Two Nights Ago
[Anderson Residence - 1:30 AM]
Pete grunted as he pulled open the basement's exterior storm doors.
It was late which meant Jesse and the boys were likely down for the night, but as an extra precaution he opted to use the entrance for an added stealth.
His arms were laden with the medical supplies he managed to smuggle from Atlanta General's inventory as he started down the plank wooden steps.
Time was not on his side, so he felt an urgency to work quickly.
By now the police had likely made the connection between Andrea and Philip, which should at least make the governor-hopeful a person-of-interest in their investigation.
But his connection to Andrea, while damning, was only the beginning.
Pete knew there was a good chance that if and when Philip was backed into a corner, he would ultimately give his name up. He figured the only reason that hadn't happened already was because Philip was a prideful man and would likely want to try and handle the situation himself first.
But that didn't matter to Pete, because by the time that eventuality came to pass the damage would have already been done.
Of course Mamet showing up on his doorstep meant they were aware to some extent that something was going on.
Which Pete didn't mind. He wanted them both to know it was him.
He had never considered himself a vengeful person, but he reasoned that what Philip had done to his livelihood and reputation deserved nothing less.
They were never friends by any definition of the word, but they had once shared a mutually beneficial understanding.
Until Andrea came along.
It wasn't the first time he had been called to handle Philip's dirty work, but it was the first time he did not finish the job.
As it would turn out once was enough to warrant a vendetta, tarnishing his private practice to a point well past ruin.
In the aftermath of his dismissal it didn't take long for Philip to find himself in trouble again. The man seemed incapable of keeping his dick in his pants, and even worse at dealing with the repercussions of it.
Pete did think he would get a mild sort of satisfaction from seeing his adversary hauled into court on rape charges brought against him by his housemaid. Especially because he knew he would have been enlisted to clean up Philip's mess had circumstances between them been different.
But money and power go a long way, and the wealthy rarely pay for their crimes especially when going against individuals of a lower class.
So in the end, Philip was able to avoid the justice system.
Meanwhile, it would take Pete years to finally claw his way back to some semblance of his life before he ever crossed paths with Philip Blake.
But as luck would have it, the very moment when his life was getting back on track he crossed paths with the one who had derailed it in the first place - in a grocery store of all places.
At first he thought he was hallucinating.
The last time he had seen Andrea she was unconscious in Philip's basement.
He wanted her taken care of, that was all he told Pete before leaving him to once again handle his mess.
Nineteen minutes.
That's how long it took Pete to procure the supplies he needed and return to find Andrea was not where he left her.
He would later learn that she had fled Georgia altogether, and crossing state lines was definitely not a part of his contract.
It was ultimately Philip's fuck up. Whatever he used to drug Andrea was clearly not enough if she was able to come to under thirty minutes.
Even still, Pete was the one who paid the price.
He truly believed crossing paths with Andrea that day, as innocuous an encounter as it was, was fate. A chance to finally pay Philip back for the years of injustice he had endured. The final chapter to their sordid saga.
Then he would be free to pursue other endeavors.
With that quiet determination, Pete prepared for the next phase of his plan.
Andrea remained unconscious, her prone form was as still as stone on the gurney situated in the center of the basement.
He examined the intravenous drip and realized he needed to refill her dosage. As he wandered over to his nitrogen cooler to retrieve the Propofol when the sound of the front door opening upstairs gave him pause.
Pete lifted his wrist, frowning at the time on his wristwatch.
He glanced back at Andrea before taking to the stairs two at a time. He reached the top just in time to see his eldest son attempting to quietly lock the front door, having obviously just gotten in.
Pete arched an eyebrow, quietly closing the basement door to lean back against it as he waited for Ron to notice his presence.
When he finally did, the boy nearly jumped out of his skin, raising his skateboard defensively.
"Jesus Christ!" Ron hissed, lowering his 'weapon'. "Dad? What are you doing?"
"I could ask you the same," Pete returned dryly. "It's almost 2am."
Ron shrugged, attempting to seem indifferent. "Study group ran late."
Pete narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing his son's demeanor, detecting something off. "Where were you?"
"Out with a friend," Ron muttered, studiously avoiding his father's penetrative glare.
Pete was skeptical. "Were you drinking or smoking pot?"
Ron shook his head, frowning as he lifted it. "Neither."
"A girl, then," Pete scoffed. "I hope you were smart enough to wrap your dick up. I don't want or need any more mouths to feed around here."
Ron's chest heaved with indignation and he opened his mouth to refute his father's remark but a heavy thump drifted up through the basement door, interrupting him before he could.
"What was that?"
Pete went rigid, remembering what he had left unattended.
"Go to your room," he instructed abruptly, turning on his heels as he jerked the basement door open.
"But -"
Ron was cut off by the basement door slamming closed in his face.
"Whatever," he muttered at the barrier before turning to head upstairs to his room, figuring he should be grateful that whatever the noise was kept his father off his back for the moment.
On the other side of the door, Pete raced down the stairs with his heart in his throat. The gurney was now empty and Andrea had somehow managed to drag herself halfway up the stairs leading up to the basement storm doors.
Doors Pete had unwittingly left open.
He cursed under his breath, rushing towards her.
Andrea grunted softly as she struggled to make her way up the wooden steps, but just as she reached the opening, Pete grabbed her by her ankles.
She tried to cry out but it came out like a whimper as she clung to the wooden ledge.
