Chapter 11
"Now, where the fuck is that settlement?" Negan asked. The map laid out before him offered no useful response. Shit. He shoved it towards Daryl and rubbed his eyes. It was past midnight by now, and they both were struggling to stay focused. Late, too late for work, but Negan had a severe shortage of time and an overabundance of Shit-To-Do. A few weeks ago, he'd never guess that he'd be holed up in his office with the rueful redneck, pouring over old topographical maps. Though he had to admit, despite the sullen attitude, Daryl kept quiet at least.
Negan wiped his brow. The office was stuffy, even though outside it was cool. Daryl stared at the map, deep in concentration, so Negan stretched and went to crack a window.
"Jeeee-zus, that'll freeze your balls clean off," he said as a cool wind offered some relief. He looked back with a half-grin, but Daryl was still scowling at the map.
People poured in and out of Negan's office all day, wanting this or that. Sometimes a wife would grace him with her presence, but it was more often than not to butter him up for something they wanted. Christ. Four wives- what a dumb goddamn idea that was. A novelty at first, and fun for bragging. But the day-to-day of it, the resentment they held now… And how was he supposed to keep up an image of casual leadership with an abundance of fucking when he was too goddamn busy? He ripped off his leather jacket and folded it neatly onto a nearby chair where Lucille was perched. It had been too long. He was thirsty. She was thirsty…
Negan padded over to his bar and poured a few fingers of whiskey. Sanctuary was quiet this time of night, only the patrols were awake. Somewhere distant, a door slammed closed after muffled laughter- a high tittering abrupted halted, then an explosion of giggles. At least someone was having a good time.
"They're somewhere in here," Daryl said finally. "Sir." The last word came out reluctantly- he was still learning. His dirt-crusted finger circled a vague area on the map.
"That's the closest you can get?" Negan asked, handed Daryl the rest of his whiskey. "Here, finish this."
Daryl eyed him suspiciously.
"Or don't." Negan snatched the map out of Daryl's hand. "Jesus, you gotta relax. You think I'd keep you around this long if I planned to kill you? Not that it's totally off the table, but poison ain't my fuckin' game."
Daryl knocked back the glass and set it down. "Ain't worried about you killin' me. Sir."
"Then why do you look like I just dipped my balls in your morning cereal?" He glanced at the clock. "Or more like your midnight snack. Fuck, it's late."
Daryl didn't respond. Negan felt his teeth clink together and forced his jaw to unclench. Daryl was useful, he reminded himself. Lucille was thirsty, but he needed to give her someone of little to no value. That's what it was: Daryl was more than useful, he was valuable. But Negan could never shake off that stink eye, so familiar and Rick-like. Fucking Rick the Prick.
"Jesus, I kill a few of your people and you act like I'm goddamn Buffalo Bill out here, throwing women in wells and making furniture from their fuckin' skin. Remember that shit? Silence of the Lambs? No? Jesus. Lighten up, or this is going to be a long fuckin' enterprise." Negan pulled out a red pen from his drawer and handed it to Daryl.
"It is."
"Sir. You're tellin' me. Shit."
"No, I mean it's the closest I can get." Daryl pointed a finger at the map, the suspected area now circled in red. "They show the whole mountain range, I think. We need a smaller area. Only the main roads are visible, an' I don't think they took those. We need a map that includes service roads, maybe fire roads or off-road trails." He stared down at the map, before remembering: "Sir."
"Smart. Stay off the main roads listed in most maps."
"Maybe it was on purpose, but maybe just lucky. The caverns were small, not a big tourist attraction really. More a local sight. A gas stations or truck stops closer to the area might have a brochure or something."
"Littlechapel Caverns. Hmmm." Negan sat down and leaned back in his chair. If he sent out a party to look for the brochures, it would raise questions on why Negan was looking for such a specific site. He had to play this close, for now, even from his own men. Just for now.
