Her last words were ever present in his thoughts as he led the group through the rain to the barn, their home for the night. The initial relief of the rain, more refreshing for some than others, became an overwhelming downpour, a storm with the potential of violence brewing on the edge of sweet release.
“Home Sweet Fucking Home,” Daryl muttered, and then winced at the memories the phrase brought to the surface as they piled into the dank but dry building and its one lone walker occupant was put out of its misery. The group had settled as much as they could with the wind whipping at the wooden slats of the barn and their stomachs cramping despite the dinner of dog meat not too long before. He winced again slightly, not at the meal as they had to do what they had to and were damned lucky to come across that pack of dogs. Nah, it was memories again that pained him, the memory of that fucking one-eyed dog and everything that followed. Her voice once again rose up in his mind.
Those fucking words had haunted him for the last 17 Days, because he sure as hell didn’t get it. He didn’t get it. She was gone but the words, those fucking words, gnawed at the base of his skull. They had been so close to walking out of there, so close to reuniting her with her sister, to Judith, to their family. A family, who he had been so sure they had lost forever, but she had never stopped having faith in.
“Would it kill you to have a little faith?”
He remembered her exasperated rebuke and fierce glare when he spat back an answer he knew would hurt her instead of the truth which seemed too raw and painful to reveal at the time. He didn’t walk away from the prison with any wound you could see but he, fuck, he felt it. It was an old wound never healed. He’d never had faith in a “home sweet home” and happy endings. He’d never had a lot of faith, period. It was a Dixon curse.
Truth was that before Rick and their group, he’d never had much of a family outside of Merle, and that was only when his elder brother wasn’t in the joint. Ironically, the prison was the first time in a long time he’d ever felt at home since he was a kid and losing it, losing the family he just found, yeah, he was pretty damn sure a little faith right then would kill ‘em. So, he dug at her wounds. He struck back with “Faith never did shit for us, never did shit for your father.”
He regretted saying it as soon as he saw the emotions, surprise and raw hurt, flash across her face before settling into sad disappointment. In the end, he’d hurt them both and he offered his handkerchief as an apology, a handkerchief to collect berries for the lost children they would never find. He was ashamed he had tried to blot out her light. Let it burn a while longer. He wasn’t looking forward to it going out. He’d seen her like that before when he had gone searching inside the Greene farmhouse looking for Shane. Even then when she’d barely been a name to him, he’d hated seeing her cold, lifeless, just another dead girl. Lying on that bed she had just been a burnt out lightbulb discarded and left behind.
Another memory was dredged up and stung him like shrapnel, an image of a van overwhelmed by a herd of walkers flashed through his brain and his stomach lurched.
“I get it now,” he heard her voice again.
Daryl gave his head a little shake forcing himself not to go down that road. He focused instead on their family, what mattered, memorizing each one of their faces until the memory was blurred. Daryl thought they all looked like he felt. Lost.
“I know you lost something back there.”
RIck’s words came rushing back to him. It was almost like Rick understood, but Daryl knew it was bullshit because he didn’t even know what he lost, not the whole shape and weight of it anyway. The signs were all there, but he couldn’t see them. It was good. He knew that much. She was like a light at the end of the tunnel that he had gotten closer and closer to before it was blown out and she was gone. They all looked like their lights went out, like their light had gone out. Another unbidden memory drifted into his mind then.
“Like moths to a flame,” Carol said, smiling softly and nodding her head to the group of new survivors who Glenn was leading around block C. They had formed a circle around the youngest Greene daughter and smiling baby. Ass-kicker was putting on a show, bouncing happily on Beth’s lap, chortling, and twisting her fingers into her caretaker’s hair. Beth was smiling shyly as her brother-in-law introduced the strangers.
Daryl exhaled the smoke from the cigarette he had been nursing, watching as it puffed into a cloud in the chilly late December air as he helped Carol sort the haul he and Glenn had brought in with the group of new survivors. The temperature was dropping each day, but if the sun was out, the survivors of the prison were outside more often than not.
“‘Spose happy babies are hard to imagine on the road,” Daryl muttered around his cigarette. Carol looked up from the clothing she was folding, eyebrows raised incredulously. “What?” he asked, nonplussed by her expression. She rolled her eyes at him and shook her head, “I meant Beth, Daryl.” He frowned at her but looked back over to the group and scoffed. “Kinda old for her ain’t they. Can’t imagine Herchel be happy ‘bout that.” Daryl said, looking around for the farmer.
