Disclaimer: Oh, it's definitely not mine.

Chapter Summary: Paul is being haunted, and there's nothing he can do about it. Post-ep for "Sorry-Grateful."

Coda: Season Seven

A story by Ryeloza

Eight: Sorry

Sometimes Paul wishes that he could tell Beth that he's being haunted. He wakes up next to her in the morning and sees her lying there, so peacefully, and he knows that she wouldn't think he's crazy; she wouldn't judge him. But just as he reaches over to shake her awake, just as the words feel as though they're going to spill effortlessly out of his mouth, he hears her in his head and he can't.

You're going to tell her about me, Paul. As if you haven't betrayed me already…

It's getting harder and harder to keep all of these secrets too. Beth always looks at him so imploringly. She's longing for him to let her in, and Paul wants to because she has let him in, and he's positive that he can trust her. There's that same kindness in her that Mary Alice had.

Really, Paul. You're going to compare her to me?

So he keeps quiet.

Tonight at Thanksgiving dinner, he came closer than ever before to confessing his deepest, darkest secret, but still the voice in his head—that ghostly, ever-present voice—interfered, practically screaming at him to stay silent. Even now, as he stands in the kitchen, monotonously washing the dishes by hand, she's with him. But that's not surprising. More and more often, she is in his head now.

Best Thanksgiving yet, dear?

Best in awhile. Even the thought is timid.

But incomparable to our feasts. Do you remember that year Zach was so sick, and all he wanted for Thanksgiving dinner was pie?

Yes. You made eighteen different kinds. Zach was almost hysterical with delight.

I knew how to take care of my guys. That's all I ever wanted: to take care of you and Zach. I made the ultimate sacrifice to keep him safe; to keep you safe, Paul. And what have you done for me in return? Have you even seen Zach since you left prison?

He doesn't want to—

Our son's life is in shambles thanks to you, Paul. I did what I had to, and you were too weak, too pathetic to hold our family together.

I'm sorry.

You're sorry. Well, a lot of good that does us.

But I haven't completed ruined things. You know that. There was Martha…

Yes. Yes, you avenged my death. That is something, Paul. Perhaps the smallest something.

And you know I'm trying to get the rest of them. I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten what they did to us.

To me!

Yes. To you.

My so-called friends. The ones who didn't care enough to notice that I was in trouble. The ones who dug through my past like it was something I carelessly discarded for anyone to see. The ones who destroyed our family with their constant prodding and questioning.

They aren't going to get away with it.

They've gone unpunished for thirteen years, Paul. Thirteen long years, I've been dead and buried, and they've been going about their lives with smiles on their faces. They never even think of me. Just like they never thought of you.

I know.

So why should I believe that you, the pathetic coward who spent twelve years rotting in prison, will actually be able to do anything?

I will! I am! You'll see.

I'm growing impatient.

Soon. It's going to happen soon. I swear.

"Paul?"

He spins around, spraying soapy water against the floor; Beth jumps out of the way just in time. There's concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

He wants to say no. He wants to tell her everything.

"Yes, dear," he says tonelessly. "Just finishing up here. I'll be to bed soon."

Good, Paul. It's just one more lie. One more necessary lie.

"Okay," says Beth, stepping over the sloshed water to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

She's laughing, in his head, as Beth leaves the room. The sound makes Paul want to cry, but he can't. He can't do anything.

Someday soon, that's going to change.