Pete attempted to drag her back down, but she dug deep and found the strength to kick him hard in the face, enough for him to stumble back.
"Son of a bitch!" he hissed, reeling backward as he clutched his now bleeding nose.
Andrea seized the moment provided by her adrenaline and hoisted herself out into the open.
Her victory, however, was short-lived because the next thing she knew Pete's hands wrapped around her throat and mouth, roughly forcing her back against him.
Her window of opportunity suddenly slammed shut in her face as he jammed a syringe into her neck.
"You're going to wish you hadn't done that," he whispered harshly against her cheek as the world faded to black.
Present Day
[1:30 AM]
Michonne shot up from her pillows with a sharp gasp, covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Her hands frantically reached up for her neck, feeling the ghostly presence of another's wrapped around her just there.
Beside her Rick shifted in his sleep, tightening his arm draped across her waist.
She barely registered his touch as she cupped a trembling hand to her face, desperately trying to shake the feeling of dread that had followed her into consciousness.
"Chonne...?" Rick mumbled groggily, slowly blinking his eyes open.
"I need some air," she rushed to whisper, slipping from his arm and bed in one fluid motion.
She padded across the floor, snatching up her robe from the chaste along the way and slipped out of their bedroom before he could fully register her words.
With her children asleep in their beds the house was still and quiet. Ordinarily that would have helped to alleviate her anxieties, but tonight it was slightly unnerving.
The darkness made her feel claustrophobic, as if the hallway walls were closing in around her.
She quickly and quietly descended down into the kitchen, heading straight for the patio. When she opened the sliding glass doors a gentle breeze brushed over her skin, instantly calming her nerves.
She crossed the deck to the balcony railing, resting her elbows as she inhaled deeply.
The night sky was bright that night, the sight of the stars above left her with a much needed sense of calm that her sleep had robbed her of.
She let her eyes slip close as she exhaled softly.
When she opened them again she found herself staring at the house next door. Her eyes squinted in recollection as the sight triggered a memory.
She had all but forgotten, but as she stared at the Anderson's home she recalled seeing Pete at the bar earlier that evening.
It was only a glance, but she was almost sure it was him. She could tell it was not his usual scene, and remembered thinking he looked out of place amidst the other patrons.
Was he looking for Jessie?
Before she could dwell on the question for too long the patio door slid open behind her.
She didn't have to turn to know that it was Rick.
He quietly approached and wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her back into his chest. She relaxed against him, resting her arms over his as he brushed his lips to the side of her forehead.
"Bad dream?" he asked and she nodded wordlessly. "Wanna tell me about it?" he gently prodded when she didn't say more.
"I don't remember much," she sighed.
Rick used his thumb to trace circles into her ribcage, contemplating before he cautiously inserted, "Earlier tonight it seemed like something was bothering you."
"It's been an off couple of days," she revealed quietly, "the anxiety must've trickled over into my sleep."
Rick's frown was uncertain. "Are you sure that's all it is?"
"What else would it be?" she returned, tilting her head to look back at him. "You should go back to sleep, you have a long day tomorrow, remember?"
He dropped a soft kiss on her shoulder. "I'll stay up as long as you need me to."
The corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile, one that quickly turned into a look of chagrin as she settled back against him. "I don't think I've had nightmares since law school."
"We did say we were overdue for a vacation," he reminded her, swaying them gently.
"Winter break seems so far from now, though," she groaned tiredly.
"We could sneak away for a weekend," he proposed, arching a suggestive brow, "just the two of us."
Michonne pressed her lips together in consideration. She had to admit the thought sounded nice. "Where would we go?"
Rick shrugged, noncommittal. "Wherever you want."
She lifted her eyes to him, enticed by the prospect. "I'd like that," she eventually said, offering him a small smile.
"Good," he replied, his soft murmur caressing her ear, "it's settled, then."
Ideas of where they could spend their getaway started to formulate, putting her earlier distress to the back of her mind. It was an easy transition when she was wrapped up in the protective barrier of Rick's arms which, as far as she was concerned, was the safest place in the world.
"I wanna go back upstairs now," she murmured, turning to face him.
Rick brought a hand up to cup the apple of her cheek, searching her moonlit eyes for any lingering fears.
He leaned in, briefly brushing their noses together as he reached for her hand to interlock their fingers before leading the way back to their bed.
After he settled in between the sheets Michonne returned to his arms, and he cuddled her close until she was nestled on top of him.
Michonne exhaled softly against him. Coaxed by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and his gentle fingers weaving through her hair to massage her scalp, it was easy to slip back into slumber and as the minutes of comfortable silence stretched between them.
She had almost done just that, until her husband's quiet utterance brought her decidedly back to focus.
"Maybe I should cancel the trip..."
She didn't bother to open her eyes when she flatly responded, "No."
Rick sighed and the action caused her to rise and fall with his chest. "It doesn't feel like a good time to leave."
Michonne lifted her eyes to him, questioningly. "You aren't saying this because I had a bad dream, are you?"
Rick squinted, thinking that was a part of it. "You said yourself that you've been feeling off lately," he reasoned.
She arched a dubious eyebrow in return. "So you're going to pass up this opportunity because I've been feeling off?"
"There'll be other opportunities," he disputed softly.
"That's not the point," she contested evenly. "I'm not gonna to let you put your business on hold just because I have an overactive imagination."
Rick tiredly scrubbed a hand over his face. "It's not just that," he admitted, rolling his eyes upward from her questioning stare, unsure how to explain his thoughts aloud.
