Daryl collected the spare set of keys for Merle's motorcycle from their hiding place. He had never taken Merle's ride without permission before, and Merle hadn't let him ride it in over a year. But he still knew where the keys were – under a loose floorboard by the sofa – and Daryl knew Merle would never find out he'd taken the bike as long as he put the keys back before morning.
Merle himself hadn't ridden the bike in a long time, either. Being stoned out of your head most of the time makes controlling a motorcycle much more difficult than controlling a car.
The ride to Ed and Carol's was short, just over five miles on the winding country lanes that crisscrossed the landscape like lazy riverbeds. Daryl had borrowed Merle's helmet as well, but hadn't bothered changing into the leather gear. He'd be on the bike for such a short time it hardly seemed worth it, and anyway, he wanted to go quickly while he still had the nerve.
What he would do, what to say to Ed, Daryl wasn't sure. He sat on the bike for at least twenty minutes outside their house, mulling it all over in his head. He decided to be straightforward with Ed, but not provoke him, and simply demand that Carol and Sophia leave with him. What he'd do with them then, how he'd even get them away on the motorcycle he had no idea. Maybe he could convince Carol to get Ed to give her the car. Daryl would threaten Ed with the police if he didn't let his wife and daughter leave.
Daryl was not a violent man. After growing up with his pa regularly beating him until he bled for years, and Merle getting into fights every five minutes ever since Daryl had been old enough to remember he had an almost visceral distaste for violence.
He could fight if he had to; Merle and his friends had made sure of that by frequently backing him in a corner and pushing him around until he lost it and fought them tooth and nail. He'd become quite good at it, actually. His upbringing, such as it was, as Merle's and his pa's punch bag had made him strong, but it had made him even more determined not to become like them.
His mind finally made up, Daryl approached the house. Until now he had forgotten how late it was, but despite the hour there were several lights burning inside. He knocked on the door.
It took several minutes before someone responded. Daryl was dithering on leaving when finally the door cracked open and Carol peered through the gap.
"Carol, hey." She looked more than a little surprised to see him. Daryl wasn't sure, but he thought she had been crying.
She didn't open the door wider. "What are you doing here?" she whispered.
"Can I come in? I need to talk to Ed."
"Daryl, I don't think that's…"
"Who is it?" came a rough voice from within. "That useless Merle, finally?"
Carol looked at Daryl pleadingly. "Just go, please."
Daryl placed a hand on the door. "I can't. Let me in."
Too used to obeying orders Carol opened the door fully.
Daryl entered the gloomy living room. Ed was sprawled in an armchair, wearing a grubby undershirt and sweatpants. He sneered when he looked up at Daryl.
"Fuck do you want?"
Daryl focused on what he had to say, trying to ignore his heart pounding with dread.
"Ed, I have come to take Carol and Sophia with me..."
Ed was on his feet in a flash. Even through the adrenaline Daryl marveled at the speed with which the paunchy man moved.
"What are you talking about, you faggot. How dare you come into my house and tell me you are taking my wife and daughter away?"
Daryl looked at Carol, trying to put reassurance into his gaze.
"Carol, go get Sophia..."
Daryl never got to finish the sentence. A movement from Ed caught his attention from the corner of his eye.
Ed had grabbed a baseball bat from beside his chair and had already covered half of the short distance towards Daryl. Daryl had time to half wonder why there was a baseball bat next to Ed's chair, and to take a step back while starting to lift his left arm, but it wasn't enough.
He didn't exactly see the bat coming at him, but he was aware of a searing pain in his left temple for an instance, before his world went black.
Daryl was only out for a few seconds, but he almost wished it had been longer. He came round, lying on the floor, to more agonizing pain as Ed kept bashing every inch of him he could reach.
Daryl curled into a ball instinctively, bringing his arms up to cover his head. He could feel something warm run down the left side of his face. His new position gave Ed perfect access to his side, and Daryl gave a yell of pain as Ed's bat landed hard on his ribcage. Daryl thought he could feel a rib crack.
He was dimly aware of someone shouting, but couldn't make out any words. He tried to look up from under his arms to locate the source of the noise, which he was sure must be Carol, but his vision was blurred and the room span sickeningly in and out of focus.
The next thing he knew was being roughly yanked to his feet. The movement made him dizzy and his reflexes were too sluggish to defend himself. He was hurtled roughly across the room towards the door.
Daryl knew Ed was shouting at him, but he couldn't make out any words. Someone was still yelling behind them, too.
The door was flung open and Ed pushed him through with enough force for Daryl to stumble and crash to the ground. He stayed down, too dazed to move, and the door behind him banged shut, leaving him in darkness.
He lay on the ground, willing the world to stop spinning and tried to steady his breathing. Each inhalation sent a shooting pain up his left side, but the more he slowed down the breaths the more the sensation subsided. Finally he pushed himself first into a sitting position, then back onto his feet.
His only thought, and even that was not coherent, more an instinctive need to be gone, was flight. Daryl stumbled towards the bike.
His fuzzy brain had latched onto just one thought: Get away. He tried to blink away the double vision and nausea that still came in waves and reached for the helmet he had left with the bike. Even in his muddled state he knew that not wearing it now, even with his head feeling like it was going to split in two, would be madness, and Daryl was briefly thankful that the helmet was one of those with a chin strap. Even so, putting it on gingerly almost floored him again.
With the helmet finally secured he steadied himself on the handles and swung his leg over the seat. A sharp pain from his ribs made him gasp but he didn't afford himself any more time.
As the road beneath him started to fall away and he put more of a distance between him and the nightmarish beating his head began to clear a little. He knew that he had not accomplished anything, had most likely put Carol in more danger.
The only thing he could think of now was to go to the police and press charges against Ed. Everything in Daryl screamed against going to the cops for help, but if that was what it took to get Ed locked up and away from Carol then that's what he had to do. And Rick was a cop and he was decent, or at least he'd started out that way...
Daryl lost his train of thought as a new wave of nausea hit him. His vision went blurry once more and he struggled to keep his body from going slack. He wasn't going too fast but even at this speed it was getting hard to keep control of the bike. He knew he had to stop, but before his sluggish brain could implement the realization everything went black again.
Rick couldn't sleep. He was lying on top of the sheets with the lights off, fully clothed. He realized that the fact that he couldn't sleep might be connected to this last fact, but he saw that as just punishment for what he'd done to Daryl.
It was now after one in the morning, and Rick hadn't moved in an hour. When his cell rang he almost didn't answer, but since it was in his jeans pocket he finally fished it out when it didn't stop. He could just ignore it if it was Lori, and Rick half hoped it might be Daryl, although he knew that was unlikely.
The number didn't mean anything to Rick. He pressed the receiver button.
"Hello?"
"Is that Rick?"
"It is. Who's that?"
"I'm calling from Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta."
Rick's heart skipped several beats. Carl!
"Sir, do you know a man called Daryl Dixon?"
Rick's heart started beating again, but then sped up. Daryl? What was going on?
"I do, yes. Is he all right."
"I'm afraid Mr. Dixon has been involved in a serious accident. He's currently in surgery."
"How bad is it?" Rick was already on his feet, toeing his shoes back on. Sometimes the cop autopilot came in damn handy.
"Can you come in? Also, do you happen to know if Mr. Dixon has any family?"
"A brother called Merle. I don't have a number."
"Actually that's ok, the only number in his cell's phonebook beside your own is for a Merle."
"I'm on my way now, but tell me how bad it is, please."
There was a brief hesitation on the other end.
"Don't delay setting off, Rick."