When he looked back at Carol, she was glaring at him, “She’s not a little girl, Daryl. She’s 18 and a young woman. Those guys are in college. You should know that you brought them in. I’m sure Hershell would be happy for Beth to have a chance for a relationship with someone closer to her age”. Daryl shrugged nonchalantly, but he still felt uneasy, a sign he learned from his childhood that something was about to go to shit.
Yeah, he brought the guys in, but for some reason he’d placed them as older. Maybe with the world being what it was everybody had to grow up fast. Carl sure did, something Rick was trying to undue but was having little luck. Daryl knew from experience that it was a hard bell to unring. He watched the group a beat more, rubbing his chin as he saw Beth laugh at something the dark-haired guy, Zach, he remembered suddenly, said. He shook his head and turned back to the task at hand, the feeling still rolling his stomach, but he trusted Carol’s instincts. Outside of Rick, he trusted her the most.
‘Course a pretty girl like her was bound to attract attention from other kids her age. Hell, it ain’t like he was immune entirely. He knew Herschel Greene’s youngest daughter was pretty in an abstract way. He cataloged it for risk like he did with most everything. It was the way he survived, well that and not expecting anything from life. She was pretty, sweet looking, and way too young. She was somebody he should stay the hell away from.
The first time he saw her she was standing next to her boyfriend, who eyed them with something akin to fear and protectiveness. Daryl had cataloged and dismissed him as maybe being annoying but no trouble. The girl was hanging behind him eyeing their new group with curiosity and something fierce and shining he couldn’t place. It had scared him all the same and made him double down on his determination to stay the hell away from her.
He managed to do it too until he had gotten lost out there in the woods, bucked from that skittish horse, Nelly. He ended up with a bolt in his leg and a bullet hole in his head. This little lost girl, Sophia, and her mother, Carol, had taken a hold of him. He had watched the family with the same stomach rolling unease from the edge of their camp outside of Atlanta. He had recognized the dynamic in his subconscious before Ed had gone and confirmed it by grabbing and twisting Carol’s arm. It was only Merle that had kept him from decking the son of a bitch.
Daryl recounted feeling restless laying useless in the guest bed of the Greene farmhouse as Carol’s words spiraled through his brain.
“You did more today for my Sophia than her daddy did her whole life.”
He sighed and let the book Glenn had brought him drop. It was boring as fuck, but he appreciated the kid’s gesture. Herschel had instructed him to continue resting at the house until the morning, but Carol’s gratitude which both pleased and disturbed him made the desire to go and find the little girl prickle. It was during that last visit Herschel had brought the youngest daughter with him to help dress Daryl’s wounds. She’d been in before, bringing him lunch. He felt his ears burn remembering with embarrassment how nervous he got to lift up his shirt for the farmer knowing she’d be there looking and judging.
Daryl remembered that when he hesitated, Herschel had cleared his throat gently and said soothingly, “We've all got scars. Ain’t no shame in it.” It was something Herschel had said earlier when he had shown Daryl a similar whip scar on his upper arm and revealed he had gotten it when he tried to stop his own son of a bitch father from whipping his mother. When still Daryl didn’t move, feeling possibly more shame now that the man had sussed him out so effectively, Herschel looked to his daughter, “Ain’t that right Bethy?”.
“Bethy” blinked in surprise at her father. Her large eyes seemingly growing wider in question. Her father nodded encouragingly to her, and it was Daryl’s turn to be surprised and perhaps even a little amused when she gulped cartoon-like. He let out a little snort at her expression. When she turned her gaze back to him, the same fierceness from his first night at the farm, silenced him. She eyed him for a second, longer until she was sure he was taking her seriously.
“That’s right. No shame in it. Just means we survived something’ to heal from.” “We?” Daryl scoffed. She nodded grimly. “I got ‘em too. On my back. I got caught in a fire when I was little,” she said solemnly. Before he could respond, she had turned and lifted her peasant top slightly so he could see the shiny red scars still raw looking despite the age. “Your turn,” she said firmly when she turned back around placing her hands on her hips. Daryl gaped at her and looked to Herschel who seemed to be smirking behind his hand. When the farmer nodded in agreement, Daryl rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself before finally lifting up his shirt so the father daughter pair could attend to his wounds. Despite his embarrassment at the memory, he was somewhat mollified that the old farmer had trusted his youngest to be in the room sharing scars with him and that she too had been comfortable enough to do it.
