relaxed and floated into space
Wednesday morning arrived quietly, and Beth awoke with fresh memories of another evening spent with Daryl and Malachi, as well as another goodbye kiss from Daryl before he left for the day. She went about her usual morning routine, replying to more text messages from Clementine, Rosita, and Tara, as well as doing her usual check of the news sites. There was still nothing new posted and she was beginning to wonder if Jenny Jones was out there somewhere, digging around. But then she found herself thinking back on the way Daryl had smiled and chuckled when she'd told him about the text messages from the girls and how excited they all seemed, and she kind of forgot about Jenny Jones and the news. She chose to reminisce on the things that made her happy while she sipped coffee and flipped through her Bible.
The morning passed and drifted into afternoon, and besides preparing, eating, and cleaning up from lunch, Beth filled her time with reading and occasionally watching TV. Her phone vibrated with a text message from Daryl at one point, asking if he should pick anything up on his way home. She'd already been thinking about what she would prepare for dinner, though she still had a few hours before she needed to get started. She sent him a text back and went back to reading, but she found her mind wandering as she switched between different books in an attempt to regain focus.
It was almost a subconscious thing when she wandered into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Like sleepwalking, except she was awake. Why had she come in here? Where were her feet taking her? And why did her head feel so foggy and floaty? When she finally snapped back to reality and focused in on what she was actually doing, she realized the dresser drawer was open and her hand was wrapping around the cool metal of the Beretta inside the depths of the bag. Something tugged at her, like an invisible string connected to her belly button. She felt like her stomach was trying to escape her body, so she pulled the gun from the bag and grasped it in both hands. She stared down at it, eyes barely focused on the shiny metal before her.
Just go dump it in the river, one part of her demanded.
Take it apart, wipe it down. Scatter the pieces, another part suggested.
How will you defend yourself if someone comes for you? The loudest voice piped up.
Beth's stomach churned and she gripped the gun tightly, until she could feel the metal growing warm from her hands. She wished it would just disappear, that she wouldn't have to worry about it ever again. But she knew that's not what happened with problems – any problems. She just… couldn't seem to get herself to do it. To just dump it, be rid of it. Whenever the idea seemed convincing enough, whenever she thought she could muster up the courage to toss it over the railing, a sudden terror would overtake her. And then she'd think of all the scenarios that could play out in which she'd need that gun more than anything.
Daryl and the self-defense classes would only do so much for Beth. When it came down to it, she knew – deep down – that she had more than a few cops or FBI agents to worry about. But that was a whole other argument with herself, choosing whether to acknowledge it as a real threat or as something so distant and far-off that she shouldn't add it to her overwhelming list right now. Yet when the Beretta came into play… what other purpose did it have? She had absolutely no other reason to hold onto it. It certainly didn't have sentimental value. She'd be perfectly happy with never seeing it again. But that didn't feel like a possibility just yet. She might feel lighter without it, but she'd also feel naked. And vulnerable.
Without much thought, she walked to the bed and sat down, then slid her fingers to the familiar little switches and nooks on the gun, popping out the magazine and assuring that the chamber was empty. Then the muscle memory kicked in, and she clicked another couple of switches and removed the slide. She set the parts out on the bed before her as she slipped her small fingers in and, with a few more fluid movements, removed the spring and the barrel, leaving the gun stripped. She arranged the parts neatly in front of her, atop the soft comforter on the bed, and gazed down at the Beretta – stripped, disassembled, completely harmless and useless. This weapon that had caused so much strife, so much turmoil… yet it was just a thing, at the end of the day. It was just a thing, and what really caused all the pain was Beth's choices.
Her conversation with Carol the day before was replaying in her head, over and over. She glanced at the flowers sitting atop her dresser, residing in a simple glass vase full of water. Her stomach stopped churning and dropping, and for a second, the gun beside her didn't exist. Then she looked back down at it, at the parts so neatly arranged, at the dirt and dust building up around some of the edges.
At least wipe it down so your fingerprints aren't all over it, a slightly more logical part of her suggested.
She knew she shouldn't waste her time cleaning it, but her hands were itching to go through the old routine again. Now that the gun was stripped, it felt wrong to put it back together without wiping off all the grime she could see accumulating. For a moment, that word floated through her head again: brainwashed. But she pushed it out and focused herself on finding something around the apartment to clean the gun with.