"Nerves?" she offered, reaching up to smooth the worry lines from his forehead.
He shrugged thinking that was one word for it, but not in the way she meant it.
"Maybe..." he eventually allowed.
She smirked, settling back against his chest. "I guess we really do need that vacation, huh?"
"Why do you think I brought it up?" he returned dryly.
She craned her neck to look at him, reaching up to cup his cheek before leaning forward to kiss him softly. "You're getting on that plane tomorrow," she asserted when she pulled away. "Three days won't kill us."
Rick didn't want to argue with her, choosing instead to tug her closer. "Come here," he whispered, angling his head to reclaim her lips.
A battle for dominance ensued as she straddled her legs across his hips, forcing him back.
She hadn't intended to go to bed that night without giving him a proper send off, but she had been feeling so out of sorts when she returned home that evening all she could do was go to bed and hope to feel better when she woke up.
It didn't quite turn out that way, but she wasn't about to waste another opportunity.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, using her tongue in a way that made him groan against her. He used one hand to grip her hip while the other traversed up her spine, cupping the back of her neck to hold her to him.
Her hips began to wind instinctually and his grip on her hip moved to squeeze her ass as they moaned together from the friction.
Michonne pulled away from his lips, leaving a trail of wet kisses down his neck and along his collarbone. While her fingers wandered towards the rim of his pajama pants, easing them down from his hips.
"Chonne..." He whispered her name with a sharp inhale as she inched down his body. "Fuck," he hissed as she peppered soft kisses along his Adonis belt until she reached the shaft of his hardening member.
At first she teased him, lubricating his dick with her tongue. She swirled around him expertly, relaxing her jaw muscles so not to gag on her descent before slowly inching back up to reveal all but the tip. Then, she would swallow him whole again.
She repeated the process until toes curled and his hips bucked upwards involuntarily.
Having this kind of power over him was a turn on in and of itself, one she relished in.
She moaned around him, making her satisfaction known. He shuddered, not sure how much longer he could hold out against that magical mouth of hers.
"Ch..Chonne," he stuttered, reaching for her.
Michonne hummed approvingly in response, then she sat up with a soundly pop before climbing back up to devour him in a searing kiss.
Rick growled as she grounded her pelvis down onto him, winding her hips slowly without breaking their contact. He reached for the edges of the short nightgown she wore, bunching it up further around her waist as she reached down in between them to guide him into place.
They moaned in unison when she did.
Michonne leaned forward to fully align their bodies, wanting and needing to feel him as deep as possible. Her arms snaked around his neck, burying her fingers into his hair for leverage.
He was unable to find words as she rode him. Instead, he latched his lips to the hollow of her neck, alternating between using his tongue to taste her flesh to gently biting the sensitive skin between her neck and shoulder.
"Rick," she whimpered as he began to thrust upward in tandem with her.
His large hands palmed her ass, squeezing the ample flesh just hard enough to make her cry out in pleasure.
"I'm close," she whispered hotly in ear, "I'm so close..."
Her voice hitched, heightened to a crescendo. So he lifted one hand to cup the back of her neck, bringing her face back to his, smothering her cries with his kisses.
She dug her nails into his back, feeling her orgasm bloom deliciously in her core. One more well positioned thrust sent her right over the edge, and she tore away from his lips to drop her head back in ecstasy.
Rick sat up with her, holding to him as she melted into the abyss, peppering sweet kisses on her closed eyelids, her nose, both cheeks, until he finally reached her parted lips.
Michonne turned slightly, reclaiming his mouth with hers.
But it was Rick's turn to take control as he rolled them over to hover over her. When he pulled back her whimper of disappointment was quickly replaced with a gasp of surprise when he flipped her over onto her stomach.
Understanding what he had in mind, she automatically lifted her hips as he settled in place behind her.
"Don't move," he warned, slipping back inside.
Michonne bit down on her lower lip, holding back a moan as she steadied her knees to adhere to his request.
Rick's cadence was slow and deliberate, a delicious pace that pebbled her skin in chill bumps.
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder as he reached for one of her hands gripping the sheets like a vice. He guided her to the space between her legs, coaxing her fingers to rub her clit.
"Rick..." she whimpered, burying her face into the mattress.
"Stay with me," he urged her, slowly erecting himself before picking up the pace. "Fuck," he grunted, feeling her walls close in around him in the best possible way.
He loved everything about this position, from the bouncing of her ass with every thrust he made, to the gentle arching slope of her toned back, to the way she clung onto to their bedsheets for dear life.
Michonne gasped and turned to bury face into their pillows, muffling her screams as another wave overcame as unexpected as it was forceful.
This time Rick followed her mere seconds later with a shuddering grunt, spurred on by the sensation of her second release coating his dick.
Breathlessly, he collapsed onto the mattress beside her, heart racing and utterly spent.
"I needed that," she sighed with a contented smile, lethargically leaning over to capture his lips once more.
"It's nice to be needed," he hummed against her lips. "How am I supposed to go three days without you?"
"It'll pass by quicker than you think," she promised, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
""Then, we can plan for our getaway," he added with a lazy grin, wrapping his arm around her to rub circles into her back.
"Where should we go?" she sleepily asked.
"As long as the room comes with a do not disturb sign, it doesn't matter to me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Sam tossed and turned in his bed, unable to get comfortable.
He had been trying, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep for hours but the events of the previous day still bothered him.