He sighed and threw an arm over his eyes listening to the quiet of the house, the residents had long gone to bed. He was finally starting to doze when he heard a slight creak outside his door and a soft knock. He thought it might have been Rick or Shane needing him for something when he grunted a quick “yeah?” He was not expecting Herschel’s youngest to slip through the door, and he sat up in surprise trying not to grunt with pain at the movement. With her big blue eyes and long legs, she looked like a fawn that somehow made her way into his room. She looked almost as startled as he felt despite being the one of the two who had knocked.
She went to shut the door but seemed to hesitate and let it sit on the frame before turning around and looking up shyly through her long lashes. He stared at her, confused, and feeling cornered. Despite the old farmer’s show of trust earlier, Daryl knew there would be hell to pay If her daddy or sister caught her in there with him. He knew too he’d be the one to pay it even though she was the one that had invaded his space. It was this thought that colored his tone when he gruffly demanded, “What yeh doin’ in here girl?”
Seemingly unbothered by his attitude she brought out from behind her a small bag of medical supplies “Thought you might want this tomorrow when you go out looking for that little girl,” she said simply. He squinted at her wondering what she was playing at. “Yeh were here when yer Daddy told me I shouldn’t go out or I’d rip my stitches. Said he wouldn’t be sewing me back up again.”
She shrugged, “Yeah and I saw the look on your face when he said it too.” Annoyed that she had gone and sussed him out much like her Daddy and suspicious of her intentions, he snarled back “So what, “Bethy” you nicked them supplies hopen’ I get blamed and your Daddy kicks me and my people off your land?”
Instead of shrinking back like he anticipated, she did what she did earlier that day and squared up to him, hands on hips, fierceness glaring back at him from her baby blues. “Now you know that’s bullshit Daryl Dixon. As far as I’m concerned you and your people coming here is the best thing that’s happened in a while. I’m giving you this,” at the word “this” she tossed the bag of supplies at his stomach, although thankfully far away from his wound, “cause I wanna help find that little girl. Nobody deserves to be lost, especially kids and especially now with the world the way it is,” she finished in what would have been a shout if they weren’t whispering.
He stared blankly at her for a second before gripping the bag. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and she nodded huffing a breath causing a strand of loose hair to blow up and out of her face before starting to turn toward the door.
For reasons Daryl did not understand, he stopped her by asking “is that what happened? You got lost and got caught in a fire?” It was her turn to blink at him and he saw a flicker of pain cross her face as her hand went up as if to touch her back before she dropped it. She nodded. “I was lucky though. Daddy found me in time.”
“Lucky,” Daryl muttered, not sure if that was the right adjective. She nodded emphatically, “Not everybody gets found.”
“Not everybody has somebody to look’ for ‘em,” Daryl thoughtfully remembering the story he had told Andrea of when he was lost in the woods, and no one had even noticed he was gone. He’d told it to raise their spirits, but the memory had left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Lucky.” she repeated, and he glanced up and nodded in agreement.
“That little girl-” Beth began.
“Sophia,” Daryl interjected. Beth nodded.
“Sophia,” she repeated, “Sophia is lucky too. You’re going to find her. I’ve got faith in you.”
Daryl felt himself flush.
“You believe in that, huh, that faith shit?” Dary asked, trying to distract from his discomfort. Beth shrugged and smiled mischievously as if at some inside joke, “a little faith wouldn’t kill me.” They heard the creak of the front door and Daryl tensed.
Beth gave him a wry smile, “It’s just Maggie coming back from meeting Glenn. She thinks she’s sneaky,” Beth said softly and then added in another whisper “better go.”
He nodded and lifted up the small bag of medical supplies, “Thanks.” She tucked the wayward piece of hair behind her ear and smiled again before she shut the door carefully behind her. As she left, Daryl noticed the music note encapsulated by a heart tattooed on her right shoulder. Stealing and tattoos, she was fierce. “Fierce like a kitten,” Daryl muttered, but knowing at the same time he was lying to himself. She was fierce in a way he didn’t understand, not like how Rick or even Merle was fierce, but it was there, nonetheless. It took him a while to fall asleep; her words, “I’ve got faith in you,” were added to Carol’s. His mind spun until exhaustion won and sleep quieted his brain.
But her faith, it did shit for them, because the next time he saw Beth Greene she was weeping and being wrestled away from the clawing hands of her undead mother. She must have realized it too because she went into some type of catatonic shock, that burnt-out lightbulb on the bed, and when she woke was bound and determined to exit their earthly plane. That mystery fierceness won over though and to her family and even his own relief she decided not to opt out of whatever hell awaited them in this upside-down world.
