A/N: Lots to unpack in this super long chapter. Let's get to it shall we. Please enjoy.
Chapter 3 – Interim Section Chief, Rick Grimes
What's going on? He felt too groggy to verbalize his thoughts. A jarring array of colors swirled in his brain. The light was both comforting and disturbing. He had an overwhelming need to escape. His concept of time was skewed. How long have I been here? The whirling hues slowly settled. He was gradually coming into consciousness.
His body felt stiff. The pounding in his head didn't allow for relaxation. Blinking his eyes in quick succession helped to usher him into whatever reality this was. He heard mumbling and indistinguishable groans.
He opened his eyes to the realization that he was on a cold hard surface - a floor.
Something felt off. Weird. Was this a dream?
They helped him into a chair; a black woman, mid to late thirties, short dark hair; a white man, late forties, greying hair, approximately 6' 3." The woman had concern etched across her face. The man - lab coat, maybe a doctor - seemed nervous.
Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes telescoped the room. There was a woman lying on the floor. She had long braids - No, Dreadlocks - covering her face. Four other individuals were sitting in chairs. He adjusted his vision to the unapologetic fluorescent light in the room- No, a lab. This is some kinda laboratory.
One of the women, a young attractive Latina woman, seemed angry; the man did too. The man looked like nearly every red-neck trouble maker Rick had arrested countless times throughout his career. They hated cops, didn't care too much for anybody of color, and were general pains in the ass. This guy, she called him Mr. Dixon, seemed just like that.
They each began asking questions. The main question being, "Where are we?" The query remained unanswered by the two 'captors.' They continually skirted the question. "What do you remember?" they'd ask. The man eventually said he was Dr. Edwin Jenner and the woman was Jacqui Stone. He believed that those were their names, but he didn't believe much else.
It was possible that they were telling the truth. It was just as likely that they were lying. They were both very good at deflecting. Redirecting every inquiry back to its requester. They gained a lot more information than they divulged.
Rick asked a few questions of his own, though he had already determined that these two individuals were lying. And the doctor wasn't good at it.
But the others. Can't put my finger on it. These five people felt oddly familiar. It was a weird and unshakeable feeling. He sat and observed. Almost as if he was being drawn into a flame with neither the desire nor the will to turn away. He was connected to them. The very pragmatic part of the deputy nearing his mid-life years did not believe in serendipitous drivel. He was an investigator of truth and a detective of facts. These feelings he was having made no sense; lacking any reasonable foundation.
He had spent a fair amount of his years in church singing songs and praying to the unseen deity. But there are limits. The existence of God was just about the only thing he was willing to believe on faith alone. Everything else required proof.
Then, there was her. He watched as they lifted her into the awaiting seat. Her hair fell away from her face. His stomach flipped. Or was it a churn? He was inexplicably drawn to her. This dazed woman, sitting only an arms distance away, had some kind of control over him. Without his consent, he felt a bond with her. The feeling was so strong that when she opened her eyes and he saw her face, he almost lost himself. Almost lost the part of himself that was tethered to reality. Responsibility. Fidelity.
He had what could only be explained as an 'electrical connection' to her. Which makes No damn sense. The feeling, however, was so strong that he was sure, if he touched empty space between them, he would suffer an immediate jolt.
The connection he felt to her, and these other strangers, made no sense. Yet there it is.
Luckily, however, the overwhelming feeling seemed to lessen as the minutes passed. Whatever grip she had on him was quickly dissipating. The invisible cord that had his heart beating faster than it should, and his body excited in a way that was inappropriate, steadily crumbled; like coming down from the highest high one could ever have. He stared at her as he regained his senses.
He struggled to keep his eyes off of her. If this was some kind of lab experiment, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his compliance. If this wasn't an experiment, then he wouldn't give into his most basic instincts. Also, he had never been the jerk who stared at beautiful women. As minutes passed, his self-control became stronger. He had more of a choice to look away. The bond had lessened. He could now act in accordance with his manners and in the way his values demanded.
When the others focused their attention on Jenner and Stone, he casually glanced her way. Not staring like before. It was more like what Carl and his friends called low-key gawking. The other three 'lost' women were attractive; Maggie was the All-American country girl, Rosita the non-nonsense soldier well aware of her sexuality, and Carol the sweet earthy mom-next-door. Then there was Michelle Onette. Michonne.
She had a beauty that Rick didn't normally take note of. Yes, he'd noticed the slight spillage of her cleavage before she discretely fastened the remaining buttons on her purple blouse. Noticing ample breasts was nothing new. He was a red-blooded man after all. It was everything else that gave him pause…
Hers was unconventional beauty. Exquisiteness that existed outside of the societal idea of what beauty is. Her skin was a creamy dark chocolate. Her hair long and natural. He knew the style was called Dreadlocks- knowledge gained primarily from television and movies. Her lips were full. Some women probably spent thousands of dollars to have her cupid-bow lips. Her eyes were almond shaped with dark brown iris' that held all her secrets, while at the same time freely giving them away. Her eyebrows were thick yet perfectly arched. Her adult sized button nose was rounded and wide with tips turned up faintly so her nostrils could be slightly seen. Her fingernails had the French tips that he liked. Really liked. It was a secret turn on. But it was her fingers that mesmerized him. They were long and smooth. Graceful. He'd never notice a woman's fingers before.
She was a breathtakingly different creature. It's not just that you're attractive. What the Hell is it? And dammit, that perfume.
An indisputable dynamic was happening between them. He couldn't stop looking at her. She wouldn't look at him. It was disturbingly comical. Even when she nodded her head in agreement to his words, she kept her eyes focused straight ahead. What does she know? Is she afraid of giving something away with just a simple look? Did she take to heart the old saying that 'eyes are the window to the soul?' Maybe it was true. Maybe she just thought it was true. Could she have been afraid of divulging some deep secret simply by looking him in the eyes? There was no way of knowing. But something was up with her.
The answers that the doctor provided didn't make much sense. Even without doing research into this 'program' they spoke of, things didn't add up. Nothing made sense.
The Rules of Investigation were ingrained in him: (1) Review the possible (2) Take note of the probable (3) Don't rule out the improbable (4) When one plus one equals anything other than two, go back to square one (5) Above all else, Don't show your hand until the case is complete.
This case was not close to being complete.
He motioned towards the others, "I can't speak for everyone, but I think we all appreciate your candor." Rick glanced at that the other subjects in this experiment. They all gave an affirmative shake of the head.