Contrary to what he said in the principal's office, he knew what he did to Bram was wrong. He also felt that the way Bram treated him was equally so, but none of the adults in the room seemed to see it that way.
So he laid awake in his bed, stewing in his frustrations when he should have been sleeping.
When the sun had finally begun to rise, Sam had had enough.
He quietly padded out of his room to head downstairs into the living room, hoping the television would be a distraction.
But as he made his way downstairs, he noticed a light coming from the kitchen and changed his course.
"Dad?" he murmured, surprised to find his father standing in front of an open duffle bag on the kitchen island.
Pete looked up, frowning at the sight of him. "What are you doing up?"
"I couldn't sleep," Sam returned, stepping further into the room. "What are you doing?"
"Go back to bed," Pete ordered, ignoring his question as he sorted things around inside the large bag.
Sam watched as his father for a moment, then as Pete turned to open the refrigerator he cautiously climbed onto the stool across from him leaning over to see what he was packing.
"Are you going somewhere?" he quietly asked, noticing some of his father's clothes folded neatly inside.
Pete exhaled under his breath as he turned, holding an unopened bottle of Ketel One. "Don't you have to be up for school in a couple of hours?" he asked, packing the liquid alongside his personal effects.
Sam was not totally surprised his father did not seem to know about his current situation in school, and he was more than a little hesitant to disclose it now. "I got suspended," he revealed in a meek voice.
Pete paused what he was doing to look back up at the boy. "For what?"
"Doesn't matter," Sam replied, shaking his head. "If you're going somewhere, can I go with you since I don't have school? I hate it here."
Pete tersely shook his head. "You're going to stay here with your mother."
"But I don't want to," Sam contested stubbornly.
Pete exhaled heavily through his nose, very clearly losing his patience. "I said no, Sam," he told him, firmly.
Oblivious to his father's disposition, Sam pressed his luck. "Please Dad."
Pete's hard glare in response made him shrink back a little into his seat.
"Stop your whining," he snapped. "It's a wonder you don't want to be around your mother when you snivel just like her."
The back of Sam's eyes burned with tears from his father's harsh tone. And so he was forced to watch through blurred vision as Pete closed the duffle bag, and slung it over his shoulder.
He didn't understand why, but there was a sense of finality to this exchange that prompted his next question.
"When will you come back?"
Pete rounded the counter, placing a firm hand on Sam's shoulder to squeeze, then he wordlessly continued towards the adjacent back door to leave the house.
After he was gone, a solitary tear rolled down Sam's cheek. He quickly wiped it away, inhaling a shuddering breath as he slipped down from the kitchen stool to quietly pad out of the empty room.
Rick awoke to the sound of his alarm clock chiming beside him. Blindly, he reached over to turn it off before the device could wake up Michonne.
Then he brought a tired hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the sunlight beaming through their windows and mentally thought over his agenda for the day.
Michonne shifted in her sleep, turning over to drape an arm across his chest. Rick lifted her hand and gingerly kissed her fingers before easing from under her.
After the night she had, he wanted her to get as much rest as she could, so he quietly made his way into the bathroom to get a headstart.
When he emerged, he was dressed just in time to hear the tell-tale pitter patter of little feet rushing to a stop outside his bedroom door. A second later, two light knocks followed.
"Good morning, Daddy!" Maya beamed when he opened the door with her stuffed bunny and new stuffed dog tucked under her arms.
He smiled, stooping down to her eye level as he brought a finger to his lips and nodded back to Michonne still sound asleep on the bed.
"Why is Mommy still asleep?" she asked quietly with a frown.
"She'll get up soon," he assured her. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"
"Mmhmm," she nodded, then spotted his suitcase situated just beside the door. "Are you leaving today, Daddy?"
He followed her line of vision and exhaled softly. "Yeah, later today."
Maya nodded, looking solemnly down at her toes. "You said I couldn't go with you."
"I'll be working the entire time, it'd be boring for you," he said, hoping the concession would appease her.
"But, you're not boring," she insisted softly.
"Thank you, sweetheart," he chuckled, knowing from experience that she would not always think that were the case. "But don't worry, just three sleeps and I'll be back home before you wake up on the third night."
"Okay," she sighed.
"Good girl," he said, standing up as he reached for her hand. "Now, how about I help you get ready for school?" he asked, gently pulling his bedroom door closed behind him.
Maya scrunched her face, her wide doe eyes narrowing with skepticism. "What about my hair?"
Rick laughed under his breath, looking down at the mass of unruly curls barely contained underneath her pink satin bonnet. "We can manage, can't we?"
Maya didn't look so sure, but she took his hand anyway and allowed him to lead her back to her bedroom.
While his experience with hairstyling was limited to Judith's pigtails and occasionally helping Michonne to retwist her locs, he had watched his wife do this enough times to get the gist of it.
But Maya seemed doubtful enough as is, so he figured he'd keep it simple with a style he knew he could achieve.
A few minutes later, he had detangled and brushed Maya's mane into a ponytail as neatly as he could manage. And now, at his daughter's insistence, he was watching a YouTube tutorial on her iPad to "style her edges".
"There," he announced, once he was satisfied that he finally had it right. "All done."
Maya hopped up from her stool and rushed over to her bedroom mirror, turning her head from side to side to inspect his work. Eventually she broke into a wide grin. "Thank you, Daddy!"
"You're welcome," he said, impressed with his own handiwork. Then he stood and made his way over to her closet. "Now let's get you dressed."