Not too long after that, the toxic triangle that was Lori, Shane, and Rick boiled over and the farm was wiped out by the herd. The next few months on the road with the group, Daryl was focused solely on survival. Food, shelter, and staying ahead of any walkers were his main priority. He was grateful that he wasn’t doing it alone and felt like an integral part of the group. He was needed. Rick depended on him. Carol relied on him. He saw that. It kept him going.
Until the prison, he hadn’t given the youngest Greene much thought. She was always there on the peripheral helping where she could but mainly watching out for Lori who increasingly became less able to keep up with the group as “Shane Jr” grew within her.
Daryl hadn’t been able to keep from watching Beth in the firelight. The way her hair lit up as she sang, shy at first but with growing confidence as her sister joined in, entranced him. He saw it again, that fierce something, and he didn’t know if it was Carol’s teasing or something about the moon, but their eyes caught. The swooping thrill that zipped through him made his throat tighten and stomach flip. She had a spark of something he didn’t understand, something he gravitated to, like that proverbial moth to a flame Carol would speak of months later. He didn’t want to get burnt so he shut it out and let her become peripheral once again.
When Lori died giving birth to a little girl, Judith, named after Carl’s teacher, he looked to her once again. Rick was a mess, and they thought Carol was gone. In the aftermath of the prison being overrun, in the haze of stunned grief they were all in, he looked for her light. Someone needed to watch over Carl. The boy was stoic, but he had just lost his mother, and his father wasn’t doing too hot either. Beth was there and ready to jump in and help. As he and Maggie made their way out of the prison gates to find formula, he was confident he’d left Carl in capable hands.
Daryl had always had a fondness for babies. Hell, who didn’t? This baby he decided would live and he announced it saying, “Ain’t goin’ to lose no one else.” Later when he took her into his arms and felt her heartbeat against his chest, Daryl decided she wasn’t just going to live but would kick the world’s ass.
“Yeh like that? Yeh like that lil ass kicker?” he crooned to the baby and then looked around grinning at the others as the baby fed heartedly from the bottle. He caught Beth’s glance then and her eyes were filled with that same fierceness, but they were also filled with relief and gratitude. He nodded his own thanks to her tilting his head to Carl who was happily watching his little sister eat. Beth had smiled warmly back at him and looking back down at the new baby Daryl found Beth’s light didn’t scare him near as bad as what it would be like without it.
Her voice, softer, as if lulling Judith to sleep brought him back to their present in the barn. He looked for the baby Beth loved as if she was Beth’s own and found her content and sleeping now in her father’s arms. Would she even remember the girl who had mothered her since birth?” Daryl felt he would cry again but all the tears seemed to have been wrung out of him.
“Daryl?” Carl stood at his feet, Rick's hat dipping over his forehead and shielding his eyes from view.
“Hmm?” Daryl mumbled, still watching the sleeping baby.
“We’ll tell her, Judith, I mean, we’ll tell her about Beth.”
At Beth’s name Daryl squinted up at the boy unsure of what Carl meant.
“When my mom died, Beth, well, she told me we would tell Judith about her mother. We’d tell her about how strong my mom was and how brave she was to give her life up so Judith could be born. We’d tell her how much my mom loved her. We’ll tell Judith about Beth too. We’ll tell her how Beth loved her and died trying to save Noah. We’ll tell her about both of them. We'll keep on living to honor her, my mom and everybody we’ve lost.”
Daryl blinked rapidly trying to ward off the previous illusive tears touched by Carl’s words.
“Keep on livin’ huh,” Daryl muttered. Carl nodded.
“I liked what you said earlier that ‘we’re not them’ that we’re not like the walking dead. I think if we start believing that we start losing hope,”
“Without hope, what’s the point in living?” he heard her voice ask and the tears threatened to return once again. He stubbornly brushed his eyes and jutted out his chin in agreement.
His exhaustion had turned to anger earlier that evening when Rick had suggested that they could survive as the ‘walking dead’. He’d had that life. It was his life before the spread of the wildfire virus. Unlike Rick’s grandfather, Daryl’s grandfather never came home from the banks of Normandy and his father was never really there. He wasn’t sure if that was the start of it, the Dixon curse, but it sure as hell fucked his father up and Arnie Dixon wasn’t stingy with his personal demons.