Daryl didn't have much around the apartment that could be used to maintain a weapon, but Beth dug out some WD-40 from a high cupboard in the kitchen. With a strike of luck, she also found a small pack of latex gloves, from which she grabbed a pair for herself. She scrounged up an old pack of pipe cleaners from the back of the junk drawer and grabbed some paper towels from the kitchen, as well as a thin hand towel from the linen cabinet, before returning to the bedroom. With her cleaning supplies set out on the floor, she gathered the parts of the gun and laid them out on the towel, then slipped on the latex gloves.
Her muscles relaxed as she went through the old motions of carefully cleaning each part of the gun. She made sure to thoroughly wipe each and every millimeter of shiny steel, and paid extra attention when it came to wiping down the handle. The smell of WD-40 rustled up faint memories of the farm, and she almost swore she could hear Maggie's voice scolding her for using such a thing to clean a weapon ("do you want this thing to fall apart in your hands?!"). Beth knew better – but she didn't care. She told herself that using WD-40 to clean the Beretta was just another reason, another push, to get rid of it. She just needed a little time, a little longer to convince herself that she could do it. To convince herself that she wouldn't need this gun to protect herself from the monsters in her past.
Just wiping it down of everything, she told herself. Wiping away all my DNA, all the residue from the shot that killed Detective Walsh.
But she could still hear Maggie inside her head, scolding her as usual.
"Okay, this is like the fifty-millionth time," Beth said, the shiny Beretta 92 held loosely in her hands as she looked at Maggie with raised eyebrows. "I think I could clean this thing in my sleep."
"Good," Maggie said. "That's how it should be. Now take it apart an' do it again."
"It's clean!" Beth argued, half-smiling.
But Maggie wasn't smiling at all, her voice stern as she looked at Beth with a solemn gaze. "I know it is. So take it apart an' reassemble it."
Beth frowned and furrowed her brow. "Maggie, I know it inside an' out, but what good is that if I don't even know how ta use it?"
Maggie didn't waver. "If there's one thing me an' Dad agreed on, it's the necessity for a solid respect and understanding of a weapon. These things aren't toys, Beth – they are deadly weapons. And you're gonna know exactly what yer handling before you ever get ta squeeze that trigger."
Beth pursed her lips and swallowed back any more arguments she might've had. She stared down at the Beretta and focused on taking it apart again as Maggie watched from nearby, both sisters remaining silent. She knew she was lucky just to be getting the chance to learn how to use a gun, and she had to remind herself of this fact several times.
One week after T-Dog drove away from the Greene Farm for the last time ever, the Greene Family held a joint funeral for Annette and Shawn. And a few days after that, Maggie stepped into Beth's bedroom after supper to let her know that she'd start learning how to use a gun that coming weekend. Beth didn't ask about the loud arguments she'd been hearing from the study since the day after the funeral. She decided to count this as a blessing, and she made sure to thank Glenn and Maggie for whatever they'd said to finally convince her daddy.
On the last weekend of April, as promised, Maggie began teaching Beth everything about the Beretta 92. Though she skimmed over some basic facts about a couple of the other guns that were stowed in the house, Maggie deemed the Beretta as "Beth's go-to," and assured her that it would be kept somewhere easily accessible for her. Beth had to admit that she liked the way the Beretta felt in her hands, and the way it looked, and after a long week of taking it apart, cleaning it, and putting it back together over and over andover again, she also had to admit that she really liked the way it fired. It didn't take long for her to begin hitting every target she aimed for almost effortlessly.
For exactly thirty days in a row, Beth would come home from school, or finish her afternoon chores on the weekends, and join Maggie in a field a few miles away from the farm, toward the very edge of the acres of property that belonged to the Greene's. Glenn joined them a few times, passing along some pointers while he was there. Beth and Maggie set up target practice and spent at least two hours together every day, practicing caring for the gun, handling it properly, and firing it safely. Then they would search and gather up all the empty shells from the grass and dirt, keeping close count of every round that was fired.
Ever since the murders, Maggie had been more quiet than usual. So it was no different after the funeral, and even during their hours spent together during shooting practice, the sisters didn't talk as much as they normally would have… before. But on the fifth day of shooting practice, Beth tried to get some answers, even though she still wasn't sure that she entirely wanted any answers.