As he finished helping his youngest child get ready for school, he noticed his oldest coming down the hallway through her open bedroom door.
"Carl," he called out to him, wanting to assess the boy's mood after last night's conversation.
Carl paused, lifting his gaze from his cell phone as he backtracked a little. "Morning," he voiced, leaning against his baby sister's doorframe.
"Car!" Maya cried in an excited greeting while Rick helped her put on her shoes. "Do you like my hair? Daddy did it."
Carl raised a dubious eyebrow. "Really?"
Rick side eyed him for his tone. "Don't sound so surprised."
"Sorry," Carl apologized over a small grin. "It looks good."
Maya beamed at the compliment and Rick chuckled.
"Any word from Enid?" he asked him, lifting Maya in his arms as he made his way over to the door.
Carl's expression faltered slightly. "Not really. She reads my texts but she doesn't answer."
Rick exhaled, placing his free hand on Carl's shoulder to steer him back out into the hall. "Give it time, son," he advised him.
"That's what I've been doing," Carl muttered under his breath.
"Is Mommy coming for breakfast?" Maya interrupted once they started down the steps.
Rick nodded. "In a little bit," he assured her.
They could hear the ruckus in the kitchen before they descended into it. As Andre and RJ were in the midst of a keep-away battle over a box of cereal.
"Dad!" RJ called out as soon as he spotted him. "Tell Dre he has to share!"
"There's barely enough for me," Andre argued back, hoisting the coveted box well above RJ's reach. "Eat some Corn Flakes or something."
RJ narrowed his eyes. "I don't want corn flakes! I want Cinnamon Toast Crunch!" he declared, jumping to grasp the box but to no avail.
"Too bad," Andre teased with a satisfied smirk. It quickly vanished when Carl swiped the box from his hand as he passed by. "Hey!"
"There's enough for two bowls in here easy," Carl said flatly, shaking the box.
"For a person with a normal appetite maybe," Andre shrugged. "But I'm a growing boy."
RJ frowned, folding his arms over his chest. "What do you think I am?"
"Share with your brother, Dre," Rick intervened, setting Maya down on one of the island stools, "and if you absolutely need a second bowl, there's always the Corn Flakes."
Andre pulled a face but didn't argue as he grabbed two bowls from the cabinet and slid one in front of his younger brother.
"Can I have pancakes?" Maya asked, not finding either cereal choice to her liking this morning.
Rick took a look at his wristwatch and nodded, figuring they had enough time. "Yes ma'am," he said, turning towards the refrigerator for the ingredients.
"When do you take off?" Carl asked him, snagging a granola bar from the pantry.
"This afternoon," he said over his shoulder, "but I'll be at the airport before you guys get out of school."
RJ looked up from pouring himself a bowl of cereal. "Who's gonna pick us up today?"
"Uncle Daryl," Rick told him.
RJ's eyes lit up at the prospect. "On his bike?"
Rick chuckled, shaking his head. "I doubt that, son."
"How would that even work?" Andre asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at his RJ who only shrugged in return.
"Are you gonna miss us, Daddy?" Maya asked Rick in a sad little tone that tugged on his heartstrings.
"He won't be gone long enough to miss us," Carl interjected, lifting his sister from her seat to claim it for himself as he settled her into his lap.
"I'll miss you guys plenty," Rick assured her with a wink.
"Just three sleeps!" Maya beamed, raising three tiny fingers to prove her point.
"That's right," he replied, nodding as he began to crack the eggs for the pancake batter.
"Don't worry," Andre said around a mouthful of cereal. "I'll look after things around here while you're gone."
"I expect you all to," Rick replied, lifting his eyes to focus on Carl and Andre, specifically. "Make sure you help your mother keep an eye on things around here."
Carl huffed lightly, feigning indignation. "Do you really have to ask?"
Rick shrugged with a grin, knowing he didn't. "Just making sure we're on the same page."
Michonne hummed softly to herself as she took a seat at her vanity.
She woke up feeling much better that morning, thanks to her husband sweetly affording her some extra time to herself. Leave it to Rick Grimes to know exactly what she needed to recalibrate.
The anxiety of the last few days still lingered in the back of her mind, but she purposefully kept it from the forefront. Choosing instead to focus on more pleasant thoughts, like the idea of a weekend getaway she was promised during last night's pillowtalk.
Her cell phone chimed with a text message, pulling her from her inner thoughts.
It was a text from Ellen letting her know that she was never drinking with Sasha and that Abraham would take her to pick up her car, so she needn't worry about that.
Michonne laughed softly and quickly typed out a reply, when a light knock at her open bedroom door diverted her attention and she turned to see her daughter lingering in the doorway.
"Morning, Judes," she greeted, offering a smile.
"Morning," Judith returned, stepping into the room with her hands tucked behind her.
Michonne eyed her curiously through the vanity mirror, noting Judith's uncharacteristically subdued demeanor. "Everything okay?"
Judith sighed heavily as she revealed her old camera from behind her back. "I need to show you something," she said, nearing her.
Michonne's eyes lit up as she turned in her seat. "Is it for your class project? I thought you were still working on it."
Judith slowly shook her head. "It's not that."
Michonne arched a curious eyebrow. "The suspense is killing me, then," she murmured, reaching for the camera to see for herself.
Judith held back, just out of reach. "Before you watch," she began with a look of chagrin, "I need to preface this."
Michonne pulled back with a slight frown. "Uh-oh..."