“Be who you are, not who you were,” rang in his ears as Rick spoke, her voice as insistent as it had been the night they set fire to the still.
“We ain’t them,” his own voice answered back startling himself as he hadn’t realized that he had spoken out loud at first.
“We ain’t them,” he persisted, loud enough that she could hear him, wherever she was, when Rick began to argue.
“We aren’t them,” Rick had reassured him, finally giving in to Daryl’s resolve.
Daryl sighed and caught a glimpse of something Carl was holding behind his back.
“What do yeh got there?” Daryl asked, his voice thick with unshed tears.
“Oh, it’s that music box,” Carl said, bringing it forward. “It reminded me of Beth. Do you remember Christmas? How Maggie dared Beth to stand on her toes?” Daryl snorted. Hell yeah, he remembered it. That Christmas at the prison had been the first real Christmas he’d ever had. Beth was almost maniacal, making sure it was celebrated, and celebrate it they did. At their Christmas dinner of venison, powdered mac n cheese, and an almost pielike dessert Carol had managed to whip up, Maggie had let it slip that Beth had taken ballet growing up. Michonne, a former dancer herself, had encouraged Beth to show them some moves. Beth had turned a festive crimson and refused, embarrassed. She only relented when her older sister goaded her into holding toe point, embarrassment replaced with determination and a flash of that fierceness. She held it for nearly three minutes before she came tumbling down, giggling, arms and legs askew.
“Well, that and it makes music. It used to make music,” Carl continued frowning. Without thinking, Daryl held out his hand.
“Let me see it. Maybe I can do something with it.”
Carl shrugged and handed it over before going back over to sit with his father and Michonne who were talking quietly in the corner. Ass-kicker had awakened and was playfully tugging on her father’s beard. Daryl opened the music box and stared at the silent ballerina inside. He was immediately brought back to that hallway at Grady where the world tilted, and their light went out.
The cold finality in her voice filled him with dread and set his teeth on edge. He was raising his gun as soon as she pulled back her arm, but he knew as soon as she plunged those scissors into that bitch cop’s shoulder, it was too late. He would be too late. The sound of gunfire erupted, and her head flew back, red blood blooming amongst the sunny blonde. Gunfire erupted again and this time it was the bitch whose head snapped back, and her body fell to the ground.
He was barely conscious of the activity around him, barely felt Carol’s touch, couldn’t hear anything but a horrible echoing silence as he fell to his knees beside her, his tears strangling him. There wasn’t a lot of blood. Compared to the dead cop who lay in a pool of her own blood, brain matter and bits of bone splattered across the floor, Beth looked almost as if she was asleep. Only a small trickle leaked from the wound in her forehead and a single streak of blood framed the back of her head almost as if painted with a brush. Yes, he could pretend she was asleep. At least for a minute, at least for a second, until he had to face the truth.
Her face was peaceful, lacking the steely mask she had worn as she pushed Carol out into the hallway. He had thought she would be annoying as shit once she found out their family had been out there all along, that her faith had been vindicated. But he’d take the crowing, the teasing, hell, he’d revel in it because it wasn’t Beth he had seen hovering over Carol. It wasn’t Beth, who was so full of hope, of some sort of other worldly light that it burst out of her like a beacon pulling people in from the dark, that was walking towards them now.
Beth was a beacon that had dragged him out of the dark pit of despair through her quest for a drink. She had set him free from some of the shame from his past by setting fire to that still and showed him what it meant to “be good” that night in the funeral home. She changed his mind. There were still good people, and Beth was one of them.
The scars on her face may have filled with rage but it was the look in her eyes that scared the shit out of him. Nah, this wasn’t Beth he was seeing. It was the dead girl. She thought the dead girl was her naivete, her blissful ignorance of the horror in the world before the dead started walking, her lack of survival skills and ruthlessness. He’d thought that too before he really knew her. Before he came to crave the light she gave off, to bask in it, instead of being afraid of what she would see if she really saw him. No, the dead girl was someone with no faith, no hope, and no love. The dead girl was without light.
Now her light was extinguished like it had been for him out on those crossroads where he had fallen exhausted from running straight through the night after the car that took her, snuffed her out right in front of him. He’d gone back to his old self, his old ways, the dead ways. Not knowing how else to be without her. But that flame had reignited when he found Rick, Carl, and Michonne. It burned brighter in that train car as they prepared to fight their way out, it damn near caused a forest fire when he saw Carol, realized she saved them, and she led them to ass-kicker wriggling happily in Tyreses’s arms.
