The meeting point was a bust.
No sign of Merle.
Only the dead he left in his wake. Head shots. All of them. Daryl smirks - for an asshole, Merle could be surprisingly decent at times.
It doesn't relieve him of that sinking feeling however. Not even Michonne telling him that Merle had let her go had done that, and the closer he comes to Woodbury, the worse it gets.
The burnt out truck should have had him rejoicing. It had his brother written all over it, yet somehow he can't allow himself that much. Life has shat on him too many times. He's never had the luxury of believing all will be well.
The disarray that allows him to enter the town unnoticed is merely another example. There is something about it that makes him very afraid indeed. He can't put his finger on what, but there is definitely more at work here than a hole in Woodbury's defences. These people are in shock. He can read the panic on their faces. That might be because of the walkers wandering around unchallenged and unhindered, but then again it might be something else.
As it is, Daryl doesn't get chance to think any more of it.
Because a trail of gore leads to a sight, he will never unsee the rest of his days...
The sight of his brother... gorging upon flesh.
Panic takes hold, hitting him with an intensity he thinks will end him. It is accompanied by an appalling dread that has him unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to look away... and where he once might have claimed to be well acquainted with pain, it's clear he never had a clue, because no pain he's ever experienced comes anywhere close to this.
As if to protect him from the crushing grief he's about to feel, a consoling voice from deep within him rises up to assert that this isn't real, but that voice soon falters because the scene before him does not change, no matter how long he stares at it.
This is not a mistake.
This is not somebody else.
His eyes are not playing tricks upon him.
It is Merle.
And by the grace of God, Daryl thinks he will let him kill him.
Because what does he have left now? How will he go on?
Merle stumbles towards him – gory and grotesque in all the ways Daryl had been able to block out when it came to the dead but now has no choice but to contemplate – and he curls into himself like a scared little boy, confronted by a hell of his worst imaginings.
Then the sadness comes, threatening to grind every fibre of him into the dirt... and for a brief moment he feels himself on the cusp of letting the darkness take him – have it do with him what it will - tear him apart and reduce him to the infinite nothingness that surely comes before and after the absurdity that is being alive in this f*cked up world...
But then, as so often in situations where he thought he was done for, the survival instinct kicks in and Daryl pushes his brother away - again and again, like this was some stupid game they played when they were kids and Merle was as stubborn as he'd always been – never able to back down or call it quits when he should...
Finally, the red mist comes down and brings with it an all-consuming rage.
That Merle had done this to him. That he had to go and be the hero. That he had to go and break his heart in a way that only Merle ever could... and all the pent up anger for all the stupid things his brother ever said and did drive him forward - have him slide his knife into the rotting flesh, topple him to the ground and finish it in what can only be described as an orgy of overkill – utterly destroying what was left of his brother's face, before giving in to the terrible sadness once more and collapsing in a heap of purest misery nearby.
The sobs wrack his body – as painful as cramps and he thinks his lungs might give out before he's done, but eventually exhaustion takes hold and he merely stares at what is left of his brother, a never-ending stream of tears drenching him through, and his brain desperately wishes for some sort of respite from the gut wrenching hold grief has upon him, for if he keeps this up he'll surely go mad...
Thankfully, respite comes...
But not in a way he could ever have imagined...
In his peripheral vision, he registers something moving towards him. The limping gait tells him it is a walker, but as his eyes focus properly upon it, he instantly knows that something is not right with this picture...
It has not made a sound.
Has not even registered his presence.
Stops far short of him and ignores him completely. Is apparently transfixed by the sight of the body upon the ground.
Merle's body.
Then it is falling to its knees at Merle's side.
Screaming a silent scream of agony.
Tears running down its face.
Daryl has chills...
Walkers don't do these things.
They don't feel pain... They do not cry…
They do not mourn.
Anger rears its ugly head once more, to profess that it does not care what walkers do or do not do and delirious with sorrow as he is, he's all ears. So when it suggests slaughtering every last man in this godforsaken town, starting with whatever that thing is over there, he has no problem with it. Indeed, it seems an excellent notion. Apparently, his fingers are in agreement since they've already found their way to the knife...
It'll only take a second.
It ain't even paying attention...
He moves fast - wrenching himself up off the ground, only to freeze a moment later as his eyes take in the scene before him.
That thing, (he is about to stab to death), is tenderly placing objects upon Merle's chest…
A set of keys.
Some scraps of bandages and tape.
A piece of wood it had been using as a splint.
Oh God...
His brother's voice speaks to him then, as it has his entire life, and it has him in sobs once more, but now the pain is worse because he finally realises what it was he'd been trying to tell him.
"You reckon biters have a soul?"
Oh God…
I'm so sorry brother...
His legs give out.
He drops like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
There is a moment of terrifying stillness before the blast wave of realization hits and then he feels as if he, or whatever ragged mess is left of him, is being sucked down into the earth - ever deeper into a bottomless pit of regret and sorrow that has him wondering if he shall ever surface. It seeps into his bones and drives hooks into his soul, and he can do nothing but ride out the agonized sobs that curl his knees up into his chest and crush his body into an ever smaller singularity…
The movement must draw her gaze. He can sense it from behind his clenched eyelids… but despite the danger, he cannot return that gaze because that would mean accepting...