"Can you give us a moment to talk things over?" Being the Interim Section Chief had turned him into a bureaucrat. There was no way around it. There was also no way to get away from the dogged heart of a skeptical deputy that he would always have. He had become an all-encompassing leader with tact. Able to say, without having to say, 'You two aren't invited.' Jenner and Stone got the message loud and clear.
"Oh, of course," Jacqui took the hint. Without another word she and the doctor made their way to the area closest to the door.
The six should-be-strangers walked in the opposite direction. Before they came to a complete stop, Daryl groused, "Anybody else think everything they just said was bullshit?"
"I was thinking that too," Maggie kept her voice low, "And I didn't say anything—but I feel like I have a hangover—from alcohol. I had enough of 'em in college to know what one feels like."
"I feel it too," Rosita concurred; her eyes glancing into the faces of the others for confirmation that they were in the same boat.
Rick wasn't sure where his unease and lack of true awareness was coming from. It ain't alcohol though. He was trying not to show his annoyance at not being able to figure all this out. He rubbed the back of his neck; shaking his head in frustration.
"I can't say I feel like I have a hangover," Michonne dropped her voice to a lower octave, narrowing her eyes on Rosita's shoes; "I do feel—kinda sore." She squeezed her legs imperceptibly.
What was she not saying? Rick was doing his best to read this unreadable woman. She was holding something back. He suddenly felt like he was standing on the precipice of illumination. It was right there. Whatever this was seemed just out of his reach.
"Not to say that what they told us is impossible nowadays. But even with technology—it seems just a little bit too farfetched," Carol added.
"Yeah."
"They referred to you as Deputy," Rosita added, her eyes giving him a skeptical once over, "which means you're probably trained in detecting B.S. Better than we are. You have any ideas?"
Rick didn't answer right away.
He was almost more interested in these five people than he was in the two people that he'd already assessed were not telling the truth. He watched them. All of them. Paid attention to their movements. To the inflection in their words. To their tone. They were just as confused as he was. They wanted the truth, unlike what they were being told. He needed to keep what he knew, or was piecing together, close to the vest. He needed to be sure.
Why were their memories so mixed up? Or had their memories been erased? Are they connected?
"I think we're all right in our assessment that they're not telling us the truth. With most lies, at least convincing lies, there's generally a shred of truth that makes it easier to believe. Our problem is not knowing exactly what parts true, and what parts are lies. I think we need to err on the side of caution. They are chomping at the bit to find out what we remember…" he paused for a moment.
He thought a moment. There was something he needed to remember. Something just out of his grasp…
"There is something that they don't want us to remember. Something that they aren't sure we can remember. They know that we're skeptical. It's important that they don't let them know how much. How much we piece together." It was another gut feeling that he would rely on. "The most important thing we can do is not allow paranoia to cloud our already blurry vision."
All but Michonne stared at him. They were trying to make sense of what he was saying. The dutiful attorney, however, kept her hand on her pendant and her gaze on the blank white wall.
Rick continued, "What are some things that we remember that we haven't divulged? I think that we have the answers to the questions that they won't answer." He glanced over his shoulder at the two conductors of this experiment. Then back at his current group of allies. He watched as
"I remember a motel. May have been a hotel."
"I do too. Vague memories of a door. Seems like a motel door. Hotel doors, at least the nice hotels, don't have doors like that." Rosita glanced at everyone's face, "Don't judge me." There was playfulness in her half-smile and rolling eyes that they had not seen until just then.
Rick didn't share Carol and Rosita's memories. The fragments were slowly being amassed. Detective work was a lot like playing chess - as well as putting together a puzzle. Staying ahead of your opponent. Always looking ahead. What moves will they make? What moves can you make in preparation of their actions. Then came the fun of building the puzzle into a discernible image.
"Daryl," he waited until the agitated man was looking him in the eyes, "Check your pockets," he whispered.
They all glanced at the Deputy and then to the mechanic. Without plan or thought, the women reached into their pockets as well.
Daryl dug his hands into his front, and then, back pockets. He opened both hands. The right held a key ring with three keys and a key fob on it. The second held a matchbook, a folded twenty-dollar bill and several pieces of lint. He turned the matchbook over.
"Where's it from?" Carol asked.
"Traveler's Inn Motel in Decatur. Seen it before. It's not far from the highway. Never been there before tho."
Rick could see the bewilderment on Daryl Dixon's face as his own words didn't exactly fit this current circumstance. He was holding proof that he had in fact been to the motel.
"Hmm."
"Probably the motel Rosita and I remembered," Carol presumed, giving no eye contact to the others. There were a number of conclusions they could jump to. Almost as if collectively deciding not to go down that road, they moved on.
"Whatcha got?" Rick asked Carol. The woman's advocate opened her hands. She held a roll of lifesavers and a receipt from a diner named The Diner.
"Have you ever been there before?" Rick asked as he and the others took a gander at what she held.
"N—No," she muttered lost in thought, "not that I can remember."
"This is—" Maggie squinted, scrunching her nose as she looked at the blue business card of Glenn Rhee, Restaurant Manager of the Orange Duck Restaurant. She stared at the card as if it would speak. As if it would somehow answer the questions that had grown exponentially as they stood in this glass cage.
"By the look on your face, I assume that you've never been there." Rick thought out loud.
She shook her head in answer to the Deputy's words. Not taking her eyes off the foreign card in her hand.
Rosita was holding a piece of paper. It was folded a few times over. A pamphlet of some kind. She unfolded it. No. Not a pamphlet. It was a program from a church service. First African Methodist Episcopal Church in Atlanta.
"It's from— today?" She questioned and informed, with no hope of getting an answer. While pondering what could not be explained, she elaborated, "I rarely go to church. And—and if I do I—I'm Catholic." She glanced down at the paper in her trembling hand, "What the Hell," she deadpanned.
Rick and Michonne were the only ones left. He looked over at her while she regarded Rosita. There was such kindness on her face – true empathy.
They were a group of confused people. Scared. Even Daryl. He hid his fear in a façade of anger. But he was scared.
"Um, what about you—Miss Onette," he sputtered, staring at the side of her face. She seemed set on not facing him.
Michonne responded by revealing what she was holding; her car keys and a nearly crumpled piece of paper. She stuck the keys back in her pocket and proceeded to unfold the paper… "This is the way my son Andre folds pictures. The one—he makes at school," her voice was low as she spoke to no one in particular.