He swept his hand over his desk, pushing dozens of half-folded maps into a box on the ground. "Take these and pick out the best ones to take along." Daryl gathered up the box and moved towards the door, waiting to be excused. His clothes fit much better than the dirty rags Negan had him in before, though the jeans were a little too big and the sleeves on the flannel shirt were a little short. But he'd earned it, and Negan always paid on his debts. Good or bad.
He waited expectantly for the follow-up question, but Daryl just looked back at him.
"'Along where?' Why, I'm happy tell you, Daryl boy." Negan broke out into a grin. "We're going on a little excursion."
Daryl grunted and nodded, unsurprised. He shifted the box in his hands and looked at the ground still.
"Goddamn, you are no fuckin' fun. Listen up, 'cause you'll like this one. You do a good job on this, find me the gaggle of kids and their fearless fuckin' leader, and I'll make you a sweet deal."
He waited again, and when there was no response, he continued. "I'll let you go back to your precious Rick, no harm, no foul. No fuckin' tricks, either. Scratch my back, I scratch yours."
Daryl looked interested now. It was a new look, and Negan liked it. "Yeah, that'll light a fire under your ass, huh? But it doesn't end with just finding them. There's something else going on that we're going to find out about. They're scared of something else out there, and it ain't walkers. Once it's all over and done with, you're free."
Daryl nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Oh, I like that. Almost sounded like you meant it, Daryl boy." Negan waved for Daryl to leave, box in hand, back to the barrack he shared with five other Saviors.
Daryl started to leave, but stopped in the doorway. His back was to Negan, and yet he still knew somehow that Daryl was conflicted about something. Negan had a sense if he said shit, Daryl would walk away, so he stayed silent. Finally, the useful hillbilly spoke. "They're talkin' about that guy, sir. The one whose innards decorated your pavement like confetti. And your wife…ex-wife, I guess."
Negan merely looked at him, hoping his face was casual, though his insides balled up like a fist. "And what do 'they' have to fuckin' say about it?"
Daryl shrugged. "Just talk, is all. But the kind of talk that leads to trouble. Don't want to get myself in any more than I have to here. Sir." He shifted the box in his arms, then shut the door behind him.
Negan rubbed his face with his hand, smelling hints of bourbon and ink smudged on the sides of his hand. He knew it. It had been rash, too emotional. Pushing Mark off the roof was probably a Bad Idea. Heat of the moment stupidity. It was violent, oh yes, and Negan was violent, but also impersonal. Too easy to shove someone off a ledge, and no audience to relay his point to. Negan preferred personal. Face your enemy, look them in the eye, let them see who took their life before it was light's out for good. Negan also preferred an audience- not just for the showmanship, but he liked to prove some sort of point. Lucille wouldn't have steered him wrong. Her sweet barbs tearing into Mark's smug fucking face would have led to whispers among his people too, but the good kind. The fearful kind of whispers, done behind closed doors, away from watchful eyes.
Another goddamn thing to check off his ever-growing to-do list: dispel any dissent. Let them know who the Boss is.
And so he did. His people, the Sanctuary people, the people of the Saviors, were gathered the next morning. Attendance was mandatory, of course. All the residents of Sanctuary huddled in the old factory floor, feet scratching on the concrete floor dusted with traces of sand, copper, and iron flecks. The forges were roaring with fire, though only the tiny windows flickered with hot white flames. Tendrils of smoke leaked through the decaying seals and stretched out black fingers to reach towards the yawning, bleary-eyed men and women. No children were allowed here, not for this. Not even Negan wanted that.
Negan slept about as good as they looked, and they looked like shit. But they'd never know that, not with three cups of black coffee dumping caffeine in his veins. He approached a small balcony, really just part of a steel walkway that snaked down five stories onto the cement floor below. When they looked up and saw him, the huddled masses of Sanctuary kneeled immediately. They stayed kneeling as Negan's heavy boots echoed in the vast room.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
His boots told a story with each step, stories that were different to each person there, but all resulted in the same thing: obedience. He tapped Lucille on the steel handlebars, letting the barbs scrape gently but not enough to dull them too badly. Nails on chalkboard. Even he wasn't much of a fan, but the effect was breathtaking. Disquieting. The room was silent as he descended. Still kneeling. Still afraid.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Their knees were likely screaming as he took his time. Good. Let them remember who gave them shelter and safety, provided food and clean water and clothes. Sacrificed his men for them, sacrificed his life, his mind, his sleep for them.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Negan. Negan. Negan.
