Later that night, the Kingdom was a buzz with excitement. Carol rolled aimlessly down the hallway watching as people filled the halls and marched single-filed into the cafeteria. Carol positioned herself far away from the growing line. She lingered there for a few moments, sighed, then turned herself around back down the empty hall. She kept going, until she passed by the only room still occupied.
Morgan was sitting on his bed, fiddling with his staff. He looked up, noticing his visitor. Carol's voice was small when she spoke. Almost apologetic.
"I didn't know you had a son."
Morgan smiled softly. "Duane. That was his name. He'd be around Carl's age. Maybe a little older."
Carol's throat tightened. "I had a daughter."
"They don't ever leave you, do they?"
"No."
Morgan sighed, staring down at his hands. "I didn't kill him, but I may as well have. It's because of me that he's dead. My mistake cost him his life. The guilt alone is what did me in, is what drove me to madness. I was dangerous. I wasn't human anymore. I killed so many people. It didn't matter who they were. They don't leave you either, the people you kill. Their faces stay with you. But they're not there to haunt you or to torment you. They're there to warn you. To keep you from becoming something you're not. Because only a truly evil person's conscience is ever clear. They don't see the faces. They would never beg for death to ease them from the pain. Because they feel no pain. You're not evil, Carol. You're not a monster. You feel it. You feel the pain everyday. Your humanity hasn't left you."
"And if I have to kill again?" Carol said. "If I have to make that choice?"
"There's only one reason why you would ever kill," said Morgan. "And that's to protect the one's you love."
Carol felt tears spring to her eyes. She didn't even bother to wipe them away. "Then I can't love anymore," she whispered.
"Sorry," said Morgan, "but I just don't believe that."
Feeling incredibly exposed, Carol reversed herself out of the room, wanting to get away as fast as she could.
"Carol."
She paused half way out the door.
"Go to the feast tonight," said Morgan. "Be out there. Eat something. Try to enjoy yourself, even if you don't want to. It's a start, at least."
Carol did not turn back to look at him. She left the room and continued down the hall, in the opposite direction from the cafeteria.
The hallway was incredibly dark. Moonlight poured in through the windows reflecting off the lockers and floors, giving everything an eerie, bluish glow. The raucous sound of the feast faded into silence the further she rolled away. She just wasn't ready to be with these people. Not yet, anyway. She needed time to think, to process everything Morgan had told her. You're not evil, he had said. You're not a monster. She wanted to believe him. She wished with all her heart that that was true.
Carol turned a corner, and to her surprise, saw a man standing there, alone in the darkness. Startled, she gasped, not expecting to see anyone else that night. The man was tall and lanky, with sandy blonde hair and red rimmed eyes. He was leaning up against the lockers, and his face was flushed and sweaty. When he finally took notice of Carol, he gave her an odd sort of grin. "Hello," he said. "Nice wheels." The man must have thought that was funny for he chuckled to himself then.
Carol said nothing. She ignored him as she pushed herself down the hallway.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa— hey, wait a minute now, hold on," said the man, throwing his arm out and blocking Carol's path. The smell of alcohol clung to his breath and Carol blanched. The man was very drunk.
"I think I know you," he slurred. "You the new one, right? You and that black guy? I saw them bring you in. So what'd you do to piss 'em off?"
"Excuse me?" said Carol.
"I over heard those patrol guards talking. You know, the ones that found you. Those dumbasses love to talk so much. It's gonna get them in trouble one of these days, heh." The man smiled wryly with a dry sort of chuckle. "Anyway, they mentioned about a couple of unsavory types out there on the road. Same people you ran into, I reckon. So what'd you do? Must've done something. I mean, look at you. They shot you up like you was swiss cheese!" Carol drew back as the man wheezed out a loud, drunken laugh. "Yep, there's bad people out there, that's for sure," he said. "Some bad... bad people..."
"Is there something you want?" Carol demanded. She was in no mood for this.
"If I were you..." The man leaned in closer now, dropping his voice to a mere whisper. "I wouldn't make any plans on staying here."
Carol felt an icy chill in the air, and she fought back a shiver. The man was smirking, like he knew something she didn't, and it unnerved her. She appraised him closely.
"Why?" she asked.
The man shrugged. "Bad things just happen sometimes. 'Specially when you least except it. You just... well, you just never know, do you?"