Rick stared at her as she gingerly unfolded the paper. It looked like a child's attempt at doing some type of 'cool' paper folding trick. Her eyes grew large after two seconds of examining the picture. She shuddered, inhaled sharply, and let out a quiet gasp. The paper dropped to the white tile. One hand flew to her mouth.
The others stood baffled. Frozen. Rick took the lead, bending down to pick up the paper. The others stepped closer.
"Wha—" Rosita started and then paused as she looked at what Rick held in his hands.
"Oh My God," Maggie whispered, her brows raised.
Rick glanced over to the other side of the room. Intent on keeping an eye on the doctor and his assistant. They were having what appeared to be a heated discussion. After ensuring that they weren't being watched, he looked back at the picture in his hand.
It was a child's vibrant drawing of six people in colorful clothes. The man on the far left had what looked like some type of tool in one hand, and an arrow in the other. The woman next to him had short brown hair with a large book in her hand; the picture on the book appeared to be green eggs. Next to her was a woman with long brown hair sitting on a grey animal – possibly a horse. On the other side of the woman on the possible horse, was a woman with long black hair, shorts, and a child's version of breasts. Next to the buxom woman was a brown woman with long braids, and a huge smile. On the end, next to the happy brown woman, was a man with dark pants, a Sheriff's badge on his brown shirt and blue eyes. A large yellow and orange sun sat above the group with what could've been either clouds or birds next it. Along the bottom were the words – Mommies Friends – written in a child's hand.
Wow. This looks like something Carl made back when he was in Kindergarten. Her son must be about or five or six. As upsetting as it was to see the picture, it was also somewhat comforting. They were strangers, but they had obviously gotten along. They got along well enough for her little boy to meet them. She wouldn't let just anyone around her child. I'm sure of it.
For the first time since waking on the floor, he felt at ease. He looked at the face of the others. They didn't. It was understandable. He was trained in a way that they were not.
"You—You all have met my son," she was mystified and unabashedly confused, "But when?"
He could hear the unease and fear in her voice. He had an overwhelming need to touch her hand. To offer comfort. To somehow assure her that everything would be alright. Retaining distance was what he chose instead.
Seconds ticked away into minutes. No one spoke.
"Well," Carol broke the silence, "I wish I could remember meeting your little guy. Seems like he was fond us," she leaned forward, extending an eye reaching smile.
"Your son is a good little artist," Maggie said, also smiling at the anxious mom, "he's got real talent."
"Yes, he does. Look at the rack he put on me. I like that kid," Rosita exclaimed, reaching over and smacking Michonne on the arm. She was obviously a woman who didn't let things like political correctness stop her from speaking her mind.
Everyone quietly laughed at the inappropriate comment. In that moment they were simply six people enjoying each other's company. No fear. No confusion. No looming dread.
"The devil's in the details my friend," Carol winked at Rosita.
"What's up with the arrow?" Daryl added to the ease that they were currently enjoying, "Is it an arrow?"
"Maybe he thinks you're an archer. Are you?" Maggie's Southern twang reappeared.
"Nah. I ain't no archer," he glanced at the picture that Michonne was still holding, "The kid thinks I am tho. Nice."
There was something about this grumbling guy that Rick was starting to like. The women seemed to like him too, based on their short chuckle at his sullen nature.
They spent more time looking at the picture. Each taking time to make comments on Andre's depiction of them. Rick noticed the strange rhythm they seemed to have with one another. They all, especially the women, seemed to find an even deeper human connection as they fawned over the little boy's vision of them.
Rick didn't want to interrupt this momentary reprieve, but they still had a lot to figure out; more random clues to piece together. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. Their eyes were now back on him. Lingering smiles on their faces.
Almost forgot what we're doin' here, "Maggie's smile seemed to add a sparkle to her green eyes, "We still haven't seen what you have, Deputy."
"Call me Rick. Please," he said reaching into his pockets. Nothing in the back. Nothing in the front left. Something strange in the right. Smooth. Flat. Round. And a small piece of paper.
Rick grasped both objects and pulled them out of his favorite blue jeans. He looked at the piece of paper first. It was an eighty-four dollars movie ticket receipt from the Cineplex Theater in Decatur. He stared at it for a moment and then handed it to Carol. The remaining item in his hand was even more perplexing. It was a black 1.5" button/pinback with block letter that said - INTELLIGENCE IS THE TORCH OF WISDOM. Their eyes moved from the ticket and became glued on the small pin.
"The tickets at the Cineplex are fourteen dollars for adult tickets. Looks like this receipt is for six," Carol said, lightly waving the ticket before glancing over to Rick, "Do you think we all went to the movies together?"
"I—really—really don't know," Rick said honestly while staring at the button/pinback in his hand, "looks that way."
Daryl mumbled something that Rick couldn't hear clearly. Sounded something like, "I ain't gon' to no girly-ass movie or nothin."
"What does that mean?" Maggie asked the Sheriff's Deputy, pointing at the button, "I mean, beyond the obvious."
"Intelligence is the torch of wisdom." Michonne said quietly to herself.
I have No damn idea what any of this shit means, he thought, without audibly answering the burning enquiry. He mindlessly dragged the smooth metal through his fingers. Rubbing the smooth surface. In search of an answer beyond the white letters that stared back at him. A random affirmation. I should know what this means. Why the Hell don't I?
"Another clue to where we've been for the past few days. Wish the damn thing could speak." Rosita's no-nonsense words summed it up.
Rick could feel their eyes on him as he fiddled with the button, "I hate to keep sayin' that I don't know. But," he tilted his head, glancing at the others, and offering his best lop-sided smile, "I don't know."
For the first time since they'd been standing there, Michonne looked at him. It was the briefest of time. No more than a second. She looked to him for the answer. And there was something else in her eyes. He slid the button back into his pocket and ran his hands through his hair.
The thickening silence was instantly interrupted, "Where's our purses?" Carol raised suddenly. They each glanced over to their empty chairs. There were no purses or other items.
"What about our phones?"
"Maybe in our cars."
"Speaking of that, where are our cars?"
"Daryl and Michonne are the only ones with car keys."
"That's right."
"Based on the things they said, and what they didn't say. I'm pretty sure they didn't bring us here. We must've come together."
"Could've been Uber. Or Lyft."
"I ain't takin' No damn Uber."
It was a round-robin of thoughts, questions and speculation.
With that, Rick knew it was time to go. There was nothing else that they would learn from Jenner and Stone. He had grown anxious and continuing to deal with these two people who were not being truthful would only make him angry.