Judith exhaled through her nose as she took on the chaste across from her mother. "You know the kid next door? The one who plays with dead animals."
Michonne frowned at her word choice but nodded. "Yeah..."
"I may have used my old camera to spy on him," she rushed to say in a meek voice.
Michonne blinked twice slowly. "Come again?"
"I know how it sounds," she hurried to say, "but you gotta admit, his behavior is more than a little suspect. And I was worried he would try something with RJ or Maya. So, I decided to use my old camera to keep tabs on him...just in case," she explained.
"To keep tabs on him?" Michonne deadpanned dubiously.
"Questionable ethics aside," Judith inserted pointedly, "After RJ told me what happened at school yesterday, I remembered to go back through the footage."
"Let me get this straight," Michonne began, rubbing her temples as she processed everything she heard so far. "The kid next door rubbed you the wrong way and your solution was to record him in hopes of capturing him doing something nefarious."
Judith nodded. "Yes."
"On the Anderson's private property?"
"...yes."
"You realize that's illegal," Michonne told her, tilting her head.
"Good thing I know a great attorney," she replied smartly.
"Judith..."
"Relax, Mom. I'm not posting the footage anywhere, no one even knows I have it. Well, except for you. Besides, other than the kid spending an usual amount of time in the woods, I can't really tell what he was doing outside of the camera's scope."
Michonne exhaled her incredulousness. "So if you didn't catch him doing anything, what is it you wanted to show me?"
"I wasn't sure what I was looking at exactly," Judith started, scrolling through the camera's footage until she landed on a specific timestamp, then she handed over the device, "but, it didn't look right."
Michonne furrowed her brows, concerned for what she was about to witness.
The recording was dated two nights ago and read 1:35AM. The camera's night vision made the quality of the image a little grainy but she was able to make out a birds eye view of their neighbor's backyard.
Michonne lifted her eyes back to Judith. "What is this?"
"Just watch," Judith instructed and Michonne's frown deepened as she returned her attention to the small display screen.
A few moments later she could make out what looked like a woman attempting to crawl out of the basement storm doors.
Michonne narrowed her eyes as if that would give her better visibility, but the only thing she could make out clearly was the top of the woman's blonde hair.
"Jesse?" she asked aloud. "What's she doing?"
Judith shrugged in return. "I'm not sure, but it looks like she's trying to climb out of the basement."
The woman was clearly struggling to pull herself out of the space, and then in a blink of an eye she appeared to be pulled back down out of sight of the camera.
Michonne's eyes widened in surprise. She watched the camera's timer countdown the seconds until a man appeared through the doors. Pete.
His movements were agitated as he yanked the enclosure shut behind him.
And then there was nothing but the quiet stillness of the backyard.
Michonne continued to watch as the seconds ticked by, stunned at what she saw. Or what she thought she saw, the lawyer in her forced her admit.
"Mom?"
She blinked back up at Judith, seeing the concern in her eyes. She also saw the questions formulating behind them. Likely similar to the ones Michonne was developing herself.
"I'm going to hold on to this," she said, ejecting the camera's SD memory card into her palm.
Judith nodded, having already assumed as much. "Yeah, okay," she said, then leaned in closer to whisper, "But, should we call someone? Like the police?"
Michonne hesitated to do that for a number of reasons.
The first among them being that she had spoken to Jesse over the phone after the video was recorded and she sounded fine. She had even seen her, granted it was only in passing, but it was enough for her to be weary of misconstruing the situation.
Besides if Jesse really did need help, the police showing up unannounced could potentially have the opposite effect. Not to mention, the only reason for their suspicion was thanks to Judith's not-so-legal observation of the Anderson's private residence.
"You let me worry about that," she said.
Judith's eyebrows knitted together, worried by her response. "What about Dad?"
Michonne paused at that. Things were rocky enough between Rick and Pete, and she wasn't sure how her husband would react if she brought this to his attention now.
"I will," she eventually said to assure Judith. "But you need to get ready for school. It's almost time to go."
Judith nodded, deciding it would be best to trust her mother on this. "Yeah, okay," she said, standing to her feet.
"Oh, and Bug?" Michonne continued, stopping Judith before she could leave the room. "No more spying on the neighbors, please."
Judith ducked her head, blushing slightly. "Yes ma'am."
Michonne waited until she was alone to turn back to the window, her eyes trained on the house next door as she reached for her cell phone.
Jesse took a slow drag of her cigarette, inhaling the excess smoke through her nose before exhaling through her mouth.
She was seated on the bottom step of the basement, staring blankly at the empty space through red-rimmed eyes.
Sunlight filtered through the small windows lining the top of the walls, and she knew her boys would be up soon, if they weren't already. But she made no move to get up from her post.
The ashtray situated beside her was already overflowing when she limply knocked the ash off her cigarette. It was a tell for how long she had been there, waiting and contemplating.
The night before, she had been determined to wait up for Pete to come home, knowing they were overdue for a conversation. But the bottle Tito's she kept by her bedside to keep her company saw to it that she passed out long before that could happen.
That morning, she woke up alone and hungover and there was still no word from her husband. But she knew he had been there because some of his clothes were now missing from their shared closet.
Although she supposed she should have been more concerned, the reality was she was just pissed.
Pete wasn't answering his phone and when she tried to call the hospital she received the shock of her life when she learned Pete hadn't shown up for a shift in the last few days.
Her mind reeled with the possibilities of what he was actually up to.