Carol stared at him. The man chuckled again, and stumbled backward, almost tripping over himself. "You take care," he hiccuped. "And enjoy your stay..."
Carol watched the man stagger away, down the hallway in the direction she was heading. She sat frozen in her wheelchair unsure of what to do. She suddenly did not want to be alone anymore. What that man had said was so strange... did he mean anything by it? What exactly was he trying to say? A nagging, suspicious feeling was growing in Carol's mind. She quickly shook her head. The man was just a drunken idiot. Even still... he had left her feeling cold and anxious, and the darkness of the hall was slowly closing in. Carol turned around. The wheels squeaked as she rolled herself the other way, back towards the sounds of life, and back towards the feast.
The cafeteria was spread out with long, wall-to-wall tables, and everyone had a place to sit and eat. Carol sat at the end of the table closest to the exit. Everywhere she looked, people were laughing and talking, smiling broadly at the people next to them, across from them. They were all so happy. So grateful to be there. Carol pushed her food around with a fork, not hungry. No one paid her much attention, except for the occasional glance or two. She didn't belong there. These people weren't her family. Every last one of them could die and she would feel nothing. Is that how she wanted to live the rest of her life, feeling nothing? Emptiness was a feeling, she supposed. Unconsciously, she scanned the room, looking for a familiar face. Looking as if hoping that any one of them might reveal themselves to be someone she knew, someone she loved...
Stop it, she thought. Don't you dare go feeling sorry for yourself. This was the choice you made so you're just going to have to live with it. You did it for them, remember? You did it for them...
A man down the isle caught Carol's eye. She watched him curiously as he approached a young woman, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. The woman turned and her face lit up with joy. The man sat down next to her and produced from behind his back a small white daisy with a tiny yellow center.
A man had given Carol a flower once. He had left it on the counter for her, placing it in a foggy beer bottle. A cherokee rose, he had called it. The words he had spoken, so soft and sincere, so unexpected and beautiful, had given her more strength and hope than she could ever possibly imagine. When she had nearly lost her faith, he had been there to pull her back. He always managed to pull her back...
You left them, came a cold, harsh voice. You abandoned them to die. They could all be dead tomorrow, and you would never know.
She heard the sudden squeal of a woman to her right. A man picked her up, twirling her playfully as another man strummed the guitar and softly sang. The memory of strong arms lifting Carol to safety, carrying her out from the depths of the tombs, flooded her mind like a broken dam. She could feel those same arms around her now, like they had done back at Terminus, when they had hoisted her off her feet in an embrace so welcoming she could not remember a time when she had ever felt so loved...
I had to leave, she heard her own voice whisper back, meekly. I can't protect them anymore. They have to understand.
Carol sat there as her vision blurred. In her mind, she saw a man. He was digging a grave. His hair was covering his face, but she could still see the hollow pain in his eyes as he heaved the dirt up from the ground, over and over again. He never looked at her. Too ashamed of himself to do so. That would be the last time she would ever see him again. Is that how she wanted to remember him? Alone and inconsolable, digging a grave? Just digging, digging, and digging...
You pushed him away, the voice said cruelly.
Dig.
I made it easier for him.
Dig.
You don't know what you're doing. You haven't got a clue.
Carol heaved herself from the table, gasping. Several people turned in alarm but she scarcely noticed. Face flushed and eyes burning, she rolled herself towards the door, throwing them open with a loud squeak and leaving the cafeteria behind her.
Carol found herself alone in the hallway, again. This time, however, she took a different route. She rolled along and paused when she came upon a flight of stairs. She studied them for a while, curious. She decided she couldn't sit anymore. Gingerly, she rose from the wheelchair and took the steps one at a time. For the first five steps, she thought she had done alright. When she had reached the tenth, however, pain began to shoot up her leg, and the old bullet wound was throbbing like mad. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, she thought. She didn't know what to expect once she made it to the top. When she had reached as far as she could go, she discovered another hallway and hobbled to the closest bench she could find. She sat there, huffing and puffing, the pain in her leg real and miserable. Yeah, she grumbled. This was a definitely a bad idea.
Something caught Carol's eye, then. Light was emanating from behind a closed door through a glass window. Carol waited for the pain to subside before she rose to her feet, and slowly limped towards it. She opened the door and found herself surrounded by vegetables and plant life. Several bright lanterns sat on the floor, and potted plants hung in rows by hooks overhead. She was in the greenhouse, she realized. She looked out through the high glass windows, and found the balcony she had spotted just earlier that morning. She opened one of the doors and walked out into the night air, stepping up towards the balcony and leaning on the parapet.