He raised his voice just enough to guarantee they would hear him, "Why don't we go to the diner that Carol has a receipt for? Can't say we'll find the answers there. Seems like as good a place as any to start though. Plus—it's a chance to look at everything that we have. Start piecein' some things together."
"Sounds good to me."
"Plus, I'm hungry as shit. Um, 'scuse the language." The corners of Daryl's mouth twitched upwards a tad.
I'm beginning to like this guy, Rick couldn't help but think.
"Yeah. Not sure where I'm goin' after that. But food sounds good. Bein' away from those two assholes sounds even better." Rosita's eyes narrowed towards the two in question as she spoke.
Without missing a beat, Michonne smiled at the younger woman, "You can stay with me. Apparently my son already likes you."
x-x-x-x
Rick closed the doors for both ladies, walked around to the passenger side, and took his shotgun position. The car smelled like her. With all the things that he'd noticed, her warm sweet scent was one of the things he tried to ignore. The smell of flowers, fruit, spice or whatever went into creating her perfume, was merciless. It wafted into his nostrils right after he awoke in the glass chamber and never left.
Much like the perfume, her car suited her. Even with its high-tech gadgets, the mom that she was, was ever present. Her son's small treasures, pieces of forgotten candy, and miscellaneous school belongings were spread throughout the car.
She started the ignition. Music floated through the speakers. Before the interior light in the car went dark, he spotted his keys and phone in the center console.
"Guess this answers one of my questions," he said, picking up his items with a grin.
Michonne sneaked a quick look at him before proceeding to back out of the stall, following Daryl towards the highway.
"Shit Yeah!" Rosita yelped from the back seat, "Here's my purse—and Yes. My phone's in here. Michonne, I think this is probably your purse. Gray Coach?"
"Yep—that's it," Michonne answered, her voice sounding distant and distracted.
"Nice purse," Rosita complimented.
"Uh—thanks."
"When we get to the diner we can all check our phones. Might be the best way to not only figure out where we've been, but also what we did over the past few days," Rick interjected into the beginning of a girl talk conversation that Michonne didn't seem interested in having.
The light from the backseat caught his attention. Rosita was fixated on her phone with a frown on her face as she scrolled through the messages.
"Anything interesting? Maybe more clues that can help us figure all this out?"
"No. So far it's just a bunch of text messages from a few of my friends. A couple from work. And one from my aunt. Some of the text messages are from a few days ago. Doesn't look like I've responded to all of them. I did respond to a few. Nothing really interesting though. Looks like I have some voice messages too." she sighed, "This is so fucked up."
Rick desperately wanted to check his phone. But doing so next to someone who was unable to check theirs seemed inconsiderate. He would just wait until they got to the diner.
Almost as if she could read his mind, "Don't you wanna check yours?" She asked, not looking away from the road and tail lights in front of her. It was one of the few times that she'd spoken directly to him.
"Uh, No. I'll just wait 'til we get to the diner."
"Oh. I see—that you're married," she paused for a moment, glancing at his left hand and the glowing gold band, "Don't you think your wife, family, will be worried?"
"Maybe. If it's anything like Rosita's, then I've probably responded to anything that's been asked. I'm curious. But, I can wait. Seems only right."
"Point taken Deputy," Rosita piped in, "but patience has never been my strong suit," she chuckled.
"No worries," Rick replied.
Except for the periodic comments from Rosita about purses and matching shoes, the remainder of the drive was done in virtual silence.
"Yeah," the distracted driver mumbled in response to most of the comments.
They arrived at the diner in less than thirty minutes. She pulled into the stall next to Daryl's car. Once they exited the vehicles Rick recommended that they check the trunk of both cars to see if there was anything in there that would help them. In Daryl's car they found his, Carol's and Maggie's bags. In Michonne's car they found hers, Rick's and Rosita's.
The diner was not familiar at all to Rick; or the others as it turned out. They sat at a large table and placed their orders with the friendly waitress.
When the server stepped away, Rick had everyone put the items they'd found in their pockets onto the table. He also suggested that everyone go through their phones and look for any messages that seemed odd; paying close attention to the date and time stamp of each message.
"If you look at the dates of everything that we have, you can see a pattern. We've apparently been with or around each other for the last three days," was what he told them. It was an easy deduction. The more deeper answers would not be found tonight.
There were messages that stood out and offered more information into their movements over the past few days. The most interesting one was from Daryl's brother Merle who was either incredibly stupid, incredibly racist, or both. The text referred to a Nubian Princess with a big booty hugging on to Daryl like he had either just given her and people their freedom or had blew her back out. It ended with several emoji's that, taken as a group, could only be considered as extremely misogynistic and inappropriate. Daryl had responded to the text with the words – Stupid Ass. Eat Shit. Daryl was definitely a 'why waste words' kind of guy.
Rick could see the embarrassment all over the mechanic's face; the sorrowfully apologetic way he looked at Michonne. Offering a silent apology. She simply gave him a huge smile while tapping his hand
The hug Merle spoke of means that she knew Daryl before this. Most of what they found pointed to them all knowing each other before they woke up. Though, for some reason, he was bothered by this particular piece of the puzzle. His stomach did a somersault when he saw the kindness in her eyes directed towards the other man. It was tantamount to some type of unwarranted jealousy. Along with everything else, it made no sense. He could not possibly be jealous. He'd ear mark that info and deal with it later.
Rick still could not make neither head nor tail of what he found in his pocket. There was no doubt in his mind that he and the others had placed these specific items in their pockets for a reason. They were trying to tell themselves something.
Together they stumbled upon the first answers of the night. There were messages in the notes on their phones. All six of them had written nearly identical memos to themselves. Carol's informed her that her car was at the motel. Daryl's told him to make sure Carol got home safe. Rick's told him that his car was at the motel and added that he should give Maggie a ride home. Maggie's informed her that her car was at home and she could trust the deputy to drive her home. Rosita's said to go with Michonne, and that her flight home was booked for Monday (the next day). Michonne's said to take Rosita home with her.
Rick could tell that there was more in Michonne's notes than she said. Her eyes narrowed and she trailed off as she read. What are you hiding? He didn't want to insult her, or drive a wedge between her and the others, but she was holding back. He smiled, tipping his head at her, and kept his thoughts to himself.
"We were obviously looking out for each other."
"Yep."
"That's good to know."
"I'd think it was sweet if it wasn't so damn freaky."
