AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

The screaming wasn't constant, but it was definitely panicked. It erupted in short and sharp bursts that almost sounded like alarms. Carol, Daryl imagined, had been ripped through the theoretical veil, or the fabric of space and time, or whatever the hell it had been that Lenora had called it, and she had found her return to the mortal world at least a little disconcerting from the sound of things.

Daryl followed the sound easily. There was something inside of him that felt like, even if the sound hadn't been there to direct him, he still could have found his way to its source even through a maze. Something tugged him onward like a cable being retracted.

Daryl reached the bedroom door. It was open wide, and as he rounded the corner, he became immediately aware that there was a very confused woman inside—and she was stark naked. He froze. As soon as she became aware of him amid her obvious distress, she screamed again. He screamed back at her, more out of being startled than anything else, and then he yanked the door shut, closing her in the room.

His heart was beating hard and fast—hard and fast enough that it felt like it might explode in his chest. Lenora was owl-eyed as she reached him. Her years of very, very heavy smoking had left her even more out of breath than he was after the little sprint.

"There's a naked woman in my bedroom," Daryl said.

"Your soulmate is naked in your bedroom," Lenora panted. "It could be worse."

"Not too damn much right this minute," Daryl responded. "The hell do we fuckin' do now?"

"I didn't read a lot about after the spell," Lenora admitted, a little sheepishly.

"Well—you better scroll back through your witchy ass mind and find something," Daryl growled.

Inside the bedroom, Carol had stopped screaming, but there was now the sound of panicked sobs. Daryl could not begin to imagined how confused and disoriented she might be—and that was even if she had a whole ass brain in this realm because, honestly, he wasn't entirely sure how this whole thing worked. Daryl opened the door a crack and peeked in. Almost immediately, he spied Carol. She'd wrapped up in the blanket off his bed, and he didn't mind that at all. She was gathered as far into a corner as she could get and, frankly, she looked almost pathetically beside herself. As soon as she noticed Daryl peeking at her, she screamed again. He opened the door just a pinch more, almost instinctively moving toward her, and then thought better of it until he had a plan.

"Just so you know—I didn't see nothin'," he offered. "I mean—I did, but I weren't payin' attention to it. Not all the damned way."

She screamed at him again.

"It's OK," Daryl offered. "It's just—just trust me on this. It's OK."

It was clear that, at this particular moment, she didn't trust him. She screamed again, and Daryl closed the door. The screaming stopped—replaced by other noises. There was some distance between him and the neighbors, but Daryl still didn't want to take the chance that the neighbors might hear the screaming and come to investigate or, worse, call the cops.

"What the fuck you come up with, Lenora?" Daryl hissed at her.

Lenora was chewing her lip. She no longer looked even the slightest bit self-assured.

"I don't know what you do after the spell," she said. "The last time the spell was completed—and anything about it was recorded—everyone involved was burned at the stake."

"OK—see? That shit is not helpful, Lenora," Daryl growled through his teeth, attempting to keep his voice low so as to not send Carol—or, at least, he hoped that was Carol, since she very much looked like the woman in the painting from well over a hundred years ago—into another round of hysterical screaming.

Lenora held her hands up as if to still Daryl and, maybe, the whole chaotic situation.

"OK—listen—this is simple. We just have to think it through. In the account that I did read…"

"The one where every damn body got burned at the stake," Daryl interjected.

She gave him a look that suggested she didn't appreciate being interrupted, but he didn't really appreciate that she'd come without an "after" plan.

"In the account that I did read," she repeated with a hint of irritation to her voice, "it was the woman who brought her soul mate back to life. And—everything must have gone well. According to the account, there was something about the behavior or appearance—or maybe it was that he hadn't been gone too very long and someone recognized him as someone they knew or knew about—and that tipped the townspeople off. That's how they ended up—well, you know."

"Yeah, I got the memo," Daryl said.

"But the spell must have gone fine. There must have been no difficulty, really, with their relationship," Lenora said. "Which means we just need to calm her down and explain things to her."

"How the hell do we even start this?" Daryl asked.

Lenora shrugged.

"Just—follow what's in your heart," Lenora offered. "It's what the hell led you here in the first place."

Daryl wanted to tell her that was the worst damn not-answer that he'd heard from her yet, but something inside of him actually insisted that it made sense. At least, it made as much sense as anything else that had happened so far.

Daryl opened the door again—just a crack. He peeked in. He wanted to make sure that Carol hadn't found something heavy, like maybe the fireplace tools, and was waiting to crack him over the head in her confusion.