It had shown so bright, he knew he’d find her. Knew they could start over. They could live again. He didn’t have hope in Eugene’s cure. He had hope in her. She was the cure. Carol saw the light in him too even if she didn’t understand what it was. She couldn’t recognize it in her own grief. Carol did see he had changed and came with him to follow the car, to follow the beacon, to follow Beth. And his faith had been rewarded. She was alive. She was at Grady. They would get her out. They were almost out. Remembering this stoked his confidence as she and Carol made their way toward them.
Yeah, she was the dead girl, but he’d help her find the light again, help her to remember to be who she is and not who she was, teach her how to live again like she had done for him while he taught her how to survive. He’d change her mind. He reached for her and for a second she was there, the real Beth, not the dead girl, a flash of hope before that bitch opened her mouth demanding Noah in Beth’s place. Beth’s face darkened as she rushed forward to hug Noah escaping his grasp.
Alarms rang in his head as she released Noah and stalked toward the cop.
And suddenly her light was snuffed out in one fatal gunshot.
The words goaded him. Dixons don’t get happy endings. Dixons are cursed.
Her body was still warm as he cradled her rocking back and forth as if she was ass-kicker, and he was trying to soothe her into a deeper sleep. If this was a fairytale, hell, even a damn romance novel, there’d be a happy ending. If this was a fairytale, all he’d have to do is find some stupid ass prince, maybe that Noah kid, to kiss her and she would wake up blinking her blue doe eyes up at him, asking if he missed her. This was no fairytale, no romance novel, and there’d be no happy ending. Dixons didn’t get happy endings. Dixons are cursed. Beth wasn’t asleep waiting for some bullshit kiss. She was dead and gone and he knew she was right. He’d miss her, miss her so bad, miss her like some part of him died with her that day in the hallway at Grady. He’d miss her for the rest of his life.
The words were hollow and heavy now in their repetition as the group searched for food and water. Worn out in the search for understanding, worn out in the search for her. The words were his burden now, a set of chains. He’d been determined to bury her, to put her to rest. Give her the same peace she gave him. He didn’t put much store in all that, in church, in God. But she did. And he believed in her. They found a church, white, miraculously untouched by the dead. She’d think it was beautiful.
Carol stitched up and bandaged her wounds and Maggie brushed her hair and plaited it like she was a doll. Useless now, her body was cold, but he knew it mattered. It would have mattered to her, so it mattered to him.
The words hounded him while he drove the shovel, they found in the utility shed behind the church into the earth. He made her a bed beside a patch of wild strawberries that had shriveled in the winter air trying not to think about the last bed they shared and the strawberry he claimed out on the road. Rick dug beside him in silence watching and waiting, for what? For him to crumble like he had outside the hospital when Maggie’s wail of grief overwhelmed them all and he had folded under the weight of it?
They all were one in their pain then. Now, despite Rick beside him, he felt alone in it, unable to speak it aloud. Mute like he had been at the table when she had asked him, “What changed your mind?” He could sense their confusion. He didn’t give a fuck.
There would be no peace. No peace from the dead, no peace for her, and no peace for him. A herd came through, and they were forced to leave her in the back of a van.
Those fucking words stung him like nettles under his skin making him sharp and cantankerous, impatient for relief. Maybe they would make sense when they finally buried her. However, when they returned the van had been ransacked and the back was empty. All that was left were halting footsteps leading to the wood, the zig zagging tracks of a walker.
The words screamed at him then. The gunshot had been too high in her head. They’d let her turn. The realization made him sick, and he had dry heaved in horror while Maggie wept in Glenn’s arms.
He searched for days for any sign of her, refusing to let go of the last hope of putting her down, for any kind of peace. The words tormented him the entire time. He kept searching even when the others gave up. Maggie. Glenn. Rick. He knew they had to move on, for ass-kicker, for Carl, for the group. But he couldn’t let it go, not yet.
“You’ll be the last man standing,” Daryl winced at the memory. Knew he was living out her prophecy by separating from the group over and over. He’d come back from searching with what he could catch without hunting, too busy hunting her, to his turn at watch. He did his best to avoid the others, their questioning eyes, the grief-stricken faces, and their pitying glances. On the fifth morning of this pattern, Rick had come to him, and Daryl burrowed into himself.
“She’s gone, brother. We’ve got to move on,” Rick said not without compassion.
Daryl knew it. They couldn’t survive like this. His mind flashed to her walking, walking alone, forever, and ever.