Carol's comment caused them to do something that they had yet to do together. Laugh. The laugh that shakes your shoulders, splits your sides, and causes your eyes to tear. It continued until the not so subtle side looks for other patrons became overbearing. Even Daryl had given in to his most basic human need to laugh.
"Maybe this is some kind of mind control. Makes just as much sense as subliminal messaging."
He wasn't sure who made that particular comment. It was just one of the many that had been thrown around as they sat at the table.
"This may sound weird, but for some reason I feel safe with you guys. And I don't trust most people," Rosita said.
"I feel the same way," Maggie smiled in agreement.
They finished their meal without much conversation. Everyone was too deep in their heads to talk. Rick was actually looking forward to driving the young country girl teacher home. Once he dropped her off he would have the time to drive back to King County alone with his thoughts. Without the distraction of Michelle Onette. Maybe able to put this all together without her eyes to cloud his mind. It would also give him the time to figure out how much of this he would share with Lori.
When they were finished, they got back into the cars they'd arrived in and drove to the motel.
The goodbyes at the motel would stay with him for a while. His time alone, driving to and from work, were the only times that he'd allowed himself to reflect on it.
x-x-x-x
"Hey Dad," his son greeted from the front porch, as he walked towards the door.
The past few days had been difficult. With the exception of random flashes, he still had not recovered the memories from those days. Through his conversation with his family and co-workers, he'd managed to piece together some of his actions. The biggest pieces came from the five people who awoke in the lab with him. The aberrant clues told them where they'd been. Nothing told them why. It was frustrating.
His background check into Jenner and Stone had not given him any more information than they had already disclosed. He even looked into his co-victims. Everyone was what they seemed. All appeared to be decent law-abiding citizens...
Six law abiding citizens who'd been given some type of subliminal prompt. A prompt that caused them to lose time. Do things that they were not aware of. Do things that were possibly wrong…morally.
Frustration had turned into inner turmoil. It had been two days of simply going through the motions of life. Work had become nothing more than a rote process. His production level had significantly decreased at work. At least five hours of his regular work day were spent staring at the pin/button with the informational affirmation. He rubbed it. Fiddled with it. Tapped it. Still couldn't figure it out.
Home was not much better. If zombies really existed, he was sure he would meet the minimum qualifications to be one.
He couldn't sleep. When he shut out conscious thought and allowed dreams to take over, he saw her eyes. Her large brown eyes begged for him to answer. They lingered on. It was unnerving. He could only escape her eyes when he was conscious.
Hearing the child-like freedom in his son's voice was his lifeline. He smiled his first genuine smile the entire day. Carl was at the age where pre-teens and teens become moody and sarcastic. But not Carl. He was still the same sweet kid that he had always been.
"Hey son," he walked up to the younger Grimes, ruffling his hair, "how was your day?"
"It was fine. School's a daily struggle, though," he smirked, "I'm barely makin' it through."
"Yeah. That's tough. Glad your makin' it through too," he joined his son in his teen silliness.
"Oh Dad. Here's the mail," he stuck it in his father's hand, "I'm still waiting on my order. It's been like three days already."
"Hmm. What exactly are you waitin' on again?" Rick asked distractedly as he mindless flipped through the several pieces of mail in his hand.
"Dad," Carl stopped mid-stride to the front door; exasperated and mildly disgusted, "How could you forget? I ordered the new issue of The Beatle Bomber from that guy on EBay. Remember? How could you forget? Best comic ever. I mean Really Dad."
"Sorry son. It's been a long few days."
"No worries Dad. I'm gonna go get my homework finished." And just like that, Carl disappeared into the house to tackle a new task.
The scent of his wife's Wednesday meatloaf hit him as soon as he entered the house. She was a creature of habit. For the most part.
He walked into the house. Once he'd dropped his bag on the sofa, he followed the scent and noise. His wife was standing by the stove when he entered the room.
Lori was above average height, slim, with long dark hair. She was an attractive woman. Didn't look much different than she did when they married straight out of high school. He'd always appreciated how she looked. Never wanting to be the type of husband who took his wife for granted.
Their marriage had not been without its difficulties. The first few years were hard. The honeymoon phase ended without much warning and fast tracked them into the 'work hard to stay above water phase.' They treaded water off and on for years. The last few years, however, had gotten better. He listened to her when she expressed her concerns. He held his tongue when his words could cause an argument. He tried to be more present in his home and marriage. When she decided that now was a good time to try having a baby, he didn't disagree. He'd wanted more children right after Carl became a toddler. She was reluctant to have another baby once he began his career in law enforcement and was rarely home. Now she was ready.
"Hey there. How was your day?" He asked, not walking into the kitchen completely.
She looked up from the pot where she was stirring something that was either rice or pasta, "Hey," she smiled, "It was good. How was yours?"
"Long. Tiring. Glad to be home," he sighed. She stepped away from the stove and over to him. Leaning up, she kissed his lips and then laid her hand on his chest.
"Is it a new case, or just the regular bureaucracy?"
"Just the regular rigmarole of the job, I guess."
"Well, sit and relax. Dinner should be ready soon."
"Okay. I think I will," he said turning to walk back into the front room.
"Did you see Carl? I think he was outside."
"Yep. He ran up to his room. Probably on some kid website. Pretending to do his homework," he chuckled at his assessment of his son's behavior.
"You're probably right," she laughed, walking back towards the stove.
He was used to not telling Lori about what he dealt with at work. Most of what he'd witnessed in his professional life were not things that he'd ever want her to have in her head. But this was different. He had not only lied by omission, he'd lied outright. There's no way that she, or most people, could understand what he was going through. Even if he could tell her about Jenner and Stone, and the 'program' he'd been an unwitting participant in, he couldn't tell her about her. He had another woman stuck in his head. Another woman so deeply ingrained in his subconscious that he could barely close his eyes without seeing her eyes.
Nope. Not somethin' I can tell anyone. Maybe them. No. Let those sleepin' dogs lie.
The stress of the day was fading into the background as he began to look through the mail. As soon as he saw the letters – the writing - on the envelope he froze. The sharp and concise print learned years ago in the Explorer Program. Never cursive. It's my handwriting. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. His heartrate sped up. His gaze quickly shifted; scanning the room to confirm that he was alone. His breath hitched. The feeling of doing something inappropriate overtook him.
A pot clanked as it was placed on the stove grate. Shit. He nearly jumped out of his skin. A chuckle escaped him at the ridiculousness of his sudden jumpiness.