Her voice came out quiet and weak, but the field they were in was quiet and there wasn't much for her to speak over besides the occasional gust of wind. "So all those black cars at the service…"
Maggie didn't look over at her. She continued to focus on the gun in her hands as she worked to reload the magazine. Her voice was flat, nearly emotionless. "What about 'em."
Beth clicked the magazine back up into place inside the gun in her own hands and continued to watch Maggie's face carefully. "Were they… watchin' us?"
A second of silence passed. Then two seconds. Then Maggie said, "Every last one of 'em."
Beth's heart skipped and she swallowed hard, running a finger along the smooth steel of the Beretta. Then she asked quietly, "What if – I mean, yer teachin' me how ta shoot. But what do I do if like, Lerner or one a the cops tries ta corner me, or scare me into talkin' – "
Maggie's eyes finally flicked upward and met Beth's, and she spoke very firmly. "You don't say shit. Especially if it's Lerner. Doubt that'll happen, though – you saw what happened when Daddy found out they tried cornerin' me... He won't let 'em bother you – neither will I. Jus' remember what I told you. If people start askin' questions…?"
Beth nodded weakly and recited aloud, "Deny, deny, deny. Play dumb…"
"Innocent until proven guilty," they finished in unison.
Beth looked down at the gun again, the day of the funeral still fresh in her head. Still unsettling her.
"Those weren't all cops, though," Maggie said quietly, staring down at her weapon and speaking so softly that Beth almost thought she was talking to herself.
Beth furrowed her brow and lifted her eyes to stare at Maggie quizzically, waiting for her to go on. But she didn't. And Beth didn't have the courage to ask any more questions for the rest of the day. There was something painful in her big sister's voice that had leaked out with those five words, and Beth didn't think she could quite handle whatever was causing it.
On the eleventh day of shooting practice, Maggie seemed to be having her first decently good day since before the murders. She talked more than usual, though that only meant about three words every ten minutes. It was possible that it had something to do with Glenn being there, since she always seemed to be just a little bit happier when he was around. Although he was rather quiet these days, too. The bags under his eyes had grown dark, he badly needed a shave, and he appeared to be lost in his own head more often than not. Today, however, seemed to be a slightly better day for him, too, because Beth had caught a glimpse of a small smile on his face at one point, when he and Maggie were standing close together and whispering about something. Their improved moods – even though they were only slightly improved – helped to give Beth the courage she'd lacked when it came to finding answers to the new questions that were forming in her head every day.
She'd heard Glenn's raised voice coming from her daddy's study for enough nights to know that he'd helped, at least somewhat, in convincing Hershel to let Beth learn how to use a gun. Glenn would've never dared to disrespect Hershel, let alone argue or raise his voice to him, in any way six months ago – but things had changed a lot over the last six months. T-Dog wasn't the only one to show a side of themselves that Beth had never seen or heard before, nor imagined. By now, she was getting used to it, and almost expected it. She figured, at this point, it was only a matter of time before Otis and Patricia would be arguing in Hershel's study, storming out and away from the farm. Possibly forever. Even though it was starting to feel like Lerner and her goon squad had built a spider's web around the Greene Farm and the church, and they were just waiting for everyone to step the wrong way and get caught. She could see why her daddy was so on edge, so furious, so overwrought. She felt it, too.
But Beth had school to focus on; she was about to graduate in less than two months, and despite the minor setback that the murders had caused in her academic career, she was still on track to be one of the top in her graduating class. She chose the easy route in her family, for the most part – which meant pouring all of her energy, time, and passion into school and pushing out everything else at home. Besides the shooting lessons, she almost felt extracted from whatever else was going on around her. And Daddy had seemed content with leaving her out of it, as he always had. Even though Beth had still overheard some scattered things. It was kind of difficult, after all, to always tune out the loud arguments from the study, especially when they continued in the hall and all the way down the stairs.
Beth had shot twelve out of her fifteen targets with nearly exact precision, and as she stepped back to the open tailgate of the old pick-up truck, where boxes of shells were scattered about, Glenn looked over at her.
"Hey, that last shot was really nice," he commented as he handed Maggie another bullet to load into her magazine.
Beth gave him a small smile in return. "Thanks."
He nodded and turned to watch Maggie as she stepped up to the invisible line they'd designated in the grass a few feet away, positioning her body and taking aim at a target.
"Hey, um… thanks – for whatever you said ta Daddy," Beth said quietly, leaning toward Glenn as Maggie's gunshot rang out around them. "I know you helped convince him ta let me learn this."