It was still hard to grasp, but when the stranger showed up at her door with information about her husband's after-hours activities, she knew deep down there was truth there.
For a while now she had assumed Pete was up to something untoward, but the details Milton had given her were much more criminal than she could have imagined.
How long had she been an unwitting party to his crimes?
How long had he used their home as his own personal torture chamber?
Would anyone really believe that she had nothing to do with what he had done?
How could she be so stupid?
The questions tumbled around in her head, over and over again.
She wasn't refined in legalese by any stretch, but she knew enough to know that her situation didn't look good.
A part of her wondered if he knew that his dirty little secret had been exposed. If he somehow knew that she had conspired against him, then it would make sense for him to run.
Still, no matter what he thought about her she had thought he cared more about their boys. She never thought he would abandon them.
But, that was exactly what he had done. And maybe, that was for the best.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the dwindling cigarette back to her lips to take another long drag.
Her cell phone vibrated on the step next to her, and she glanced down wondering if Pete had finally decided to call her back. But was instead surprised to see her neighbor's name light up the screen.
She contemplated not answering, but then she remembered Michonne was a lawyer. If she were to speak to anyone, that was probably a good place to start.
"Hello?" she answered before the call could go to voicemail, then frowned at how foreign her voice sounded to her own ears.
"Hey, Jesse," Michonne returned warmly. "I'm sorry for calling so early. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, it's all right," Jesse quickly returned, surprised that any of her neighbors would have called at all, "Um, how are you?"
"I was actually calling to ask you the same," Michonne told her in a gentle tone. "I feel terrible about yesterday. How's Sam doing?"
Jesse exhaled, leaning her head back against the cold basement wall.
Honestly, she didn't know how Sam was doing and she felt guilty about that. She hadn't checked in with him since they got home yesterday, mostly because she had no idea what to say.
"About as well as can be expected," she eventually said.
"What about you? How are you doing?" Michonne asked, empathetically.
Jesse rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling, feeling tears burning behind her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to check in on her or her boys.
For Michonne to do so now was as unexpected as it was appreciated.
"I'm...just taking it day by day, you know?" she murmured, swiping at her cheeks.
"That's all any of us can do, really," Michonne said, not realizing how much that comforted Jesse on the other end of the line. "Listen, I'm sure you have your hands full but I was wondering if you wanted to grab some coffee with me later today? Let me make up for yesterday."
Jesse sat up a little, surprised by the offer.
She knew she needed to talk to someone, and wanted to believe Michonne could help her. But then she remembered Sam, and how she couldn't leave him alone.
"I-I wish I could," she stammered, "but, I need to stay home with Sam."
"Well, I could come to you," Michonne offered instead. "The convenience of living next door."
"Really? Okay."
"How's later this afternoon? I can give you a call when I'm on my way."
"That's perfect actually," Jesse sighed in relief, "I'll see you then."
"It's a date," Michonne replied lightly, "I'll talk to you later."
"Okay, talk soon."
Jesse disconnected the call as she smashed the remnants of her cigarette out into the ashtray.
She had little reason to have much hope these days, but there was a part of her - a very desperate part - holding out that things could still change.
Tara could feel her mother's stare burning a hole into the side of her face.
She didn't bring it up for the sake of keeping their drive peaceful, but she wasn't sure how long that would last.
After an uncomfortably silent fifteen minutes, Charlotte finally spoke her mind.
"That's not really what you're wearing today, is it?"
Tara briefly glanced down at the ripped jeans and Metallica t-shirt had thrown on that morning. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
Charlotte scoffed as if it were obvious. "Maybe Lily will have something more appropriate. For the life of me I don't understand why you would want to look like a hobo on today of all days."
Tara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew her mother was referring to the last-minute press conference her brother-in-law had decided to call in an attempt to change the narrative after his police interrogation became public knowledge.
"I don't plan on being in front of any cameras," Tara told her with a sideways glance, but only for a moment because her attention was immediately redirected towards the circus occurring outside of her sister and brother-in-law's gated community.
A cluster of news media lined the exterior of the gates. Reporters stood in front of their camera-people, recapping what the details knew so far with their correspondents back at the studio while they waited for the man of the hour to make his appearance.
Charlotte clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Vultures, the lot of them," she scorned in a bitter tone.
"They're only doing their job," Tara said absently as she navigated her way to the alcove that housed the security booth, infinitely grateful in that moment for her dark window tints.
She didn't like to think of herself as a paranoid person, but it felt like the security guard in the booth was a little shorter with her than usual when she displayed her access card for entry. Usually, there would be a brief exchange of pleasantries before she was sent on her way. Today, however, the guard on duty seemingly couldn't wait for the transaction to be over, not even bothering to open the booth window to greet them before remotely buzzing the gates open.
"My poor Lily," Charlotte simpered, "the thought of her being constantly surrounded by all this hostility."
Tara kept her mouth shut, knowing anything she had to say would only further upset her mother.
"She needs her family to support her now more than ever," Charlotte continued, looking pointedly at her youngest daughter.
Tara avoided her eyes, focusing instead on the sight of two police cars parked directly in front of her sister's residence.
Charlotte's expression turned smug. "It's about time the state offered them some real security."
"I don't think they're here for that kind of security..." Tara trailed, warily observing the uniformed officers who were now observing them as she pulled to a stop.
After she parked she turned in her seat to face her mother. "Look Mom, none of this is about supporting Lily," she contested, "this is about trying to make Philip look good. That's all it's ever about."