"Did you say something?" Lori called from the kitchen.
"N—No," he responded back.
She poked her head into the room with a smile, "Okay. Oh. And dinner should be done soon. Do you want a beer?"
"No. No thank you. I'm good." He shook his head.
She went back to her task. He ran his hand over his face. The very comfortable, average sized living room suddenly felt small and suffocating.
His legs were like lead as he made his way to the nearest Ottoman in the room. Without taking time to ponder or overthink, he opened the envelope. Removed the contents. The six by nine-inch stationery paper reminded him of a letter he'd received from a girl in middle school. It was light blue with white clouds in the background. There were three sheets of this strangely familiar paper. He scanned the words on the paper. Suddenly too nervous to allow his eyes to adjust beyond the initial blur of the words.
Can't do this. Not here. He folded the paper, put it back into the envelope and stuck it down into his pocket. Rising from the comfy chair he strode to the kitchen.
"I need to take care of something at the office. Shouldn't be too long," he said.
Her back was to him. He could see her shoulders rise. An exasperated sigh filled the room. Rick knew what was coming next. Lately their relationship had become more contentious. His guilt and lack of sleep was not helping.
"You just barely got home," she turned, wiping her hands of the dish towel, "Isn't it something that can wait 'til tomorrow?" This had been an ongoing argument that never quite became an argument; more of a tension filled discussion. They danced around her growing irritation at his long work hours. She made it about Carl. He made it about trying to provide a better life.
"No. It can't wait, Lori." He attempted a smile, stepping closer to her, "I'm sorry. I should be back before long."
She wasn't giving in so easily, "You know, it's been days since you've had dinner with us. Even when you are here, you're not really here." There it was. Locked in this cyclical stalemate. Her lips were pressed together. They temporarily served as dam holding back the flood that was aching to spill forth.
Patience. He softened his expression. Forcing a smile that he was sure looked like a smirk to her. Don't get mad at her. You're lying right now Grimes. Suck it up, "You're right. There's just been a lot goin' on."
"I get that, Rick. You're great at your job. But you still have a son that needs his father."
He held in the annoyed breath that was aching for release. This was generally where the 'discussion' really got started. His job was the wick. Carl was the flame. Not this time. She stared into his face. Ready for his rebuttal.
He smiled, "I'll take Carl out this weekend. He's been wantin' to go to the Speedway. We can spend the day together. He can invite a couple of his friends if he wants. I'll also take you out to that steakhouse you like." He walked closer to his annoyed wife.
"I'm really tryin' here Lori," he said softly, placing a kiss on her cheek.
Her shoulders relaxed. "I know you are, Rick," she relented, running her hand over his stubbly face, "just hurry back, okay."
Hours of deescalating workshops that he'd taken part in over the past few months paid off more in his marriage than at work. People want their feelings addressed. They want their feelings validated. It's the one thing that most people had in common. Initially it felt like a mind game. When the classroom exercises spilled into his real life. It seemed wrong. But it worked. His marriage was surviving because of those workshops. Lori thought it was the marriage counseling. He knew better. His marriage was the benefactor his training. Hours of practicing self-realization modules. Internalizing what it takes to move through strife without loss of life or property.
"I will," he promised, grabbing his keys and making a quick trek to the door.
The various lobes in his brain did their job. He drove on autopilot. The music drowned out the thoughts that were sitting in his prefrontal cortex. Waiting to be pondered and dealt with. The thoughts were fighting for release. He reached over and turned up the volume. Drowning out the temptation. He sang off key to every song that wailed through the speakers.
He parked in his reserved spot. There was no real reason to drive back to work to simply read a letter. It didn't make sense. Except it did. This letter would probably change his life. If he had to explain this to someone, he would be at a loss for words. There was no way to explain it. Was it intuition? The same intuition that told him that he and Michelle Onette had been intimate. Would the letter confirm what he already knew—deep down.
"Maybe I should just burn this god-forsaken letter," he drawled, retrieving the mail from his pocket.
The tap on his window shocked him out of his thoughts, "Hey Chief," he looked to his left to see the huge toothy smile on Deputy Victor Tillison's face. God Dammit. He put on his professional work smile and pushed the button; lowering the window.
"Sorry Chief. Didn't mean to startle you," the young Deputy said with a sorrowful grin.
"Good evening Deputy Tillison."
Victor Tillison was one of the new deputies that Rick had brought in during his short tenure as Interim Section Chief. Tillison was young and eager. He reminded Rick of how green he and Shane were when they first joined the department. 'Young, dumb and full of cum,' the senior deputies would always say. The desire to help people and make the world better was written all over the face of the young man – Wish I could be that green again – Rick reminisced often.
"Thought you'd left for the day, Sir," the young man continued.
"I did," Interim Chief Grimes replied, "forgot somethin' in the office." He put the window up -in the young man's face- turned off the engine, and then stepped out of the car. Tillison stepped back to allow him space.
"I—um—was speaking with—uh Deputy Walsh earlier," the young deputy stammered while attempting to gather his courage, "about the possibility of –taking on more duties." He fumbled with the note pad in his hand.
Internally Rick laughed at the young man's nervousness and drive. Outwardly he kept his face stoic, giving nothing away…
"I appreciate your drive and temerity Deputy. Come by my office tomorrow and we'll discuss it."
"Oh WOW! Really? Yeah!" Deputy Tillison was only seconds away from pumping his fist in the air or jumping up and asking for a high-five. It took him a moment before he composed himself, "I mean, Uh, thank you Sir," he did his best to kill his grin.
You have the worst poker face of anyone I've ever seen – Rick smiled, ending the young man's suffering, "See you tomorrow Deputy."
"Yes Sir. Good night."
Rick surveyed the parking lot while he watched the young man walk away. There weren't many cars remaining. Everyone's off living their lives. Their normal lives. Wonder if mines will ever be normal again.
He shook his head; ridding himself of the doubts.
x-x-x-x
The station was nearly deserted. The evening shift consisted of only a handful of deputies, one receptionist and two dispatchers. Rick was able to walk the long hallway to his office and cross paths with only a few people…
"Good evening, Chief," they each said as he passed.
He walked into his office and closed the door. The letter was in his hand. Wasting no time or thought, he removed the letter from the envelope.