He looked over at her and nodded, feigning a half-smile. "Don't mention it. I was just backin' Maggie up, really – but I do think you should know this stuff. Know about this stuff."
Beth's stomach was turning again, which had been happening a lot more frequently over the last few weeks. She glanced over and watched as Maggie took aim and fired another round, then turned back to Glenn as her big sister proceeded to take aim at the next target. "Are… did you guys find out somethin'? About – the killers. Or did the cops…? "
Glenn shook his head, a disappointed but unsurprised expression on his face. He sighed quietly and muttered, "Cops aren't doing… shit. Hershel is – well, he's pretty hell-bent on findin' these dudes. And I think we might've – "
"Glenn!" Maggie's voice interrupted him and he looked over at his wife, eyes wide. She had turned around, gun at her side and pointed toward the ground as she gave Glenn a look that said, 'what the fuck, dude?' She'd clearly heard what he'd said.
"Maggie," he started, watching her approach. "It's – you know she has ta know."
Maggie opened her mouth, about to argue, but suddenly stopped herself and glanced over at Beth indecisively, then back to Glenn. Her expression softened and she closed her eyes for a second longer than a normal blink, sighing softly. She gazed into Glenn's eyes, exchanging silent words with him, then nodded as her mouth turned into a small frown. Her voice sounded a bit defeated. "I… yeah. I guess you're right…"
They both turned back to Beth and she felt her stomach turning even harder, like a hurricane at sea. She already knew what Glenn was talking about. She'd heard enough of the arguments to piece it together. And not just the arguments in and around her daddy's study, between her family members. There were also plenty of arguments with all kinds of police officers, all over the farm and even on the phone. There were some days that Beth felt she was always in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she remembered why she'd hid away in her bedroom so often. Though she couldn't exactly stop herself from caring about justice for the murderers of her mother and brother. She wanted the two men caught just as badly as Daddy and Maggie and everyone else did – if not more so. She just hadn't realized how… cruel the police could really be before now. How cold and uncaring they actually were.
She'd thought they'd find the men right away. Surely, they'd want to catch two murderers and get justice...? But from the sounds of things, and the worsening appearance of her daddy, the police didn't give two shits about catching whoever killed Annette and Shawn. They did, however, care about Hershel and all the people he had working on his farm, and why the family was so secretive, and why half the farm was basically closed-off to any sort of visitors or trespassers. They definitely cared about Hershel Greene and his little, exclusive church out in the boonies of Senoia, Georgia. They did not care about the two men who'd broken into the farmhouse late at night and violently murdered a mother and her son in cold blood.
"The cops don't… care about findin' those guys," Glenn said solemnly, facing Beth again and gazing at her with apprehension, as if he were gauging her reaction before going on.
"Fuckin' pigs," Maggie mumbled under her breath, scowling.
Beth put on a stoic face and merely nodded in understanding, gazing back at him expectantly.
"We… your dad an' us, we're all working on um, finding them," he continued, voice wavering. "Before they…"
He furrowed his brow, having trouble finding the right words, apparently. Beth watched him patiently, but then Maggie interjected and finished for him.
"Before they come back an' finish the job," she said flatly.
Beth swallowed past a hard knot in her throat and stared into her sister's steely eyes. Her voice came out much stronger than she'd expected. "So did you find 'em?"
Maggie and Glenn looked down to the ground simultaneously, but Maggie lifted her gaze again quickly and met Beth's eyes to reply, "No. But we're close."
Beth pursed her lips and nodded in understanding. Glenn turned back to the tailgate and began stiffly organizing shells and boxes while Maggie gave Beth one last, steely gaze before turning and stepping back to the invisible line in the grass, positioning her feet and firmly grasping the gun in both hands in front of her as she took aim once more.
A gunshot rang out. Beth watched the small hole appear in the very center of the target in the distance. Another gunshot, another small hole. The sound no longer made Beth jump, or even wince. It was like background noise.
Then Maggie paused and turned her head to look over her shoulder and meet Beth's gaze. She seemed to be reading Beth's mind, somehow able to hear all the fears that were running through Beth's head. Or maybe she just recognized the look on her little sister's face.
Maggie spoke louder, with more assurance. "Things could change real fast, Beth. We gotta be ready for anything."