Carol looked up. The stars were out and scattered like dust, twinkling softly in the deep blue sky. She knew it was dangerous. She knew she would regret it. But at that moment, she just didn't care.
I wonder what everyone is doing right now...
She thought of Judith, and if anyone remembered the best way to get her to sleep. Rock her in your arms a little and hum a gentle tune. She thought of Carl and how much he had grown. Not a little boy anymore, but a strong, young man. She thought of Maggie and Glenn, and how nervous they must be with their baby on the way. She wondered if they ever thought about Lori. She was sure Maggie did... probably everyday.
She thought about Rick, and if he was disappointed in her. He would be upset, certainly, but he would move on. He had lost people far more valuable than her, after all. She just hoped that in time he would come to understand.
She even thought about Tobin, with a hollow sort of guilt. He was a good man, but she had never loved him. He had only been a distraction. An impulsive move on her part. She had used him, and she hated herself for that. She needed to know if she could still feel something, but what she had shared with him was a lie. He didn't know her. Not the real her, anyway. There was no way he could ever truly understand her, not the way the others did, the way Daryl did...
Carol's breath shuddered in her throat. If there was one person she did not want to think about, it was Daryl. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not keep him from her thoughts. She knew she had hurt him. Back at Alexandria, she thought if she avoided him, if she kept him at arms length, then she would get used to his absence and the pain would not be as great. She had been wrong.
She missed that man. She missed him everyday.
Selfishly, she wondered if Daryl missed her, too. Did he worry about her? Did he wonder where she was? A special bond had formed between them going back since the beginning. He knew her better than anyone, even herself at times, it seemed. That had always frightened her a little. The meaning of their relationship often confused her. Were they just friends? Were they more than that? She would be lying if she said she had never thought about it... the two of them coming together. Daryl had always been such a hard read. She never could figure out exactly how he felt. She supposed none of that really mattered anymore. Whatever they had was over now. She had seen to that.
Thoughts of what could have been gripped at her heart until she choked back a sob. She just prayed that wherever he was, Daryl understood. She prayed he would forgive her. For as she gazed up at the stars, watching them twinkling lazily in the night sky, she knew that nothing she could say or do could ever truly make things right again. They would just have to accept that this was the choice she made.
"It seems you have found my favorite spot in all the Kingdom."
Carol whipped around, gasping. Standing before her was Ezekiel, wearing a bright blue Hawaiian T-shirt and carrying two folded lawn chairs under his arm. He gave her an apologetic look.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said.
"I'm sorry," Carol breathed. "I shouldn't be here, I know. I'll see myself out."
"You are not intruding," Ezekiel assured. "But I really don't think you should be standing on that leg." Ezekiel pulled out from under his arm one of the chairs, popping it open and settling it down behind her. He smiled at her, patting the blue and white fabric.
"Please, have a seat."
"I'm alright," said Carol, quickly.
"You have nothing to prove to me," Ezekiel replied. "Not too many people can walk away from injuries like yours and be up on their feet so soon."
Carol eyed him hesitantly. "I feel as though I've been doing nothing but sitting these days."
"I insist. Humor this tired old man, if you please."
A short stare down commenced between the two. Ezekiel was smiling pleasantly at her, his dark eyes twinkling. Carol felt slightly awkward being in his presence. They had not spoken to each other since their first meeting more than a week ago. As she recalled, she had found him rather peculiar then, too. "You are not that old," Carol remarked as she lowered herself into her seat. Ezekiel opened his own chair next to her.
"To be honest, I don't know how old I am," he said as he sat. "In fact, what year is it? Does anyone know anymore?"
"I'm sure someone does," Carol shrugged. "But how old can you be if you can manage a fully grown tiger by yourself?"
Ezekiel chuckled. "Shiva thinks she's still a kitten. She has no idea she could rip that chain out of my hand if she really wanted to. I guess some would say it's the control I have over her. But I like to think our bond is based more on mutual trust."
Carol tapped a finger on her knee, looking away. "It's a little strange," she commented, truthfully.
"More than that," Ezekiel added. "It's down right impractical. Do you have any idea how much a tiger eats?"
"Then why do you keep her? Besides to intimidate people and use her as a weapon."
