Update: September 2022
"If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."
-Toni Morrison
Although I marked this story complete a few years ago, I see that it is still being read and enjoyed by many new readers. It still receives favorites and follows to this day. I still get private messages from readers telling me what it means to them. I'm grateful for the feedback. Thank you to all who stumble upon this story and give it a chance. I still get a thrill whenever I get a new favorite story notification. It means so much to me that you readers are keeping Note To Self alive. xx Alva
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Welcome to my Daryl/OC fic in which my love for southern gothic merges with my background in Irish/Celtic mythology, myth, and magic. I added Walkers, an outsider girl heroine and an emotionally damaged hero. We got witchcraft, rock and roll, astrology, tarot, spells, telepathy, ghosts, premonitions and fated love all happening as the story moves along in the Walking Dead universe with some of my own plot twists to keep it fresh.
Rated M for language and VERY STRONG sexual content in later chapters. I don't want to surprise you if it's not your thing. This is erotic, empowering (hopefully) fanfic.
Ultimately, this is a story of redemption. I believe there is good in everyone and that people can grow and change for the better. Its never too late to learn and grow.
*Italics in the story indicate dreams and/or premonitions. Also inner dialogue. Remember, there is a lot of prophecy and seeing the future in this tale.
*Sophia is younger in this than on the show. She's about 8.
Thank you for reading!
*Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings , etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way affiliated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we'd given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
-Clementine Von Radics
She balanced the bottle of Jim Beam bourbon between her knees. Danni never drank Jack Daniels, which she considered a rock and roll cliché just by virtue of the sheer number of t-shirts its logo graced. The guys in her band loved their Jack she loved her Jim. Danni's dad had been a Jim Beam man too, when he couldn't afford or find Jameson. She only had a few memories of him, but his Irish brogue and taste for whiskey were strong ones. Perhaps she romanticized him when trying to fill in the blanks.
She hadn't wanted alcohol in a long time. After being a very big drinker, then an unquestionably bad one, she'd quit over a year ago. Bessie Smith sang to her through her earbuds as she waited for the liquor's anxiety obliterating effect to numb the hard landing as she fell off the wagon. She knew her iPod's battery would eventually die and wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to charge it again. She didn't know much about anything in the future near or far, but bourbon and blues were sure things. She took a swig from the bottle as Bessie belted it out. I can't sleep at night. I can't eat a bite, Cause the man I love, He don't treat me right, He makes me feel so blue, I don't know what to do I ain't had nothin' but bad news, Now I got the crazy blues. Danni was a singer, so she sang along feeling pretty crazy herself at the moment. She loved classic blues music. The emotion and strength of those women inspired her every day. Bessie, Billie, Ma Rainey. They were the original rock and roll women; underestimated pioneers in the music business who paved the way. The alcohol burned, but she didn't cough. She immediately downed another shot to stop that quick wave of nausea as the brave feeling washed over her. She could talk to anyone now. At that moment, however, she was alone with no one to tell it to. Her band members had gone off hours ago.
They were a few dates into a tour, on their way to their next rock show, when they hit gridlock on the freeway into Atlanta. It was rush hour traffic, the kind that made them miss soundcheck. But it was mid morning and the most chaotic traffic jam Danni had ever experienced. After hours of confusion and watching stranded motorists panic, her band mates Hayes and Luke decided to walk further up the road for some information. Most other people did the same. She stayed behind to watch their equipment and was able to tune into one radio station. From what she could hear through static, the emergency broadcast network stated that a public health crisis had hit and the national guard was deployed to some of the affected towns nearby to keep the peace set up shelters. A lot people were trying to get to Atlanta to ride out the situation. It seemed like overkill and she wanted to wait for her friends to return so here she sat, alone on a deserted Georgia highway, drinking whiskey. She should have been unloading the band's equipment through the back door of the club. Judging by the sun, she figured it was probably four thirty or five o'clock by now. She wanted to be at sound check, to set up her amplifiers, tune her bass and fight with the sound guy for more vocals in her monitor.