Glenn interjected, still staring down at the shells in his hands, "Babe – she's only seventeen…"
Maggie fired another shot, then said, "Yeah – she's almost an adult. And she's a Greene woman… Bethy,'member what Mom used ta say? 'Women are resilient. Women can adapt better than anybody…'"
Beth nodded and watched her sister turn back to aim the gun at another target, firing another round. She could hear her momma's voice in her head, clear as day, preaching those old words to the two sisters.
Maggie spoke again, finishing the sentiment loud enough for Beth to hear, though she kept her sights on the target she was aiming at. "'God made women t'do everything that men aren't capable of.'" Another gunshot.
From the corner of her eye, Beth saw Glenn continuing to organize boxes of shells. She could also see the way his hands were slightly trembling. She kept her lips shut tightly.
Beth didn't ask any more questions during the remaining days of shooting practice. She watched her sister's demeanor change daily, just like their daddy's, and made her own assumptions about what was going on behind closed doors. But something was building and she could feel it. At the very bottom of her stomach, like a long-forgotten instinct that was telling her to prepare herself, to bear for the worst. Or maybe it was just the tone of her big sister's voice, or the repetition in her words. Beth wasn't just learning how to shoot, because Maggie was also instilling a deep fear and paranoia into her – out of necessity. She knew that Maggie wanted her to be prepared, and not just because she'd stated it very clearly multiple times, or because Glenn had said the same thing at one point, but because all the signs pointed to a big storm looming ahead. And by now, Beth felt like the only thing she really could do, for herself or her family, was to make sure she was just as prepared as they needed her to be. She had to grow up and get tough. And fast. She had to take more cues from Maggie, remember every lesson she'd ever gotten from Shawn, and most importantly, get thicker skin like her daddy. She had to stop being so soft and weak, so helpless.
On the twenty-second day of shooting practice, there was a tense electricity in the air of the farmhouse, and Beth knew something was off after breakfast, when her daddy told her to stay in her room for the day and study instead of doing her afternoon chores. She didn't ask questions or argue because there was something on his face that she didn't quite recognize, and she didn't want to tempt whatever was teetering on the edge. She was relieved when Maggie entered her bedroom in the late afternoon, just in time for their daily practice. But her excitement for shooting the Beretta again quickly disappeared when she saw the mixture of emotions on her big sister's face.
There was no "hey, Bethy" or even a simple "Beth" when Maggie entered the bedroom. She sat down on the edge of Beth's bed in silence and immediately began wringing her hands together nervously. Beth thought she might've seen something that looked like a hint of relief in her face, but she honestly couldn't tell anymore.
"Is… everythin' okay?" Beth asked quietly, after several long moments of silence. Her gut was burning with dread.
Maggie nodded weakly but didn't look up from her lap. Her expression was thoughtful, contemplative, and her eyes were unfocused. Beth began to fear the worst but didn't prod. She sat and waited, watching her sister patiently.
Another long, quiet moment passed. Then Maggie lifted her head and finally met Beth's gaze, and she was wearing the stoic expression that Beth had grown to recognize as a stone-faced mask.
"Me an' Dad an' Glenn have been talkin'… a lot," she started, voice cracking slightly before steadying and growing stronger. "And… well, I think we all agreed that keepin' you so – sheltered isn't doin' anybody any favors. Especially you. It could end up bein' the most dangerous thing right now… Teachin' you how t'handle a weapon is… a start."
Beth nodded slowly, face becoming quizzical as she stared at her sister and listened intently.
Maggie sighed softly, licking her lips and glancing away briefly, gathering her thoughts again. Then she continued, "You need to see… how serious all this really is, Beth. You need ta see what can happen. It's gonna feel like gettin' thrown in the deep end ta learn how t'swim, but – "
"That's how Shawn taught me how ta swim, though," Beth interrupted, voice soft and quiet, and she wasn't quite sure where the words had come from. It was just the first thought that popped into her head, and it escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Maggie smirked for a split-second, but her face quickly became solemn again. She blinked and nodded, then said, "Listen, Bethy – instead a target practice today, we're… gonna do a different kinda lesson. But… I think it's somethin' we all need."
Beth furrowed her brow. "What d'you mean?"
Maggie swallowed visibly and looked down at her lap again. She was picking at her fingernails, and Beth could see from where she sat that the edges of Maggie's cuticles were already demolished from the last month of nervous fidgeting. When she spoke, her voice was emotionless. "We found one of the guys."