"Shiva is not a weapon," Ezekiel said. "She is my friend. I keep her because she's family. The only family I have left. I couldn't dream of leaving her now."
Carol felt a strange twinge of guilt at those words. She looked down at her feet, fidgeting.
"Most people own dogs," she mumbled.
Ezekiel barked out a laugh. "I was a zookeeper back in the old days," he said. "A dog now just wouldn't cut it anymore."
A zookeeper? At least things were making sense now.
"And this whole King act?" Carol said, sneering slightly. "Where did that come from?"
Ezekiel gave her long look. For a moment, she thought she might have offended him, but he smiled at her again, appearing amused. "I played King Lear in our local theater troupe, once," he said. "I got rave reviews for it. I guess for me, it just comes naturally."
Carol rolled her eyes a bit, and Ezekiel chuckled.
"If the people want to spread larger than life stories of the man who walks with tigers and rules as a benevolent king to raise morale, then who am I to stop them? I might as well play the part. I'm not trying to deceive anyone. Sometimes you have to fit the role that people give you."
Carol thought on that for a moment, and nodded. Ezekiel's voice took on a softer tone then. "I know we haven't spoken much, since the last time we met. But may I ask you something? Do you plan to return home once you've healed?"
Carol looked at him, surprised. Ezekiel waved a hand appeasingly. "Morgan told me you and he are from a different community. He didn't tell me which one, rest assured, but he did seem rather keen to get back. But you, dear lady... to me, you seem awfully conflicted."
"I just..." Carol could feel the heat of tears as they pooled in her eyes. Blood pounded loudly in her ears, and she dropped her head. "I'm tired of all the pain. The hurt. I'm... I'm no good to them now. Not how I am. I..."
She could see Daryl digging the grave again, despondent in his guilt and grief. Carol wiped the tears from her face. "I know I hurt them," she said. "I know I let them down. I didn't leave because of them, I left for them, to protect them. But I don't think they will understand. I don't think... I don't think they will ever forgive me..."
Ezekiel regarded her closely, his face impassive. When he looked up towards the sky, he suddenly began to laugh.
"I remember the day Shiva was born," he reminisced with a smile. "That had been such an exciting time at the zoo. First tiger born in captivity. I raised her, you know. Her mother rejected her, so it was all put on me. I remember when I could still hold her in my hands. She was such a tiny little thing. I watched her grow and grow. And then one day, no different than any other, I went to feed her, and something happened. She took a swipe at me."
Ezekiel raised up his shirt and Carol's eyes went wide. Four long, angry gouge marks streaked sharply down his stomach. The tracks ran deep and red, and they pulled at his skin in every which way.
"She hurt me, but I know it wasn't out of hatred or malice," he said, lowering his shirt. "Deep down, she is a wild animal. It is just the nature of the beast. I still love her despite it. So you may hurt the ones you love, you may leave them scars... But for someone as beautiful and lovely as you, dear lady... I know they will find it in their hearts to forgive you."
Carol stared at him with bright, tearful eyes. Ezekiel's face was stoic.
"And if they don't, they're bonkers."
First a snort, then a laugh, and Carol was rolling in her seat, giggling uncontrollably. She laughed and she laughed, and it felt so good. How long had it been since she had allowed herself to feel this kind of release? She could not remember. It might have had something to do with how physically and emotionally drained she was, but Carol could see now why people trusted this man. There was something disarming about him. Ezekiel had joined in her laughter, and the pair sat there for a while longer, until the giggling and snorting subsided.
"Thank you," Carol sniffed. "I needed that more than you know."
"Anytime," said Ezekiel. "My pep talks usually end in fits of laughter, for most people take me as a joke."
Ezekiel rose from his chair with a groan, his knees popping slightly. "Will you need me to assist you down the stairs, my lady?"
"No, I'm fine," Carol declined. "Thank you for the offer, but I think I will stay here for a while longer."
"As you wish," said Ezekiel. The man gave a low, theatrical bow, and bid farewell.
Carol looked back up at the stars. Things were far from good. In fact, they were the worst they had ever been. But for the first time in a long time, she welcomed hope back into her heart again. Not too much, but just enough to get her through the night. She may forget this feeling tomorrow, and she may forget it in the days to come, but for now, it was plenty. For now, it was enough. Even if all hope were lost again...
...She at least remembered how to laugh.