Rick,
This is going to be the weirdest and most earth shattering letter you will ever read. I'm not sure exactly how to start this. Not even sure what I should say. I'll start with the obvious and then go from there. Don't trust Dr. Edwin Jenner and Jacqui Stone. I had Tom look into them. He didn't find anything. I looked into them myself and I didn't find anything either. My gut tells me that there's more to them than what's on paper. Your gut is undoubtedly telling you the same thing. I don't think they are bad people, but you and I both know that that doesn't necessarily make them good either. You and I are the same, so you probably have the same feeling. Trust it. Even a good person can turn ferocious when they're cornered. Remember Old Man Burris' dog? Just keep both eyes on them.
I got ahead of myself. Let me back up a little. I don't know what Jenner told you when you woke up. Did you wake up in that glass chamber with the others, or did they move you? I'll never know, but I don't think they would purposely harm you or the others. They messed around in our lives without considering the consequences. I do think that they considered their actions to be good and for the benefit of the world. At least that's what they convinced themselves of.
Let's move on to other things. Now is the time to sit down if you aren't sitting already. Also, you should read the rest of this alone.
Rick stopped reading and glanced around the office. It was a nice office with newish furniture inherited from the recently retired Section Chief – his previous boss. If this Interim assignment became permanent, this would be his office. And barring anything scandalous, the job was already his. He picked up his water bottle and took several gulps. His attention went back to the four sheets of paper in his hand.
Remember how you, Shane and Doug use to laugh at the ridiculousness of movies about aliens, time travel and science fiction? Well, I don't know about aliens and I'm not really sure about time travel, but other science fiction things are true. Certainly, in our case. This may sound like an episode of The Twilight Zone. I know it does to me, but what I'm about to tell you is the truth.
The reason that I know you so well is because you and I are the same person. I guess we're not the exact same person, but I'm you from a different earth. Actually, a parallel dimension. Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. If someone told me this, I'd immediately require a Psych Eval. But as crazy as it seems, deep inside, you know that I'm telling the truth.
I don't know how many dimensions exist. Maybe just two, or maybe millions. Either way, I'm from one of them.
My life and yours were nearly identical until about 3 years ago. My world went through a type of war and everything change. I met Dr. Jenner and Jacqui at the CDC right after the world went to shit. He and some other scientists had created a machine. Can't say I understand all the particulars, but he and Jacqui ended up in this world. He recreated the machine, booted it up, and brought me here—to your world. I know this sounds ridiculous.
I was with five of my friends at the time he zapped me into this world. They were brought here too. Our bodies remained suspended between worlds. However, our minds went into your bodies. We had access to all your memories but not your thoughts.
So, let me tell you about the five people that came with me. They're not just my friends, they're my family. I trust them with my life.
Daryl Dixon is like my brother. He has one of the best hearts of anyone I've ever known. I know you probably didn't see that when you met him. Trust me, he's not just a backwards red neck. You can trust him Rick. He's a good guy.
Rosita Espinosa is a tough woman. She's like Daryl when it comes not letting you see her big heart, but trust me, it's there. She's very loyal.
Maggie Rhee is a pistol. Don't let her being a farm girl fool you. The Maggie in this world is probably not as tough as the Maggie in my world, but believe me, it's there.
Carol Peletier is the one that will perplex you. She's good at hiding who she is. She spent many years being abused by her husband and hiding that abuse. Her smile is mostly a mask. She's a true chameleon. But she should never be underestimated. She's loyal as hell and will kill, if need be, for those she loves. The Carol in this world is undoubtedly not the same as our Carol, but I know it's inside of her.
This is the part that I've struggled with telling you. How much do I say? I don't know what's right here, but I know that I have to tell you this.
He didn't allow his eyes to drift beyond the period after the word this. His heart rate increased again…
Shit- "Take a breath, Grimes," he instructed himself before sitting the letter on the desk and standing up. He walked to the window opposite the medium sized book shelf.
His hands were trembling. Fear gripped him. An indescribable fear. The fear of death, disease, criminals with guns, spiders, and so on, were regular fears that he could handle. But this was different. This fear had him temporarily paralyzed. This was the fear of losing everything. The fear of losing his family, his job…his sanity. Everything. He knew that reading beyond that period would change his life. It was why he couldn't sleep. Knowing the truth deep inside but not wanting to accept it. The eyes that haunted him. The touch that he desired. The scent that enraptured him.
Glancing back towards the desk. You have to read this; the thought was clear.
"You need to know," he mumbled. Sitting back into his seat, inhaling the resolve and exhaling the fear, he picked up the letter…
Just like you, my marriage was not in the best place three years ago. You and your Lori began marriage counseling which seems to have saved your marriage. Before my Lori and I could try counseling, the world took a drastic change. It made our already rocky marriage worse. She passed away shortly after. It was a horrible time. Before she died we weren't exactly happy, but we'd come to a place of contentment. After her death, I didn't think I'd survive. I knew I had to though. I had Carl to love and care for. Carl is an amazing young man. I'm so proud of him.
Before I go any further, let me just assure you that I never touched your wife. She's your Lori, not mines. As impossible and improbable as it is, I managed to fall in love. The other person that was with me when I came to your world was Michelle Onette. We all call her Michonne. She's the light of my life. I love her in a way that I didn't know was possible. She got me through some pretty difficult times. She's truly the love of my life. That's not a negative on Lori. It's just the simple truth. Much like I know that you would never cheat on Lori. I'd never cheat on Michonne. It's not who we are.
A tear dropped onto the paper. He didn't realize he'd begun to cry. Tears for Lori. Tears for Carl who had lost his mother. Tears for Rick. Tears for a man who he knew better than anyone… "He fell in love. My God," Rick whispered before standing to retrieve facial tissue from the end table that sat near the door. He held tight to the letter, nearly crumpling its edges as he grabbed the tissue box. His eyes were slightly blurred as he focused his sight back on the letter…
The reason I'm telling you about her is because when we arrived here we lost. Lost in every way. We needed each other. We needed to be with each other in every way. It was not about lust or some physical desire. It was about a connection. We needed each other. It's difficult to explain, even to you. She's the light within the darkness that often consumes me. It's a darkness that would've destroyed me if she hadn't come along. We both needed that light here in your world.
We spent the night together. We were discreet. I know you like I know myself. You've never cheated on Lori. Neither of us are that kind of man. Yes, it was your body, but it was my mind and my soul. I didn't feel your presence when Michonne and I made love, so I don't think it is a part of your memory. I hope it's not a part of your memories, which is why I struggled with telling you. I didn't want you to beat yourself up over something that was completely out of your control. I'm also telling you about Michonne because should some thought or memory of her flash through your brain, I don't want you to go crazy or spend your days giving into guilt.