An hour later, Beth watched her daddy cut off Randall's hand in a vengeful rage, and then she watched Randall disappear without much explanation. She didn't ask questions.
For the last eight days of shooting practice, Maggie didn't speak except when absolutely necessary. But Beth found it oddly satisfying to take aim and imagine the face of Randall's accomplice in her head as she squeezed the trigger. By the end of their thirty days of firearm lessons, Beth hadn't missed a single target in over a week.
Wednesday evening played out much like the previous days had. Beth tucked the Beretta back into its safe spot and tried to forget about it. She had dinner with the boys, followed by reading time and play time. Then she and Daryl talked quietly, cuddled close together on the couch for a couple of hours before retiring to Beth's bedroom. The gun only weighed on her mind a handful of times; she was far too occupied with the boys to think about much else.
On Thursday, Beth awoke to a note on the fridge telling her to be ready by six-thirty that evening. She spent the day no differently than normal, though she made sure to dedicate a little more time to washing up and grooming in the bathroom, and Clementine stopped by for a few minutes in the early afternoon. The girls talked for a bit, but it was mostly gushing about Beth and Daryl's new relationship and their upcoming date. Beth borrowed a few things from Clem in preparation for the date, and then Clem went on her way after Beth promised to text her the next day.
When Daryl finally walked in the door from work, Beth was shut away inside her bedroom, slipping on the only dress she currently owned – something she'd bought on an impulse while browsing through the thrift store. By the time she peeked her head out the door to look up and down the hallway, Daryl had slipped away into the bathroom to clean up and get ready.
She finished getting ready, slipping on a pair of black flats she'd borrowed from Clem to go with the short, black dress she was wearing. She'd even taken the time to put on a little makeup (also borrowed from Clem). Though she was still a bit unsure about her appearance – part of her was afraid she looked too dressed-up, or that maybe the dress was inappropriate. It definitely wasn't a dress she would've worn back in Georgia. Maggie would've never let her leave the house in something so short and lacy. She was beginning to regret not asking to borrow an outfit from Clem, as well.
But then Daryl emerged from the hall and Beth's heart did a little flip at the sight of him, as well as the scent of aftershave that rolled into the room with him. She suddenly didn't feel overdressed by any means, because Daryl was wearing what looked like a suit. It was a dark gray color and had obviously been tailored to fit him perfectly. Beneath the jacket, he wore a baby blue, collared shirt with a simple red tie, and she was surprised to see that he was wearing black dress shoes instead of boots. Even in the dim lighting of the apartment, Beth could see that the shirt he was wearing brought out the bright blue in his eyes. And he'd combed his hair neatly so that she could actually see his eyes and their true color. For a second, she wondered if she would look underdressed next to him.
She'd been too busy admiring him to notice the way his eyes were raking her up and down, but now she could see the smirk appearing on his lips as his gaze stopped to meet hers. She smiled back sheepishly, her cheeks warming up.
"Damn," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he glanced her up and down once more. "You look… way outta my league."
Beth giggled and shook her head, tugging lightly at the lace hem of her dress. "Yeah, right – I was about t'say the same thing about you. I dunno if this dress is really… appropriate."
Daryl raised an eyebrow and grunted, still smirking. "Nah, trust me – it's perfect."
She smiled and felt herself blushing, then he was stepping forward and snaking his arm around her waist to pull her in close to him and lean down. As soon as his fingers made contact with her skin, the fluttering came to life in her stomach. They kissed for a long moment, and she had to stop herself from getting carried away when she felt his hand slipping down to cup her ass under the short dress.
When they pulled apart, sharing a knowing smile that expressed their shared excitement for the night, Daryl nodded his head toward the door and Beth took his hand wordlessly, letting him lead her out the front door of the apartment. He locked up behind them, then grabbed her hand again as they began heading down the hall.
"So, where're we going?" She asked as they descended the stairs.
He looked over at her with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes, giving her hand a squeeze. "You'll see."
to be continued…
A/N: So this flashback was set during the time between Annette's and Shawn's murders/funerals and the flashback we saw back in chapter 10 of everyone in the barn with Randall (if you remember that far back lol). Wonder who Randall's accomplice was...? ;)
Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Sorry it's short, I've had a busy week, but next chapter will be Beth and Daryl's date!