If he had seen her waiting to do such a thing, it might not have tugged at his chest quite as much as what he actually found. An old chair sat in a corner—the dusty kind of thing that he'd probably throw out eventually, but he hadn't gotten around to it just yet—and Carol sat drawn up in it, wrapped in the blanket from the bed, looking like she couldn't decide if she wanted to cry or sleep.

Daryl pushed the door open a little further and stuck his head in. She jumped up, nearly falling as the blanket wrapped around her legs, and Daryl stepped all the way in just as she started to scream.

"Please stop screaming!" Daryl barked at her. "Please—I'm gonna explain. It's gonna be OK. You're gonna be—OK. But you gotta stop screamin' before you get us all into some very, very…hot fuckin' water, OK?"

He realized this wasn't going to be as easy as, maybe, his imagination wanted it to be. Explaining this was going to be a challenge, no matter how good his intentions were.

At least, Carol did stop screaming. She looked at him, wide-eyed. He caught when her eyes flicked toward the very same cast iron fireplace tools that he'd thought of earlier. Was it possible that, as his soulmate—if that was even true—she could somehow read his mind? Or was she simply trying to protect herself from an intruder when her senses were very much on edge?

For just the briefest moment, Daryl wondered if she'd made a move for the fireplace tools when her husband had killed her. He pushed that thought of his mind.

"Don't do it," he demanded. He showed her his hands. He held them out in front of him in a sign of surrender, to make it clear to her that he carried no weapon and meant her no harm. "I ain't gonna hurt you, but the least you can do is not hurt me back."

She stilled and stiffened. She hugged the blanket around her. Daryl stepped further into the room, and Lenora followed, practically stepping on his heels.

"Who are you?" Carol asked.

Daryl couldn't help but smile. She could speak. She could understand him. She could see him. She could hear him. And she could speak.

And her voice was almost musical. There was, he realized, probably not a single damn thing that was truly special about it, but the moment he heard it, a shiver ran through his body like it had been a sound he'd been longing to hear for his whole life.

"I'm Daryl," he said. "And—you're Carol?" Carol's eyes flicked to Lenora. Daryl followed them and waved a hand at Lenora. "This is Lenora. She's a…"

"Friend," Lenora supplied quickly.

"She's a friend," Daryl agreed.

"I'm Carol," Carol ventured, hugging the blanket tighter around her. "Carol—Peletier. My husband is Ed Peletier and…if he finds you here…he'll…"

She stopped. Her face screwed up with something that had to be confusion or a very close relative of it.

Daryl nodded his head, hoping that the gesture was at least a little reassuring. He kept his hands up where she could see them.

"It's OK," Daryl said. "I promise you that he won't come an' find us here." She furrowed her brow at him. "He's dead."

"You—killed him?"

Daryl was struck by the fact that she didn't seem disturbed by that idea, really, at all. She seemed confused, but not really bothered. Of course, Daryl thought she had every right to be just as confused as she could possibly be, because he had been present for everything, had heard Lenora's explanation, and still felt as confused as hell.

Daryl wondered how much she could remember—or thought she might remember—of her life. Was it her past life and, consequently, her death? Was this a continuation of her old life or something like a new life entirely? He glanced at Lenora, almost asking her, but realized that she probably didn't know either. Instead, he turned his attention back to a very confused Carol.

"Didn't kill him," Daryl said. "Don't know how he died, exactly."

"But—he's dead?" Carol asked.

"He'd have to be," Daryl said. "Either that or he's the oldest fuckin' man alive. Either damn way—he ain't comin' back here."

Carol was no less confused, and she hugged herself—a reminder to Daryl that she was naked underneath a blanket that she'd pulled from his bed, and that probably didn't help to calm her nerves or ease any of her confusion.

"I'ma try to explain this," Daryl said. "But—this shit's about to be confusin' as hell."

"What's happening?" Carol asked. She glanced around. "What—happened to my house? Why are you here?"

"I'ma try to explain all that shit, too," Daryl said. "But—you just gotta trust me, OK? And—no more screaming. OK? That fine? Can you do that if I promise I'ma do my best to—help you understand?"

"Fine," Carol said, perhaps a touch reluctantly.

"Fine," Daryl said. "Good. Listen—I need you to stay right here. OK? Right here in this room. Don't'cha come out. Not right this minute. And—don't you make no whole lotta noise right now, OK? I'ma get you some clothes."

"Where are my clothes?" Carol asked, moving toward the antique wardrobe in the room that Daryl was using for his own things. Someone had cleared it out before he'd moved in, but he'd found Carol's clothes in the attic while he'd been doing his scavenger hunt for Lenora.

"They got moved," Daryl said. "I'll explain. Just—stay put, and I'ma get you some clothes. And then, I'ma explain everything to you. You just gotta stay put and stay quiet. Can you do that? For just a couple minutes?"