What is the opposite of stage fright? Stage calm? Stage anticipation? Whatever it was Danni had it. She loved the dirty wooden platform. Its floor covered in pieces of gaffing tape, cigarette butts and tacky with congealed alcohol. The grimy rock and roll stage was her real home; she never wanted to climb down. The air in a dark club was thick and warm, smelling of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Her ears would be full of voices shouting in conversation, bottles clinking and raucous laughter. Before the house lights went down, she loved looking look out over the crowd. The audience was a sea of restless, impatient, intoxicated, diffident or enthusiastic twenty-somethings. She felt real, validated when they watched her set up her equipment, check the mike, crouch down to tune her bass one last time. At each performance a piece of paper with the order of songs to be played was written out with a black sharpie marker and duct-taped to the floor next to her bottle of Rolling Rock beer. She used a thick plastic guitar pick to strum and hit the bass strings. Extra picks were taped vertically on the side of the metal stand that held the microphone in case she dropped the one she was using. Ritual tools. Every club provided a familiar grungy terrain under her converse sneakers or combat boots and an audience at her waist. She had always felt her place was on stage, and that feeling was reciprocated. She'd pretty much run away from everything in her life except the rock and roll stage. She wished she were there right now.
She opened the vehicle's side door for some air. She didn't want to be outside in the southern sun, but felt like a dog in a hot car with the windows up. She leaned against the Marshall amplifier and looked at the woods behind the yellow yarrow flowers bordering the highway. She'd never been an outdoorsy type and the vast expanse of trees made her feel insignificant. The late afternoon heat remained intense so she he twisted her dark hair and tied it up with a red bandana. She swiped sweaty bangs off of her forehead for what felt like the millionth time. She stretched out her legs, clad in tight black stretch jeans that rode low on her hips. She had knotted her thin white t-shirt up in a halter. Her black bra was slightly visible under the worn cotton of the shirt. Visible undergarments betrayed her punk rock roots.
To pass the time and settle her nerves she decided to do a Tarot deck dip. Her Irish born Nan had taught her to read tarot cards as a little girl, and she'd never gotten out of the habit. Deck dipping was when you shuffle the cards and pick one to use as a touchstone, rather than lay a full spread. The method worked well in a pinch, when you just needed a little guidance. Danni pulled the Tarot cards and her Nan's own hand written reference book from her army surplus backpack. She breathed her energy into them. She shuffled and put the deck face down, then took the top card and turned it over to reveal The Wheel of Fortune. Although she knew the interpretations by heart, seeing them in her Nana Brigid's long hand comforted her. She opened to the page in her book and read: The Wheel of Fortune suggests there are external factors that are influencing your situation that may be unknown to you or outside of your control. It is as though the Universe is just dishing up whatever it pleases at this time. It can feel quite unpredictable and unnerving as a result (especially if you like being in control most of the time!). Danni was a bit of a control freak. This is one of the challenging aspects of the Wheel of Fortune since no matter which way the Wheel of Fortune turns, it is impossible to try and change it. You might as well try to accept what is happening and adapt accordingly. If a crisis seems inevitable, recall that in every crisis lies opportunity. When you have been pushed in a new direction, know that every path leads somewhere, even if you do not know where it is. Such events are simply out of your control, and if you can accept that then the ride gets a lot easier. If you struggle against the Wheel, it will crush you. So just go with the flow! "Go with the flow" was a phrase she loathed. The Wheel of Fortune is about keeping optimistic and having faith in the Universe that it will take care of the situation in the best way possible. You need to remain optimistic yourself, thinking positively. This archetype allows your life to turn in more positive directions if you are willing to grow and expand. This is also a 'lucky' time in life when you are sensing the action of fate and destiny working in your favor. You may even be witnessing miracles or a very fortunate series of events.
Was it a positive but ominous message? It meant nothing at the moment. She would have started to worry if not for the liquor. She would have sat there alone until someone came and told her what to do if not for the liquor. Avoidance leads to anxiety, whiskey lead to action for better or worse. That's what always happened. She wasn't drunk, just confident enough to get that Wheel of Fortunes's cosmic flow going even if she wasn't sure she wanted to.