“One more day,” he rasped, realizing painfully he hadn’t talked in days. Rick frowned.
“For fuck’s sake,” Abraham groused rubbing his face and Rosita stepped in to elbow him, but he stepped around her. “No look, we can't keep waiting here.”
“Well, you could get off your ass, and help me look,” he growled.
“She’s dead, man! I’m sorry, but there ain’t no use hunting a dead girl down when we got plenty of living breathing people.” Daryl flinched at the words “dead girl” and glared at Maggie, “yeh got anything to say?” he demanded.
She took a shuddering breath, “Daryl you know I want to bury her, to put her to rest, but she wanted to get Noah home, she would want Judith safe. We all got jobs to do…,” she began but he got up and threw the bolt he was mending aside, “Don’t, don’t give me that ‘we all got jobs to do’ shit. You want me to talk about your job as a sister? You didn’t even look for her! You ran off lookn’ for that bullshit cure! She never gave up wanting to look for you, for you all. She hounded my ass up and down those train tracks, badgered me to teach her to track, so convinced that if we could keep faith one more day, we’d find you, maybe we would find more than that. She believed there were still good people. “Said to me ‘would it kill yeh to have a little faith.’ So, you can give me one more day. It won’t kill yeh to give me one more day.”
Maggie was sobbing now. Glenn was holding her protectively and glaring but he didn’t care. Rick sighed and nodded. “One more day, I’ll go with you,” Rick said, reaching for his arm but Daryl burst away from the group.
He was pissed at everyone, mostly himself. He was pissed at her and he was pissed at himself for being pissed at her. He was pissed at the others for not understanding. Hell, he didn’t understand and that pissed him off the most. He wanted to turn and rage at them some more, to scream until there was no breath left in him, but all he did was get up and go deeper into the woods. His anger turned to desperation and finally bitter resignation as the sun moved across the sky. Rick was right. Beth was gone. It was time to move on.
Twilight painted the sky in cool blue and lavender as he made his way back to the campsite. He caught Rick’s eyes and nodded, giving him his grudging blessing. They packed up and began their journey to Virginia the next day and Daryl took comfort that at least they were living out Beth’s last wish. The comfort didn’t last. Noah’s community had been overrun and they had lost Tyrese to blood loss when they tried to amputate his arm after he was bitten. Daryl could barely hide his resentment when he shoved the camp shovel into Tasha’s arms. At least she could bury her sibling. At least she knew where he fucking was.
They had pressed on searching for food and water. Sorrow hung heavy upon them like the sun beating down on their backs. Rick had asked him to go back out into the wood, to track, food and water this time, saying,
“I know you lost something back there.”
The words jarred him, and he escaped into the brush as soon as he could.
“Lost something back there.”
Her voice again, saying sadly,
“Not everybody gets found.”
Daryl doubled over in agony. With his hands on his knees, he took several deep gasping breaths. He was so overwhelmed by the pain of his grief; he almost missed the deer tracks right in front of him. Once he caught his breath, he began to follow the tracks finding solace in the hunt. It was then, he began to hear her singing, little snatches of lyrics on the wind. He saw glimpses of her between the trees, a blonde halo, gray sweater over that yellow polo muddied with walker guts. It was like she was tracking the deer with him, triangulating.
“Soon you won’t need me at all,” he muttered remembering her cocky grin, a bittersweet memory. He was going mad. Like in the ravine, when he was searching for Sophia and the bolt in his leg brought on hallucinations of Merle taunting him forward. Like back at the prison when Rick lost Lori, and he’d stare off into the distance and scream at empty corners.
The deer he’d been following for the last hour lay dead ravaged by walkers. He sank to the ground, his aching head in his hands. He didn’t get it. He didn’t fucking get it. He heard footsteps on the dead leaves starved of water, and he opened his eyes with his head still in his hands. It was her feet, cowboy boots and black and white laces securing her jeans to her boots so no lone mosquito could get in. It was as if she was there with him. He knew she wasn’t. After all, those laces were now tied around his own pants.
“What do you want from me girl?” He half groaned and half growled out. The wind brushed his hair almost as if she was brushing it from his forehead. She had done that before, back at the still. It had been after he exhausted himself crying over all they lost, and she was there she was holding onto him for dear life. She had brushed the hair out of his eyes and took his hand back to the porch. It felt so real that it took the breath from his lungs and tears of relief stung his eyes. He felt peaceful in her presence, and he thought about not going back. He thought about following ghost Beth into the woods, getting lost with her.
