Dog and his family had.

But she knew better than to ask because she already knew the answer. She knew it was far more complicated than that. She knew they couldn't run from their problems now. Everything would catch up eventually, and then it'd be inescapable. If it wasn't already.

She swallowed back more tears, then said quietly, "Okay."

Beth couldn't help but think of how different things could've been if her daddy had only allowed this sooner. And she couldn't help but resent the fact that, if he had, Shawn and her momma would probably still be alive.

to be continued…

A/N: Chapter title lyrics come from "Into The Ocean" by Blue October - also a perfectly fitting song for this chapter.
We've reached 16k views here! And almost 6k on AO3! So THANK YOU if you're reading, and favoriting, and following! And HUGE thank you if you're reviewing ;) More Bethyl fluff next chapter, don't worry.