The cicada buzz and crickets' chirp were all she heard. She slid down out of the van's side door and slammed it shut. She felt for the keys hanging from her belt and shoved the Jim Beam bottle into her backpack to join her journal, tarot cards and leatherman multi-tool. She then locked the van, and said her goodbye to the velvet tapestry of 1970s Elvis hanging in the side window.
She hadn't walked far when she heard voices and spotted a Winnebago RV. She would have approached more slowly if not for the liquor.
People emerged cautiously from behind the vehicle. They were a mixed group of families that included couples with a little girl and boy about eight or so, two blonde women and an older guy who seemed to belong to the RV. No one in the distracted group spoke so she initiated conversation.
"Hi." The word, a casual greeting, sounded stupid when suspicious faces didn't answer. She went on, "I didn't know if I'd find anybody else out here. My friends took off yesterday to get some information. They're not back." After a minute of more staring and silence, a younger guy in a ball cap approached. He could have been a college kid.
"I'm Glenn." He gestured to the others. "We're trying to get to Atlanta, to the shelter."
Another man stepped forward. He looked like a grandfather on vacation in his Hawaiian print shirt and worn bucket hat. He smiled. "You're the first person we've seen in a while too. I'm Dale." He held out his hand. It was a formal, but nice gesture so she shook it.
"I'm Danni…"
"What's going on down at your end of the road?" Interrupted yet another man. The guy who asked had an air of authority, like army or something. He had that stride as he approached. He was solid and assured with thick dark hair and a deeply tanned face.
"Ghost highway. Nobody stuck around and nobody came back." She answered.
She noticed him staring hard, without pretense, at her navel ring and at her tattoos, one on each side of it. The birds looked as if they really could take flight off of her hips. His eyes continued to travel from her belt line up to the knot in her t-shirt just under her breasts. His gaze lingered on her body, not on her face, while he spoke. He thought he could just stare, take what he wanted with his eyes and run the show no matter where he was or who he was dealing with.
"Name? You got one? He drawled the questions without a smile. It was then she noticed the writing on his t-shirt: King County Sheriff's Dept. Nailed that one. Cops made her nervous, it was instinct. They judged by first impressions and she knew her appearance made her look like a punk rock troublemaker. Book cover: check. Snap judgment: check. Danni was pretty confident with her body and style. But, it had taken years of struggle to get there and she was pissed that she was letting this guy get to her. Creeping me out, she thought, especially since it looked like his wife and kid were nearby.
"Like I said, I'm Danni."
"I'm hungry," The cop's son whined.
"I know Carl baby. We'll eat soon." His mother soothed. "Right Shane?' She asked her husband.
"How? We don't have anything." He persisted.
"Buck up little man, we'll figure out." Shane called over to the kid.
The mom looked exhausted but Danni thought she was pretty. Her dark hair, long and wavy, framed prominent cheekbones
"Hey, I have some energy bars." Danni offered, approaching the mother and son, relieved to move away from Shane.
"Really? You don't mind?"
"No, please take them." She pulled four bars out of her bag and handed them to the woman. "I'm in a band and when we're on the road we always have a ton of these. We practically live on them."
"Thanks. This is my son Carl. I'm Lori."
"I have some candy bars too." Danni said quietly to Lori. "But I thought you'd rather have him eat those."
Lori gave her a weak smile. "We'll keep that secret for now."
Carl ran over to a Jeep Cherokee, where a short-haired woman and her little girl sat on the open tailgate.
"Here Sophia, you're probably hungry." Carl gave her one of the power bars.
"You really saved the day there," Dale summed up then added "Come on over, meet Andrea and Amy." He walked her around to the shady side of the RV.
Danni greeted them with a hesitant wave. She assumed they were relations of Dale. Maybe his daughters? Danni joined them on one of the lawn chairs Dale had set out next to the RV. Glenn had since positioned himself on the roof of the vehicle keeping a watch. Small talk revealed that the blondes were sisters, from Florida no relation to Dale. Andrea was probably in her mid-thirties and Amy early twenties so Danni was right in the middle at twenty-seven.
"You said you're in a band?" Glenn asked Danni.