"I don't feel like I have a choice," Carol said, almost mournfully.

Daryl frowned at her. Something in his chest tugged as he perceived her obvious distress.

"In some ways—you're right. You don't. But—I promise you this, even though you ain't got a single damned reason to believe me. It's gonna be all right, OK? You can believe me on that. One damn way or another, I'ma make it all right."

Carol stared at him a moment before nodding her head, her arms still hugging the blanket tightly around her.

"I believe you," she said.

Daryl smiled, surprised at how pleased he was to hear that and how much hearing that made him determined to make it so.

"You just gotta trust me," he said.

"OK," Carol said. "I'll—trust you."

Daryl's heart beat hard in his chest. He had to figure this out—now, it was for her as much as it was for him. He pushed Lenora out into the hallway and pulled the door closed.

"I'm goin' to get her some clothes," Daryl said. "I think I got some tea bags to make her somethin' warm to drink, but I got shit as far as food goes, so you're gonna take my truck, and take some money, and buy some shit for a decent ass meal. We're gonna find out if she eats. Get her somethin' to eat in her. That'll make her feel better. It always does. I'ma do my best to explain to her what the hell's goin' on, and then we gotta figure this shit out."

"I'm sorry—we?" Lenora asked.

"You and me," Daryl said.

"You hired me to perform the spell," Lenora said. "To help you connect with Carol. I've done my job."

"We ain't too damn connected just yet," Daryl said. "And as far as I'm concerned, the spell ain't complete until there's peace in the house. That's part of what the hell I discussed with you, I'm sure. You're in this shit now, and until we get it settled—you can pick out which damn room in this godawful huge ass house suits you and pretend you're on vacation because Madame Lenora's got all the damned business she can handle right now and she's closed to the public."

"I have to get home to Barnabas," Lenora protested.

"He can have his own motherfuckin' room, too," Daryl said. "I don't give a damn, but you ain't leavin' me to figure this shit out all by myself."

"I don't see why you think this is my responsibility," Lenora protested.

"It was your double-double-toil-and-trouble shit that brought her here," Daryl said.

"At your request!"

"And now I'm requestin' you stay," Daryl said. "And help me figure shit out. And if you don't, I'ma call every crazy ass soundin' church from here to Texas an' tell 'em who you are an' what you done."

Lenora narrowed her eyes at him.

"And you don't think they'll come after both of you?"

"I got star sixty-seven and the common sense to tell 'em you done it without tellin' 'em where the hell to find the evidence of your witchcraft. Them real crazy people don't need no evidence anyway. They'll believe it just on the principle that they been waitin' on someone or somethin' to prove what they been suspectin' all along for years—there's evil witches among 'em."

Lenora scoffed.

"I'm not an evil witch," she hissed.

Daryl smiled at her.

"I don't think you are," he said. "But if you abandon my ass and her ass, my opinion's gonna change. Did you see her? She looks helpless. Afraid. If you won't do it to help me, then do it to help her. I don't know what the hell to do."

"I don't either," Lenora protested. Daryl raised his eyebrows at her and she sighed. "Barnabas is going to need his sandbox and a few other items."

"Bring whatever the hell you want. Pack the whole damned back of the truck until everybody in town starts gossipin' that your ass is shackin' up with me. I don't give a shit. You might pick up a few more of them old ass books you got while you're packin' your shit. See if you can't find some information about what the hell we ought to do and expect now that we snatched her outta her spirit world or whatever an' put here right here in this one."

"You're paying the regular expenses," Lenora said. "If I'm going to be out of work, it's only fair. Food and—cat food. Litter. Barnabas likes treats."

Daryl pulled out his wallet and passed several bills over to Lenora.

"Just remember—you don't come back, I'm callin' the cops that you robbed me an' stole my truck, and I'm callin' every shaky ass lil' country-ass backwater-church I can find in the whole damn US of A."

"Point taken," Lenora said, snatching the money out of Daryl's hand. "You're not getting any change. I'm almost out of cigarettes, too."

"Figured as much," Daryl said. "I smoke golds if they got 'em. Reds if they don't. Throw me a couple packs in the pile when you're shoppin'."

"Anything else?"

"Beer. Piss beer, too. I ain't got the budget for your expensive taste."

"And what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get Carol some clothes, and some tea, and I'm going to try to explain to her that we've whisked her ass straight into the twentieth century."

Lenora laughed quietly.

"I think I got the better end of the deal," she mused, shoving Daryl's money down into her pocket, accepting his truck keys, and starting down the staircase.

"Don't forget to lock the door on your way out," Daryl called. "Key's under that cuddly ass lookin' gargoyle."