He reached the ground floor and looked around. A hundred residents, give or take, kneeling to his authority. A few of them were using their hands to balance now. Ungrateful, he thought. I know a bunch of kids who work harder than you all, and whine a lot less. Yesterday there were rumblings about the rough towels. A week prior, the food wasn't salted enough. Not enough batteries for personal radios, the video game selection was poor. Better courtyard needed for rec time. Bitch, bitch, bitch.
"It has come to my attention," his voice boomed out over the bowed heads, "that some of you may question my decisions." He waited another moment, the silence a heavy boulder in the air. Knees trembling now, some were visible wobbling.
"Rise."
He waited as they stood shakily, some gripping onto their neighbor for stability. They weren't kneeling enough, apparently. He'd gone soft on them.
"Well, now. Let's all have a little chat." He began to pace in front of the forge. The fire casted long, dancing shadows in front. Backlit by the lights of the forge, he was a shadow to them as well, the huddled and ungrateful mass. Lucille was a shadow, too. But death waits in the shadows.
"I really must fuckin' apologize for the haste in which I disposed of some shit called Mark. Wasn't fair, and I guess a screaming body travelling at 60 miles per-fuckin'-hour, then splattering the workers below is a little… jarring, I admit. Shit! Like a fucked up pinata splattering open for all the kiddies! My usual protocol is here, in this lovely ballroom we have of fire and chaos. I missed a solid fuckin' opportunity to put on a show for you all, so here I am, making it up to you. Is this what you wanted? Bread and goddamn circuses?"
Silence. Good. Had anyone spoke, they would be up here on their knees, begging for mercy. Fire burned in his veins, now. If they only realized what he did for them, the sacrifices he made…
Negan's Saviors lined the walls sporadically, leather-clad and itching for blood. It had been awhile since they had a good fight or a good show. Some of them fidgeted with their rifles, or the safeties on their pistols. Practically begging someone to go off.
"Mark was a piece-of-shit, true. I should have given him a proper fuckin' trial in front of all of you. But I was angry. You all understand that feeling. Mad, pissed off, ticked as hell! That scrawny son of a bitch was stealing. Not from me, no sir.
"Stealing from you. Your hard-fucking-earned rewards from scavenging, the food you work so hard at to cultivate. And he was fuckin' my wife- oops. Ex-wife now, darlin'. She's single and ready to mingle now, fellas! What a fuckin' catch!"
Negan caught Amber's eyes from across the crowd. Her eyes were red-brimmed but bright as beacons. He almost didn't recognize her in regular clothes, hidden in the crowd. She only looked back at him with dull, empty eyes. Broken. Good.
He continued to plant the seed. "So I killed him in a rage, I fuckin' admit it, after catching him red-handed pilfering supplies." He stopped to scan the crowd: their faces were tired, but no hints of discord. A few of them were nodding in agreement, ones he recognized as helping prep and unlock for those scavenging trips. Now, for the rest of them.
"I'm down to three wives, after one of them broke my rule. It is only through an immense amount of goddamn self-restraint that I don't drag her up here by her hair and iron her face just like all the other rule-breakers-"
"Fuck you!"
A few gasps broke out and several people hissed orders to shut up, be quiet.
"No, I won't- FUCK YOU, Negan!"
Negan smiled. Bingo.
A scuffle broke out in the crowd immediately, and three of the nearest Saviors barreled through the crowd, who parted easily towards the disturbance. Fists went flying and more curses were hurled as the Saviors descended on the cluster of flying hands and feet. Amber cried out something unintelligible, the words twisted up in her throat and jumbled. Then it was quiet once more.