"Yeah." she looked up in his direction."I sing and play bass."
"Anybody I'd have heard of?
"Probably not." She smiled.
"You look kind of punk rock. "
"We are a bit. It's an influence. We're heavy, but there's a melody, catchy hooks." She stopped herself, not wanting to monopolize the conversation. "We're from Austin coming to play some dates here in Georgia. Well, we were on our way."
"Texas? You don't sound like you're from Texas."
"I'm not. Long story short, I'm from Minneapolis originally but I moved to Seattle to play music with some friends and ended up in Austin."
"You've moved around quite a lot. I'd like to hear the long version of that story some time." Dale commented. "I love travelling this country. My wife and I-" he suddenly trailed off to a stop so Glenn jumprd in. "I'm from Michigan. I love music. I'm more of a DJ club mix kind of guy than grunge. That's a Seattle thing right?"
She nodded."Yeah, labels abound," she laughed.
The small talk soon became difficult. Danni leaned forward to rummage in her bag for a minute, then pulled out the bottle of Jim Beam. "Anybody?"
"Hell yes." Andrea enthused.
"Don't mind if I do. It's been that kind of day." Dale sighed. The bottle made the rounds and the conversation picked up. Although they were strangers stranded on a highway with an unknown future, the bourbon gave them relief. At least for the moment.
"Do you think that Merle guy will come back?" Amy asked, "He was like straight out of an episode of Cops, and I don't mean one of the police."
"Don't worry about him. I've dealt with the likes of him and that brother of his my whole career." Shane answered rounding the corner of the RV. "Can I try your CB again Dale?"
Dale nodded, and Shane hoisted himself up the steps into the camper.
Do you want to know what we know?" Dale asked Danni.
"Yeah, I do. Is it a virus or…?"
"Its going to sound crazy, unreal but…"
"When you die, you somehow come back. Your body does anyway." Andrea jumped in. "I feel so silly saying it. I wouldn't believe it myself if I didn't see it."
Amy added "When we saw it on the news, CNN for god's sake I thought it was a hoax."
"Night of the Living Dead. Movie. You ever watch it?" Glen asked.
Danni nodded waiting for him to laugh. He didn't, but Amy broke the silence.
"You get bitten or scratched by one of them, the dead ones and you get sick…you get it."
"How are they gonna stop something like that?" Danni figured the corpse reanimation thing was an exaggeration, but something contagious was spreading and people were dying. "Quarantine? Vaccines?"
"Nothing! Nothing but damn static." Shane muttered exiting the RV. He shook his head. "You keep trying it Dale."
"I really hope Merle doesn't come back." Amy repeated. "He's scary, I don't care what Shane says. There's only one Shane, but Merle has that brother of his too. I mean they both seem sketchy. And I know Merle is on drugs, it's obvious. "
Andrea put her hand on her sister's shoulder. "My innocent little chick. So sheltered," she teased. "Amy thinks those two redneck hicks escaped from prison and are going to murder us in our sleep and steal our supplies."
"Hey, don't laugh. They have a gun. Merle does. Oh and the other one Daryl has the biggest knife I've ever seen."
"Don't worry, losers like that usually can't get themselves organized enough to pull any kind of real scheme off." Danni said. "Short on brains, long on being idiots."
"Don't get yourself into a panic." Dale tried to comfort Amy.
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After sunset Dale insisted Danni stay with the group rather than walk back to her van alone. She was glad she did when they heard the planes and saw The U.S. Army dropping bombs on the city in the distance. They watched as parts of the city burned, engulfed in crimson and yellow flames. Black smoke billowed into the night sky and the stench of sulfur reached them. Everyone was in shock, either looking at each other or not being able to face one another's terrified stares at all. Danni gazed off at nothing.
"The government… our authorities did they give up?" Dale muttered and shook his head. "They did. They gave up on us."
Survival for this group was in their own hands. They could see Atlanta had no refugee center, no shelter. What they couldn't see just yet was that the city was overrun with the dead.
Shane was the only one moving. He shouted orders. He knew these people needed to pull themselves together if they were going to make it through that night, never mind to tomorrow.