Accepting...what?
Accepting… that there is a walker that is...
A walker... that...
A walker...
He can't have it.
Can't even think it.
He won't.
Refuses to entertain it.
It can't be...
But when he eventually finds it in him to open his eyes, it is.
She is.
Daryl shakes his head. Digs his nails into his palms. Wills himself to wake up...
It makes no difference.
She is still there.
Keeping vigil over his brother.
Holding his hand.
She looks over at him then, and her face is filled with such misery he can hardly stand it.
This is real.
His vision blurs as the puzzle pieces slot together in his mind - those final days with his brother, the way he behaved, the one time he tried to tell him...
An' you didn' listen…
Oh God, that hurts...
That hurts so much…
His mind protests because how was he supposed to know? How could he have guessed? Who would ever have suspected such a thing of Merle? That simply wasn't the man he was. His brother had never shown any sign of...
Of what?
Of caring...?
… for anyone like that…
let alone…
He feels ill. Utterly sick to the stomach and with the nausea comes anger that he has to deal with this too. He fixes her with a look of pure disgust and once again the idea of finishing her rears up to catch his full attention, but the sensation fades as quickly as it came because she is staring at his brother with such reverence... such devotion...
He hadn't wanted to leave her.
In the middle of a firefight, he'd told him that much.
And then he came back.
...For him.
So he could have a chance.
But it seems...
For her too...
So, knowing this as he does, how can he possibly end her?
It would go against what his brother had wanted...
And logic would dictate that regardless of how his brother had seen things, she was still one of the dead, and therefore too dangerous to let 'live', but each time he looks at her, all Daryl can think is that at no point has she done anything to him...
Not once has she threatened him or even imposed upon him... her only thought has been to stay with Merle... and there is something strangely touching in that, something that makes him feel some flicker of gratitude towards her...
Loud voices from the vicinity interrupt his thoughts, reminding him of where he is, and he drags his weary limbs up off the ground - bone tired and aged years in a matter of minutes. He has to pull himself together.
It ain't safe here.
The last thing the group needs is for him to be taken by the Governor.
With this in mind, he crouches behind a car and watches as a large group of men enter the nearby compound - shock written large upon their faces. One of them is the latino from the meeting point and he looks positively ashen. Hot on their heels is Andrea, not looking much better, and Daryl longs to ask her what's going on, but it's not as if he can just stroll over there for a chat whilst she's surrounded by Woodbury's finest, is it?
No, he'll have to go. He hates to leave Merle like this, but he doesn't have a choice. He needs to get back to his people. No doubt they'll be going to war after this.
He makes sure the coast is clear before he approaches his brother, hands raised so that the figure kneeling beside him knows he means her no harm. She nods, clearly accepting of him, and even manages a soft smile as he places a bandana next to the other items on his chest.
He lingers a moment longer at this odd funeral of sorts, then turns to make the long walk back to the prison.
If he get's a move on, maybe he'll make it back by nightfall.
Rick and the others will be waiting.
In the days ahead Daryl will ask himself if there's anything he could've said or done to change the way things turned out.
He'll run countless what ifs through his mind, torturing himself with each perceived failure. What if he'd listened to his brother instead of dismissing him? Or kept better tabs on him? Followed him to Woodbury? Put a bolt in the brain of anyone who so much as looked at him wrong…?
But then he'll also remember that Merle lived by his own rules, that nobody could keep him from doing what he wanted to do, that there was no keeping tabs on him, nor following him if he was determined to give you the slip…
That he made a choice.
To fight and die for those he loved.
In a world filled with so much senseless death and destruction, that was something… and way more than anyone would ever expect from a no-good Dixon…
As news reaches the prison of the Governor's death, Daryl's world is turned upside down once more. He comes to realise just how much his brother's actions mattered - how drastically they've changed the course of things to come.
A tragic accident is the official story - Woodbury had been overrun by walkers and their leader was overwhelmed.
Daryl knows better.
This was no accident.
Merle brought down the fence. Gave the walkers a way in. Released one particular walker from her cell...
One who is different from the others...
She had a hand in this. Daryl knows it. Can feel it in his bones. He doesn't say anything because who would believe him? but he knows…
He thinks about her sometimes.
Wonders what became of her.
Is she out there somewhere?
Free?
Just as Merle had wanted…
His eyes stray to the horizon, scanning the terrain… Sometimes he thinks he sees something out there... but then it just turns out to be another one of them...
Will their paths cross again someday?
He does not know.
Until that day he'll take comfort in knowing that his brother was not alone in those final weeks and months in Woodbury, that he'd had somebody who cared for him… and though he'll never really know what it was between them, the fact that she was there for him is enough.
It has to be.
The world does not stand still, not even for grief.
He has to be ready.
.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.
.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.
Hey there,
just wanted to finish up here by saying that if you've made it this far, to this, the end of my curious story sbout Merle Dixon, then thank you - I hope you liked it.
The Walking Dead has so many great characters and storylines, not to mention an ever increasing number of spin-offs… all of which makes me grateful for anybody who wishes to take a trip with me down memory lane, back to season 3 and the characters from that era.
So, thank you once again,
Take Care.