"Philip is family, Tara."
"He's not my family," she said firmly.
"I can't talk to you when you're being hysterical like this," Charlotte sighed disappointedly, opening her passenger's side door. "Your sister needs your support today, but if that's not good enough for you I suppose that's your decision, dear."
With that she got out of the car, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.
Tara groaned, sulking back into her seat.
She never understood the spell Philip had cast over her mother and sister. In their eyes the man could do no wrong. It was because of their unwillingness to see the man for what he truly was that Tara had been forced to keep her distance from the two most important people in her life. All because she refused to erase her memory and pretend he was the wholesome family man he wanted everyone to believe him to be.
She had only just started to come back into the fold after years of self-imposed isolation - not because she had forgiven Philip, but because she missed her family.
And now this.
With a heavy sigh, Tara forced herself to move out of the car.
She wanted to tell her sister, in person, why she wouldn't be there to participate in today's events.
Despite everything, there was a part of her that felt guilty for not supporting her sister in the way her mother clearly thought she should, and felt she owed her an explanation.
She looked over her shoulder at the police vehicles stationed just a few feet away from her and sighed, her shoulders slumping with the action as she turned to continue inside the house.
Inside was a scene of orderly chaos.
Staffers from Philip's campaign had set up shop in the sitting room and the dining room across the hall. Their voices overlapped loudly with various conversations taking place at once, all of them scrambling for solutions to shift the campaign's narrative away from the ongoing police investigation.
Two housemaids darted back and forth between the rooms, struggling to keep up with constant filling and disposing of their coffee and lightfare.
Everything seemed urgent, maybe even a little panicked.
Tara slipped through the traffic, heading further inside the space, letting their voices slowly fade into the background.
Because it was so much quieter the further inside she went, it was easy to overhear Philip's agitated curse as she passed by his closed study door. "This is fucking ridiculous. Why haven't you found him yet?"
"We checked at the hospital. He hasn't come in for a single shift this week."
Tara paused, curious and began to backtrack towards the door.
"What about the wife?"
"She hasn't seen him either...he's gone, sir."
There was a loud banging sound that made Tara jump slightly.
"Unacceptable. You need to find him, now."
"Sir, I understand the urgency, but given our current circumstances we need to be careful not to draw more attention."
"Anderson is playing us like a fucking fiddle! Now thanks to his efforts, I'm losing donors left and right, so the last thing I want to hear is your excuses, Milton. I want results, and I don't want to see your face again until you have them."
"...Yes sir."
Tara quickly dipped around the corner to keep hidden when the door swung open and Milton stepped out, appearing more than a little disgruntled.
He made sure to close the door behind him before rounding his shoulders and making his way down the hall in the opposite direction.
"What the hell is going on?" she muttered to herself.
"What are you doing?"
Tara jumped at the question, turning with wide eyes to see Lily looking at her suspiciously from the other end of the hallway.
"What are you doing, Tara?" she repeated, folding her arms over her chest.
"I was looking for you," Tara replied breathlessly, hurrying towards her.
Lily arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Mama told me you don't plan on staying. So, what do you want? As you can see I'm a little busy."
"Something isn't right here," Tara started in a hushed tone, "I don't think you should go to the press conference."
Lily scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I don't have time for this right now."
Tara shook her head, still reeling from the conversation she just overheard. "Lily, I'm serious-"
"So am I, Tara," she interrupted sharply, "I know you never liked Philip, and as much as I wish it were otherwise I can't force you to see him the way I do. So if you're not here to be supportive, I think it's best you leave."
"This isn't about being supportive," Tara said exasperatedly, "this is about your safety for fuck's sake, Lil!"
"What's all this?"
Both sisters turned to see Philip step out of his study, eyeing them curiously from his study doorway.
"Nothing for you to worry about," Lily inserted, rounding her sister to go to him. "Are you all finished with your speech?"
Philip nodded, eyes trained on Tara who remained fixed in place. "Will you be joining us, Tara?"
"She was actually just leaving," Lily inserted before Tara could respond, looping her arm through his. "Isn't that right, T?"
Tara frowned at her sister's pointed glare in direct juxtaposition to her lithe tone.
"Yeah," she replied in a clipped tone, "just leaving."
She brushed past them both without another word, wanting nothing more than to get out of that house. Unaware that she was holding her breath until she was back inside of her car.
She loudly exhaled her frustrations, leaning forward to rest her head against the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Overhearing Philip's outburst confirmed what she already suspected, he knew more about Andrea's disappearance than he was letting on. She didn't know what that meant exactly, but she knew it wasn't good.
Talking to her mother and sister was clearly not helping, so she needed another approach.
When she lifted her gaze her eyes landed on the police cars in her rear view mirror, and a thought occurred to her.
Quickly, she leaned over and reached inside her glove compartment hoping and praying that what she was looking for was still there.
She sighed in relief when she came across it; Detective Peletier's business card.
Tara pulled out her cell phone from her back pocket and dialed the number.
"Ms. Chambler," the detective answered on the second ring, sounding surprised to hear from her. "What can I do for you?"
"I need to talk to you," she said, then took a deep breath, lifting her eyes back to the large house in front of her. "Can we meet?"
A/N: I'm not even gonna hold y'all with excuses for this delay. Just know I appreciate your patience, and it will be rewarded with a conclusion to this story. Chapter 11 coming soon (I promise!)