Negan stood calmly, almost placidly, as a bloodied figure was dragged towards him. Through the smeared blood and likely broken nose, Negan saw it was Mark's brother. He didn't remember his name, the man was always so forgettable. What's-His-Name spat blood and pieces of broken teeth on the ground near Negan's boots and wobbled to his feet. He already had a permanently pinched face that hinted of rodent, his nose now cocked at an odd angle. His eyes were bloodshot under a tangle of wild hair. He clutched at his ribs, likely fractured or broken from one of the Savior's steel-toed boots.
"My brother wasn't a fuckin' thief," he wheezed. "You are, ya egotistical fuck."
Negan smiled and waved away the Saviors holding the man back. What's-His-Name looked defiantly at Negan, shoulders squared and legs planted firm, though he listed towards the right with every breath. Maybe a broken piece of rib stabbing his lung, or his liver. The guy had balls, Negan could admit that much.
"I'm a thief?" Negan purred.
"You stole Amber from the beginning. She already had a boyfriend, and you bullied and intimidated-" Before he could finish, Snake lurched forward, breaking free from the other Saviors trying to hold him back, and sucker-punched Mark's brother square in the mouth. Snake hissed and quickly shook the pain out of his bloodied knuckles as the man dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
"Now you know I can't tolerate that sort of talk…whatever the fuck your name is," Negan drawled. He walked in a slow circle around the man lying fetal on the ground. Blood poured freely from his lips, a small puddle forming.
What the hell was his name? Mike? Matt? Something similar to his brother's name, Negan thought. It didn't matter, but it felt wrong to bash in his head without knowing it.
"I don't steal," Negan told the crowd, who nodded back obediently. "I offer opportunities. All my wives were given options, which they chose. They're free to leave anytime. Isn't that right, darlin'?" He caught Sherry's eye at the edge of the crowd, Tanya on one side and Frankie on the other. Stone faces, cold and unemotional. They nodded mechanically. No love there.
Does everyone hate you? He shook off the thought, twisting Lucille in his hands. Her shape felt good; the wood strong and sturdy. Solid. Lucille…Lucy…Lucille…Lucy. Why was he thinking about that woman when he was about to- never mind.
The crowd of residents were silent, a collective breath held. They knew what was coming, and yet the suspense was still there. Mark's brother struggled to his feet. He slipped in his own blood and kneeled for a moment, though it was a kneel of necessity, not reverence. Negan rolled his neck, feeling the bones crack crack crack.
"You're an asshole," the brother finally spat out. Little droplets of blood splattered on Negan's jeans and the concrete floor. "They don't follow you out of love, they're just afraid."
Negan nodded. "They should be."
He cranked Lucille back, calculating the most ideal spot on this fucker's head for Lucille to kiss. The man closed his eyes and straightened up, prepared to take the blow. A noble, but idiotic sacrifice.
Before Lucille met bone and brain, a cry from the crowd caused Negan to look up. He was annoyed, wanting to get this bullshit over with. A small girl had slipped through the crowd, curious at the spectacle. She was barefoot, in a too-large t-shirt and pants about an inch too short. Her big brown eyes looked around in a mixture of wonder and horror. The brother hadn't seen her yet, one eye was now swollen, and he spat on the ground near the girl's feet. She took a few steps back, stumbled, then plopped on her bottom with a wail.
Someone scooped her up quickly, and she disappeared back into the crowd.
Negan felt all the air go out of his lungs. Empty. How fitting. But it was now or never, if he backed down now, it would be weakness. Weakness kills.
He looked down at Lucille. Sparkling barbs, smooth wood as soft as velvet. Lucille kills, too.
And she did. Oh, did she ever. It took Negan three finger-pricking hours to clean her after he crushed in the bastard brother's skull, and more soap than he'd care to admit. It wasn't another five hours before his hands stopped trembling, and he didn't sleep a wink that night. Again.
/ / / / /
AN: I hope you all are well and staying safe. Your comments, favorites, PMs are so much appreciated and I wish you all to continue down this journey with me as we discover what happens next! Progress is slow, but it's happening. Stay tuned, my lovelies. xoxox