But when he opened his eyes there was nothing but flecks of sunlight floating through the trees and that damn dead deer. He rose to his feet slowly. If ghosts were real, she’d kick his ass for not going back where he belonged, to their family. On his way back to camp. he couldn’t help looking for her blonde hair glinting in the sun and straining his ears to catch her singing in between the bird calls and rustling of leaves. He barely noticed when Michonne sidled up to him.
“You seeing her?” Michonne asked so low he almost didn’t hear. He tore his eyes away from the treeline to glance at Michonne who to her credit seemed serious. “Mmm,” he grumbled noncommittally, but he couldn’t help himself. He glanced back to the trees.
“I used to see my boyfriend, Tony. I talked to him too. Rick saw Lori for a while.”
Daryl ducked his head. “When’s it stop?” he asked quietly, both wanting and not wanting to know the answer. Michonne shrugged. “I haven’t seen him for a while, not since finding Rick and Carl after the prison.” Daryl stared at her thinking hard but shook his head. Nah, that didn’t make sense. She didn’t start appearing to him until after they were all reunited. Michonne tilted her head in thought and said, “Beth made me feel at home with you all at the prison. It was hard. I was so afraid. But she told me hurt is part of the package.” She searched his face. “Maybe she did that for you too.” When he didn’t answer, she continued, “When I found Carl and Rick after the prison, I felt at home even though we were on the road. Maybe that’s what did it. Maybe coming home to the people I cared about who were still living let me let go of him. Maybe that is what you need too.” Daryl could only grunt in response and kept his head down letting his hair fall into his face so Michonne couldn’t see the tears that were beginning to form as he walked away.
“I think she saved my life. She saved yours too, right?” It certainly felt like life and death. Somehow, Beth had become necessary for living. Somehow, she became the air in his lungs, the rain they desperately needed. Letting Beth in, it was like letting her faith in. If you get used to having it, it's hard to keep going on when it's stolen away. Carol brushed the hair out of his eyes, an echo of ghost Beth’s gesture and she slipped Beth's knife into his hand.
“I know you. You have to feel it,” Carol said, recommending the one thing he’d been trying to avoid. It was then, he had stumbled across the barn having collapsed at a nearby tree. The pain of the cigarette burn barely registered compared to the pain of his grief.
The present came crashing back with the boom of thunder. Her voice pierced his mind, this time in warning.
The wind roared shaking the barn and Daryl heard the telltale moaning of the dead in between clashes of thunder. He had barely made it to his feet when the undead began to press against the door of the barn. He threw himself against the door fighting against both the wind and the rotting grasping hands as he stood alone against the horde. He looked through a gap in the door and in a flash of lightning he saw her, walker Beth, blue eyes now covered with a sickly white film, cupid’s bow mouth open, hungry, painted with blood.
The horror he felt in that moment made him slacken his hold and the doors creaked as the walkers growled louder and thrusted against the barn. Suddenly there was a body beside him pushing, then another, and another until almost the entire group was with him, he wasn’t alone. Together they held the line, and Daryl felt a strange sense of solidarity and purpose. The lightning flashed again, and Daryl saw with relief that the Beth walker took on another form, a brunette woman in a muddy dark blue sweater was in her place. It wasn’t Beth. It had never been Beth.
When the storm died down, he watched their family in the dark of the barn, resting after their effort, and listened to the bluster of the wind. He was exhausted but perhaps more at peace then he’d been since watching that car drive away with Beth back at the funeral home. Something had happened as they held back hell together, that click, the spark re-ignited. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t the last man standing. He would protect their family. He would find them somewhere safe. He would find them a home like he found this barn.
Sighing he turned his gaze to the music box. He inspected it slowly and saw where dirt and gravel were blocking the gears. Once he had cleared the debris, the music began to play.
The music was ethereal and delicate but strong enough that he could hear it. He realized too, that Judith, whose dark eyes were open wide as she kicked her chubby arms and legs wrapped in her father’s arms, could too. He felt the corners of his mouth tilt upwards. He was home with this family. He was where he belonged. “I get it now, Beth, I get it.” He muttered, staring at the music box in his hands.
A few days later, it wasn’t her voice he heard, but his own as they stood outside the gates of Alexandria. The sun was bright, and the air was filled with the sound of children playing and laughing.
“Home sweet home,” Daryl muttered to himself as he followed Rick inside.
Up Next: We skip to the coda in Part II- Happy Ending
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