Also, I don't want you to hold anything against her. The Michonne in this world probably has no concrete memory of anything either. Although, I think I should tell you that my Michonne said she felt this Michonne's presence when we were together. It's possible that this Michonne may have some memories that you don't. We both feel incredibly guilty about that.
I did some research into the Michelle Onette of this world. She's pretty amazing. She and the others are really good people. It may sound strange and I probably shouldn't say this, but I hope you all will somehow remain in each other's lives. Just in case you all didn't exchange numbers with each other when you awoke, their names and numbers are on the back of this letter.
I used some of your hidden cash so there would be no digital or credit card paper trail. Sorry about taking your money, it wasn't mines to take. But mostly, I sincerely apologize for using something (your body) that wasn't mines to use.
In closing, I wish you all the best. I found my soul mate at time when it didn't seem possible. If Lori is yours, then I say a very honest prayer that you both live a very long and happy life together. If she's not, then I pray you find the soul mate that you deserve.
With all Sincerity, Rick Grimes
He turned the paper over. The names and numbers of six people were written neatly in his handwriting.
x-x-x-x
How do I process this? He asked himself that as he drove home; the bombshell letter still in his hand and still on his mind. He continued to process it as he sleepwalked through his life for the next three weeks. He went through his daily routine—still on autopilot. Work got done at the station. His superiors were pleased. His subordinates were helpful. The Section Chief position was all but his. The mayor was set to visit the station the following week to make the official offer.
Both Dr. Jenner and Jacqui Stone had called him regarding their follow-up meeting. The first couple of times he politely told them that his work demands for too great, thus not allowing him time to meet. He was less polite by the fourth call. It was one thing to think they were liars; it was a whole different thing to know without a shadow of a doubt that they were. The idea of being anywhere near them made him physically ill. Subliminal prompt my ass. He wasn't sure if the others met with the two disingenuous researchers, but he had no intention of doing so. Not ever.
Each day he awoke with the resolve to reach out to at least one of his fellow 'captors,' then the day would end, and he hadn't done it. He was torn between wanting to forget and wanting desperately to remember. He had driven out to Daryl's auto shop. It ended up being a drive by. He just couldn't face Daryl or any of them—not yet. His own private off the book's investigation into their whereabouts during the lost days had proved beneficial. There was information that he needed to share with them, with her. He would. Eventually. It was an inevitability. He wanted to see them. The last time Rick had felt free was the night at the diner with the five strangers. Had he ever laughed the hard?
His home life had stilled. Lori knew that he was working hard to secure the promotion, so she didn't balk too much when he stayed late at work and left early in the morning. He'd kept his promise about taking Carl to the Speedway, and her to the steakhouse, which seemed to appease her. Her 'fertile day' for the month had come and gone, based on the ovulation calendar in their bathroom. She gave him the silent treatment for a couple of days after the date passed, which was mostly wasted since he was barely home. She eventually let it go and life went back to normal. Or at least normal for everyone but him…
He kept Rick's letter with him at all times. Reading it anytime he was alone. At times he slipped away from friends, family or co-workers to be alone so he could read it. He'd memorized nearly every word of the four-page letter written on girly stationery. He also kept the affirmation button on his person. It no longer lingered in his pockets awaiting his mindless fiddling. It was now pinned on his jacket when he went to work, on his dress shirts when he went out, on his athletic gear when he hit the gym, and on his t-shirts when he ran out to the grocery store. He told those who asked that it was something he'd picked up at some random store. It, along with the letter, had become his constant companions. His life lines.
The other change was one that was not as easy to consciously address…
He couldn't bring himself to touch Lori intimately. Whether it was guilt, lack of desire, or something deeper. He just couldn't do it. Actively avoiding her, with work as an excuse, had become his go to excuse. The excuse would soon become more difficult to sell. The bathroom calendar was a daily reminder that he'd have a task to perform with her soon.
It had been years since they'd had an active sex life. Rick always figured that it was par for the course in a marriage. Sex happened on birthdays and other special occasions. His marriage, as he assumed was true in most marriages, was not based around sex. It was about work, kids, mutual understanding, commitment, and respect. Sex was far down on the list. But lately he couldn't stop thinking about just that. Not the actual act, per se, but what it means.
Reading Ricks letter had shattered his world - or perhaps just shed light into the dark crevices that he purposefully ignored. It brought into question everything that he thought he knew; from the universe, to human existence itself. The way Rick had talked about her being his soulmate. How he described sex with Michonne as a way of connecting. He couldn't get past it. He had begun to long for something that did not seem possible. Were he and Lori capable of that type of connection? It finally hit him. Cognizant of truths that he'd been running from. Late one night, sitting on the couch, while his wife slept soundly in their bed. He stared at the letter, squeezed his eyes shut, and allowed the truth to illuminate the darkness –
What they had is the exception, not the rule. A connection like he described is not in the cards for me. For us. Sex with Lori will never be like what Rick described. Am I okay with that? Am I okay with all of that? I have to be okay with it. Don't I? This is what commitment means. This is what life means. I can't allow Lori to see the disappointment on my face when we make love. I don't think I can hide it from her. Maybe I can fake it. Maybe she's been faking it for years. Maybe we both have. She deserves more. We both do, I guess. Fuck. What the hell are you thinkin' Grimes? Shit.
When he went to bed on August 9th he had a normal life. Wasn't perfect, but it was normal. There was only one earth, one Rick Grimes, and one reality. From August 10th to this day, only one month later, normal had become a long-forgotten dream. Onlookers assumed his life was rocketing to the stars. He knew it was actually spiraling downwards, destined for a major crash.
He sunk his head deeper into the couch cushion. I should take her to Hawaii like she's wanted for years. Maybe after the promotion is a sure thing. She'd like that...
"…We could celebrate," he mumbled, audibly continuing the conversation that was going on in his head. His dull headache had morphed into an extremely persistent pounding. Undoubtedly from lack of sleep and unrelenting confusion.
I don't think fancy trips, marriage counseling, or even self-realization modules can fix this. The thought rose above the annoying distraction in his head, "It's time that she and I have a talk," he softly told Rick's letter as he folded it back up and slid it down into his pocket. I also need to talk to the others. Especially her.
A/N: Thank you so very much for reading. All reviews, follows, and favorites are so very appreciated. Blessings...